The Windhovers (4 of 10)
Title: The Windhovers
Chapter: 4 of 10
Author: sarcasticchick
Pairing: Jack/Ianto
Rating: R
Spoilers: TW S1, S2
Fluffers/Betas: lilithilien
Summary: "A hallucination is a fact, not an error; what is erroneous is a judgement based upon it." - Bertrand Russell
Please see full A/N for story details, credits, and posting schedule.
Previous Chapters:
The Windhovers (1 of 10)
The Windhovers (2 of 10)
The Windhovers (3 of 10)
A/N: Fanart! I've got fanart! *dances* The lovely love_jackianto has created a perfectly woobie Ianto/Jack fanart for the previous chapter. *mrphs at the Janto hug* Still working out the details as far as posting the image and all that, but check it out now! Fanart: Chapter 3. Hee this makes me glee. Lots. Can you tell? *smishes love_jackianto*
Chapter 4
Nearly eight hours of overt observation (Jack, Tosh via the internal CCTV), not-so-subtle covert monitoring (Gwen, who would fail miserably as a spy), tests of every nature, and writing down every artifact he could remember coming into contact with for the past two weeks left Ianto in an incredibly foul mood. Not that he thought it should be any different - according to official Torchwood policy he ought to be confined to a cell - so he considered himself lucky by that account. But the constant, heavy weight of eyes on his back watching for the next chink and the conversations that ended as soon as he arrived, clumsily altered to discussions of the weather or the Rift, ratcheted his anxiety to new levels.
He didn't blame the team; he could practically feel Tosh's concern when he'd handed her afternoon coffee. They were worried, but whether from protective self-interest or honest care for his wellbeing he couldn't discern. And if it made Tosh feel reassured to train the cameras on him wherever he went, he couldn't argue. However, his graciousness didn't kill the unsettling irritation crawling like bugs beneath his skin, distracting him from the perfect cup of coffee (twice remade) because he couldn't be trusted to work the bloody coffee machine without spooking. He might steam himself to death while making Gwen's coffee. And wouldn't that be one for the Torchwood books: Ianto Jones, death by latte.
Fuck, it'd be hilarious if it weren't so true. And he'd laugh, but laughter would most likely be misconstrued as a symptom of whatever ailed him; another tick box in Owen's notes, Tosh would add that to her search parameters and Gwen would tell him that perhaps a nap would do him well.
They'd watch and record, they were watching and recording, and while Ianto desperately tried to understand and rationalize why, the hair on the back of his neck never relaxed. He'd spent eight bloody hours in a state of half-crazed adrenaline alert confusing his fight-or-flight until it felt like even Myfanwy watched, concerned and wary from her alcove.
If he wasn't mad, Torchwood would succeed in driving him there. Day one, confined to Torchwood Three's main Hub with nothing to do but pace, tidy up, and brew bloody coffee, as he'd been officially placed on restricted duty and couldn't even venture to the Archives without someone holding his hand to make sure he didn't get into trouble.
Nothing to do but think about what he'd seen, what he'd done.
In frustration, Ianto slammed his hand against the coffee machine, wincing when all he received for his effort was a stinging palm and a jarred shoulder when the machine didn't budge. He'd curse the thing if he thought it'd do any good, then realized someone had most likely witnessed that display as well. 'Subject prone to fits of violence and self-inflicted harm upon his person'; Ianto could almost see the annotated notes in Owen's reports, clinical and detached as a good doctor should be.
At this rate, he wasn't going to last a night, much less seven.
"Feel better?"
Eyes. Everyone watching. It wasn't paranoia if it was true.
Ianto spun slowly on his heel, not bothering to hide rubbing the sting from his palm as he faced Jack who leaned ever so casually against the pillar. Hands stuffed in his pockets and looking small without his greatcoat, Jack was almost the perfect picture of indifference. But Ianto knew that mega-watt, full-toothed smile which never was as honest as one believed it to be. "Would you care for some coffee?" Ianto asked, blatantly ignored Jack's question ; answering honestly would gain him nothing and Jack would see through the lies.
"It's only for a week."
"Only?" Ianto gave up pretence of maintaining any form of calm, stabbing into the air in the direction of the CCTV cameras, though he kept his voice down so at least the others wouldn't hear what he said. "Now I know what an animal in the zoo feels like, on display twenty-four hours a day."
