altverse log oo2: stranger with a familiar face
altverse log oo2: december 31, 2008
When they reached this mysterious 'Hub' place, Ianto half anticipated being blindfolded on the way down, simply because the entire thing felt like it should be labeled with secret underground base. Subsequently, he'd spent a lot of effort trying very hard not to gape and stare at the various things in passing, even if it looked a little empty, like they were doing renovations of some sort. Now, he's actually giving in to letting his fascination with everything become obvious, from inspecting his reflection in a glass - he looks slimmer, and since when did he ever wear sideburns like that? - to looking about at the surroundings themselves. He's standing beside the disassembled parts of what looks like it's going to be a desk, looking at the ring on his left hand. Titanium, is it? His ... counterpart ... must be married, then; will he have to go home to a different wife? He glances over at the bottle of champagne on ice, the glasses sitting alongside, and frowns thoughtfully; there's music coming from somewhere - Chet Baker on a horn, he thinks it might be.
Jack, having spent a good while in his office wrangling the single working computer into running an analysis series on the scans and tests conducted, joins Ianto - or rather not-Ianto, he supposes - in the central Hub next to the half-assembled desk. "Renovations," he explains nonchalantly, indicating the desk and the general state of the Hub itself. "We're workaholics, renovating on New Year's Eve, and got called out to take care of something in Splott when this happened." He has no idea why he's telling this to this Ianto, especially when it's likely to make little sense or be of much importance, but he can't seem to shut up. It's been too long since he and Ianto have had painful lapses in easy conversation, but this isn't Ianto. "I'll need some time to process the tests, but we should have some information soon."
Silence lingers for a moment as Ianto allows the words to sink in, attempting to piece everything together that he knows about this place and this person to form some sort of coherent picture about what's going on. He still wonders a bit, however unspoken, about the champagne and the music, but is too tactful to actually ask. "It's fine," he lies lightly, the same way he'd tell his daughter that it's all right she spilled juice on the table. "Any luck, and maybe we'll be back to normal by midnight." And there's that other smile common to Ianto Jones, tentative and half-formed, as if he's too afraid to fully wrap his mind around the idea of what he's even suggesting.
"Maybe," Jack answers, lying lightly in turn with a dip in his tone that suggests, maybe, he picked up on the fact that Ianto had done the same. Shrugging it off, he moves to gather up the champagne and accompanying glasses, simultaneously acknowledging their presence and honestly answering the optimistic question about sorting this whole thing out in the next, well, two hours or so. "It might take a little longer, I'll just be honest, but I will get you back to normal as soon as I can." Jack pauses, reaching out to turn the music off as he passes the iPod dock on the way back to his office with champagne.
Turning on a too well-polished heel (since when did he have all that time on his hands to do something like shine his shoes?), Ianto trails along after Jack ... not trying to be a nuisance so much as simply to keep up with the only person he actually knows (sort of) at the moment. He slides (not really) his hands into (not really) his pockets again, nodding slightly as he acknowledges the inevitability of the words. He just doesn’t want to face up to the fear lurking at the edges of his mind, that being that he won't be able to get back, and needs to be, if not reassured, then at least distracted from that very real possibility. "Thank you," he offers sincerely. "I ... don't want to ask the tactless question, but - well ..." Ianto trails off, flushing slightly. "It looks like you had your own New Year's plans that I've interrupted."
The quickly melting ice bucket with warming bottle of champagne is settled onto the edge of his desk, where an old memo from UNIT collects the condensation streaking the outside, and Jack turns the glasses over on an outdated folder of Rift activity, sliding his hands into his pockets a little insecurely as he turns to face the flushing, less-than-confident counterpart to the man he's so intimately familiar with. It's strange - in a way that's almost too alien, if such a thing exists for him, to allow Jack to find it appealing in any way - seeing the man he loves engaging in such an unfamiliar and nervous routine. Ianto doesn't stumble over his words, Ianto knows precisely what he wants to say and he says it precisely how he wants to say it exactly when he means to do so, and anything else is ... alarming. "Yes, but ... nothing special," he doesn't exactly lie, though now that the something-like-a-date is lost, it seems much more special than they had originally thought it to be. "And, trust me, that wasn't tactless. I'm a very open person, at least I try to be, and you'll have a hard time making me blush. I said I'll try to answer any of your questions as best as I can, so don't hesitate to ask me. I know you must be very confused right now."
Looking down at the desk, Ianto allows his eyes to wander the contents scattered across its surface. Paperwork, assorted odds and ends, bits of a life? He doesn't think much, if any of it, seems personal; he feels strangely compelled to touch the branching arms of the coral, but it feels impolite to do so. He edges over to one of the chairs and sits down in it, gingerly on the edge, like a boy who's been called into the headmaster's office. "I do have a lot of questions," he admits after a pause, looking back up at Jack and trying (and failing miserably) to summon something more of a smile. "I appreciate your trying to answer them for me, Captain." Ianto shifts, something nagging at the edge of his mind, and raises his left hand. "Can you explain this to me? Just ... if - if he's with my family just now, your friend, I was wondering, does he have someone he's left behind?"
Yes, he desperately wants to say, because it's the honest truth and there's enough conflicting emotions twinging in his chest to make him want to shout at just how unfair this situation is and how desperately he wants his husband back and demand to know who in the hell this total stranger is that's staring at him with those eyes he fell in love with. "Nothing like that," Jack says instead, surprised at how calm his voice sounds echoed back to him and wondering at how easily he can lie to this Ianto, all while hoping to God it's not a habit he falls easily back into after so many decades of perfecting the ability. "You won't have to go home to a strange wife and family if this takes longer than tonight to sort out, if you're worried." For just a moment, Jack lets a little bit of the sadness he feels to shine through in the tiny smile he offers. "Her name was Lisa. He ... took her death very hard."
Oh. Oh. Ianto looks down at the band on (not his) hand again, twisting it around in thought. A part of him wants to tug it off and check for some sort of inscription on the inside, but it feels like it would be prying ... at least, sitting here in front of this man, for whom he's wearing the face of a friend. He feels a twinge of sadness for his counterpart in this world, and equally guilty because of the relief that floods through him to know that he hasn't, through some bizarre occurrence, managed to marry the same woman in this world. It would be a little too strange to have to go to a strange house and see someone who is and isn't his wife, all at once ... not to mention that he hardly wants to think of himself-but-not being in his home, facing his wife, thinking of her as a ghost. "I see," he says quietly, gaze dropping to the floor. "He must be lonely, to work on holiday." Ianto pauses, smiling more genuinely up at Jack. "You seem to be a very good friend and colleague, to be here with him tonight."
"He isn't," Jack says a little more quickly than he probably should have, unsure where the sudden defensive surge is coming from other than the ulterior life he's painting for his spouse and how it must not, to Ianto's happily married with a family counterpart, look like the full, successful, and happy life it recently became. After a slow breath and an almost apologetic smile, Jack settles gingerly onto the edge of his desk to attempt something a little more companionable by way of conversation. "I am - and so is he. We've known each other for years," he provides, almost nostalgically.
Strange is what this life seems like to Ianto, actually, but he isn't certain he wants to know why he's working on a holiday, at ten o'clock at night, wearing a suit that makes him look a bit like a mortician. A widower, at the age of twenty-seven (who should have to experience that?), and little for company aside from a friend. From work. Even if a very good friend. Ianto looks down at (not) his hands again, trying to process all this. "So you know him very well," he reasons after a moment.
Better than anyone, Jack suspects. Hopes. It's too easy to recall all the little details - the way Ianto prefers his coffee or the little way he smiles when he's picking a tie to wear in the morning, the sound of his voice in the most acoustic areas of a ship listing through the void of space, and that particular sound he makes in the back of his throat when he comes - and Jack can't suppress the reflexive reaction to so suddenly having him gone. He remembers too much, misses it desperately, and there's a logical voice in the back of his head that insists it's only because he's out of reach for the time being, but that doesn't make it hurt any less. "I do," he says, just as soon as he feels he's in control of himself enough to keep his voice from shaking, and offers an almost too enigmatic little smile. "We're very close."
There's something studious, hinting just a little at suspicion, in Ianto's eyes as he sits and gazes at Jack. The man is enigmatic, certainly, and maybe he's good at telling a lie, but he can't help but feel there's something that he's not being told. He nods just slightly, closing his eyes ... opens them again, after a spell, and exhales a soft breath. "I'm glad to be in your capable hands, then, Captain. Provided that this takes a while ... where shall I stay tonight?"
And now Jack knows he's said too much, raised that small little suspicion in this Ianto, and that he needs to be careful. As much as he feels and as strongly as he feels it, he needs to save it for an appropriate time and place - not here, not now - when he doesn't have an important job to do. "You have a few options," he offers after a considerate pause, giving an amount of thought to the question. "You're welcome to stay at my place if you'd like to distance yourself from the Ianto in this universe and aren't comfortable staying at his house. Or I could put you up in a hotel for the night."
“I'm not sure I would feel comfortable in his house ..." As curious as he is, Ianto finds himself a little reluctant to explore the life that he, technically, has in another universe. He isn't sure he wants to know the path not taken, so to speak ... this world looks too cold and miserable, foreign. There's something that would feel distinctly like a trespass about going into this other Ianto's house, disturbing his things. He shakes his head. "I don't know anything about this Cardiff, this isn't ... my Cardiff. You're the only person I know, and ..." Well, it isn't exactly that he's paranoid that Jack will wander off somewhere and forget about him, except that he is paranoid of just that. "If you don't mind, I'll just stay with you and save a bit of expense?"
Although he can just write off the expense as part of Torchwood's extraneous budget (and be minimal, compared to the other expenses they write off on a quarterly basis), Jack assents to this nevertheless with a small nod. "Of course I don't mind, whatever you think you'll be most comfortable with for however long this takes." For just a moment, Jack pauses and shifts to give the appearance of discomfort about the subject he intends to broach next, despite the fact that he feels none whatsoever. "I don't live alone. I hope it won't bother you - my boyfriend. He sleeps odd hours, though, and I expect this'll keep us both busy until we figure it out, but I don't want you to be uncomfortable staying with me if it might be an issue."
To his credit, Ianto doesn't overreact to the information; (not) his eyes widen a fraction, then his expression relaxes again and he gives a bit of a smile. He is open-minded enough (he went through that experimental phase in university, after all), and shakes his head in denial of any discomfort. This information actually puts to rest another suspicion he'd been forming in his head. "No, it's fine, but I ... don't want to be an inconvenience." He drops his gaze self-consciously, wondering aloud, "But will he recognize me - er - as him? I mean ... I don't want to make this more difficult or confusing."
"He will," Jack answers honestly, "but he also understands a lot of the strange things that happen in my line of work. I can explain it to him, just as much as necessary, so things aren't complicated." Ears, probably more than anyone else Jack knows, understands the intricacies of alternate universes and selves, having spent time with his alternate selves in the Nexus and the Doctor from Jack's own universe. "It wouldn't be an inconvenience, believe me. Stranger things have happened. Besides ... if my theory stands, I'm technically at fault in this. We're supposed to be monitoring a Rift in time and space that runs through Cardiff here, these renovations have slowed that to a practical stand-still. If I'd been more vigilant we could have predicted this - not prevented it, true, but at least seen it coming. I'm sorry."
“All right," Ianto replies softly, having taken up looking at (not) his hands again. He wonders what this Ianto really does for a living, about the expensive watch on his wrist and the fine fabric of the suit that he knows he'd never be able to afford, not without skipping eating for a month. He feels trimmer, and a little uncomfortable in this skin now that he knows quite acutely that it isn't his. "As long as you're certain I won't be an inconvenience." He supposes it is best that the captain ... keeps an eye on him, so to speak.
"Absolutely," he assures, knowing that it'll be just exactly that - a painful inconvenience - should this drag on for longer than an evening. Almost as if on cue, a short alarm from the computer on his desk chimes and draws his attention, causing him to rise quickly from the edge of the desk and hurry around to read the results of the primary analysis - the universe of origin technology taken from the Nexus and assimilated for Torchwood’s own purposes has finished its analysis cycle. It isn't news that Jack wants; the results blink vividly on the screen, against the slowly swirling backdrop of the Hub's interface, asserting this Ianto's universe of origin is, in fact, their own. Settling into the chair behind the desk without sighing the particular way he sorely wishes to give into the urge to, Jack glances over at the stranger sitting in his office. "Subtle differences, right? You don't feel like you're in your own body, except it looks more or less the same. Unfamiliar scar here, another freckle there, different haircut?" He should have realized sooner, shouldn't have assumed it would be so easy.
Quietly concerned over the alarm, Ianto waits and tries to be patient (without asking 'what, what?' as he wants to) while the captain checks it. He shifts a little further back into the chair at the question, looking down at the floor for a moment, brows knit in concentration. "I'm ... in better shape," he admits with a bit of embarrassment coloring his tone. "Different haircut, and honestly, I could never afford this suit or this watch." He shakes his head ruefully. "There's ... a-a gun, under my jacket. I'm just ... just an English teacher. I've never even held a firearm before." He sinks down, posture sagging in a distinctly dejected fashion. "But it looks like me, mostly, otherwise."
"I ran something like a DNA test," Jack says, quietly struggling to keep his voice level as he stands and moves back around the desk to crouch down next to the Ianto that is and isn't his own, "and it confirmed that, technically, you are the Ianto that belongs in this universe. At least physically." Carefully, with an indicative motion of his intent, Jack reaches inside Ianto's jacket for the handgun he knows is there more from watching Ianto dress and add a shoulder holster to his suit than from the information he's just been given on its location. Extricating the firearm from the holster is easy and afterwards he compulsively checks it over, clip and safety, before rising to place it on his desk. "This means that something else has happened with the switch - it isn't as simply as you physically ended up here while he went there - and we're going to need a lot more research before we can solve it."
Something very closely akin to fright passes over Ianto's face as he stares at Jack, a candid and vulnerable moment that he struggles through in order to regain some semblance of calm and control. Because if he can't keep a handle on it, then he will certainly go mad, and ... breaking down isn't what he needs to do right now. Ianto takes a deep, ragged, and more than slightly shaky breath, placing his hands on his knees as if concerned he might soon need to put his head between them. "Th-thank you for all your help, Captain Harkness. I know you're working as hard as you can, but ... as soon as possible, please ... I just want to get home. If this takes too long, I'm going to miss ..." He trails off, shaking his head. "You see, my wife is expecting another baby, and I wanted to be there."
It's been so long since he's seen that level of fright and vulnerability in Ianto's eyes, that struggle for something similar to control, and Jack almost compulsively reaches out to reassure him, almost can't stop himself from pressing a hand to his lover-but-not's cheek to stem the surge of nearly overwhelming emotion. Instead, he rests his hand on Ianto's shoulder, needing the physical contact he's been pointedly avoiding as much as he needs Ianto to stay calm. "As soon as possible. I promise. I want my friend back as much as you want to be there for your wife, believe me." At that, he gives Ianto's shoulder an emphatic squeeze and offers a smile. "Congratulations, by the way."
There's something strangely soothing about the physical comfort from an almost complete stranger ... Ianto can only assume that it's a reflexive, chemical reaction from this body that isn't his, to the physical presence of someone the body is used to. He summons a smile that's a little steadier than he feels, managing to actually look the captain in the eye. "Thank you," he says sincerely, his voice sounding a little more relieved than before. He almost feels like relaxing into the touch, but doesn't give in to that urge - it's a little embarrassing, being drawn to someone he doesn't know because of body chemistry, isn't it? "And ... for what it means, I'm sorry. Your friend obviously means a lot to you. It must be hard for you to even look at me."
Yes, he doesn't say again. God, yes, it's the hardest thing I've ever done and I miss him like I can't believe even though it's only been hours and I can't stand not knowing where he is or what's happening and whether or not I'll ever see him again. "It's all right," Jack says instead, getting much better at this lying-about-his-emotional-attachment the longer he does so. "You don't need to apologize. Let's just try to put aside our shock and get to work on solving this, what do you say?" Having noticed the calming effect the physical contact had on Ianto, Jack is reluctant to remove his hand from the familiar shoulder. He's certainly familiar with the chemical reaction due to familiar physical presence, yes, but he isn't going to let it get the best of him. This isn't his Ianto, everything he fell in love with - pert ass aside - is effectively removed to, he hopes, the safety of another, quieter universe.
Somehow, some part of Ianto simply ... knows that he's being lied to, but for whatever reason it is, he doesn't feel threatened by it, and so he simply lets it go. As long as it isn't a malicious lie, something that will affect his ability to get back to his own existence, then he's content to allow it, whyever it is the Captain feels the need to do so. (He has his own suspicions, half-formed, regarding that ... but won't voice them.) "You're right," he agrees with a little nod. "I won't dwell." Except that he doesn't work for a secret organization, he doesn't even believe in the existence of aliens, and he certainly has ruled out the possibility of ever seeing one. "Anything I can do to help, just tell me what, and I'll do it to the best of my ability. Any information you need, or ... anything."
"Right now?" he asks, trying for a tone that might lighten the mood while offering Ianto his other hand for help up. "I think it might be a good idea to get you settled for the night. This is all overwhelming, I understand, and you could probably do to sleep on it. I'll head to the Torchwood installation in London, see if there's better readings on the Rift from the monitoring station there, and try to compile a good working plan of action for us tonight."
Nodding, a little steadier this time, Ianto gets to his feet and, out of some reflex or instinct, squeezes Jack's hand just slightly as he does so. "All right." He pauses, free hand rubbing at the back of his neck. "Yes, let's go. Sleep might be good." Actually, he remembers being a bit sloshed when this all happened, but one supposes that being tossed into another body might do that to you.
It's only natural, despite the circumstances of the situation and how distressing it actually is, for Jack to squeeze Ianto's hand in return. "I'm sure it will be." Regaining a little control over the situation, at least with the acquisition of a little knowledge and the development of something like a plan, Jack is able to project genuine confidence now. "C'mon, I'll show you the short-cut up." Without letting go of Ianto's hand, though perfectly conscious of the fact that he hasn't, Jack grabs his coat from over the back of a chair and heads out of the office, hitting the lights as he goes. A short walk later brings them to the paving stone and he finally releases Ianto's hand to nudge him onto it.
Though it seems like it might be a good idea to let go of the captain's hand, Ianto doesn't do so. He follows Jack back out of the office, through the 'Hub' proper, and once they reach the paving stone, gives him a skeptical, questioning glance before stepping on. Then he slides his hands into the pockets of the overcoat he's still wearing from earlier, waiting with a curious sort of anticipation - shortcut up? He has several questions running through his mind, turning over in his head ... but he can't quite fathom how to ask any of them. If he just ... leaves here, tomorrow, then he doesn't need to know, does he? He'll go back to his normal life, convince himself this was caused by bad champagne at midnight, and forget all about Jack Harkness and this mysterious Torchwood.
Jack shrugs on his greatcoat, offers Ianto a rather genuinely amused grin, and joins him on the paving stone. "Hang on, there's a little bump," he warns as he pushes back he sleeve to reach the wristband found there and, pressing a particular button sequence, activate the lift. Overhead, the paving stone above slides back and the hydraulics beneath the stone they're standing on activates (with a tiny bump) to carry them upwards through the resulting hole.
Strangely unabashed now about touching Jack, Ianto reaches out a hand to rest on the captain's arm, catching and attempting to steady himself for the bump. It isn't that bad, really, but it helps to have a bit of support. He watches in fascination as the stone ahead slips aside, then turns his gaze downward to look at the floor quickly receding below. Once they reach the Plass, he looks at Jack and shakes his head. "Do you think there's one of these in my universe? I've never seen anything like it before. How does it work? Don't people notice?" He's full of questions now.
When they reach the Plass, Jack drops his hand away from where he'd almost subconsciously reached out to steady Ianto with a hand at his waist, though he doesn't move from the safety of the paving stone just yet. "Anything's possible," he offers with a small smile, pleased that he's seemed to distract the distressed husband and father from thoughts about his family with something shiny and alien. "We call it an 'invisible lift,' nice ring to it, but it's really a perception filter. My guess is a chameleon circuit - something with cloaking properties - was placed on this exact spot and said properties were melded with the Rift that runs through the city, right through time and space. It's always been here, temporally speaking, and always will so long as the Rift is active. People don't really notice, they selectively filter it out, like something that doesn't concern them in their peripheral vision. You can train yourself to see through it if you try hard enough, but ... for every day use? No one seems to give it a second glance." Now grinning, having enjoyed himself explaining the phenomena and momentarily forgot his own troubles in the process of attempting to help Ianto forget his own, Jack steps off the paving stone and sucks in a deep breath of cold winter air. "C'mon, it's not far to my place from here." He motions for Ianto to walk with him, dropping the almost persistent urge to seek out physical contact, and heads for where he parked the SUV earlier.