"They're worried." Ianto didn't ask if 'they' included Jack, in part because he simply didn't want to know the answer, but also because thought derailed when Jack took hold of his injured hand and pressed his lips against the tender skin. Just a simple, small gesture, but one that deflated Ianto's fury and softened the angry line of his scowl when Jack moved the kiss from palm to lips. Maybe Jack did understand; it didn't make the monitoring any less invasive or the intrusion into his private frustration less unwanted, but Jack asked patience and forgiveness in the kiss melting Ianto's ire as completely as his body unwound and draped against the cabinets, losing individual shape until it identified as sharp angles and mirrored reflection of Jack.
"Come on, conference room." Ianto opened his eyes from the languid haze Jack had reduced him to, a slow burn that promised rather than demanded and Ianto found it difficult disengaging to focus on Jack's words laced with a touch of amusement. His unspoken question was answered, however, while Jack straightened the lay of suit coat for him. "We're going to be discussing you, I assumed you'd want to participate."
Bastard. He was so relaxed he could hardly work up the effort it would take to become outraged at the idea of the team conferring about him. Probably intentional on Jack's part. Most likely, given Jack's smirk, though his hands weren't smirking so much as encouraging as they made sure Ianto's suit was in order. He collected himself enough for what was most likely to be an uncomfortable conversation focused on him.
***
"I've sent his labs to Martha for a second opinion, but nothing abnormal in the scans or bloodwork, no trace of alien chip or compound, no injection sites or even a scratch."
Ianto should have been overjoyed at his labs returning normal but was instead quietly seething that Owen would have sent his files to UNIT for fuck's sake, for a physician consult without informing him first. They'd already covered Gwen's inquiries with the police and A&E for anyone brought in displaying similar symptoms - all turning up empty. Then Tosh had launched into her theories ranging from Billis (as yet undismissed) to alien signal to an artifact in the Archives. Rather, the team discussed and Ianto primarily focused on maintaining a level of calm indifference as his entire history for the past two weeks was dissected and analyzed. And now his medical records were being flung about without his consent. He was fairly certain he had a say in their dispersal, but then, when did Torchwood Three ever follow the rules.
And now Jack and Owen were engaged in an exchange Ianto could only half-follow as they were speaking in partial sentences about something which they both were familiar with but left nameless. At least Tosh and Gwen looked as lost as he felt.
"So no..."
"No. No sign."
"You're sure?"
"I know what I'm looking for, Harkness, and no, no sign."
Ianto twisted the pen in his hand sharply, not breaking the barrel but feeling moderately better for the small action while the rest of him was held steady. Of course he didn't need to know what they were talking about. It was only his body and his life they were discussing as though it was the latest threat of the week. Frustrating, humiliating, hell, Owen even had a computer display for the results of the urinalysis, complete with bar graphs of white blood cells and protein counts as well as negatives for known drugs, both human and alien. He didn't think it was possible to hate the man more. And now he had no idea what they were discussing, only that it related to him and he was showing no sign.
Brilliant.
More images, more conversation about what it wasn't. No alien gas corrupting his bloodstream, no particles in his clothing, apparently despite his poor diet he was in perfect health, although his body temperature was slightly elevated, but given no indication of infection Owen discarded the information from relevancy. Comparison analysis run on the previous blood and DNA samples revealed no change.
No aliens, no nothing. Just Ianto.
"What if we're making this too complicated. Maybe it's not alien at all."
The general chatter died instantly at Gwen's words, well intentioned as though they might be, though Ianto was personally having a very difficult time finding any small measure of good intent. If it wasn't alien in nature, then there was only one other option he knew for the visions when his body was in perfect health.
Calmly, he set the pen down, perfectly perpendicular to his body with just a slight 'snap' as the plastic struck the table, parallel to the notepad he adjusted just so until it too fell into alignment. And he breathed, he remembered to breathe through the stranglehold in his chest, panic held at bay for the moment but only just as the silence continued and all eyes turned on him. It might have been minutes, half an hour, or two seconds for all Ianto could tell, slipping back in the chair until his spine, straight and tall - no slouch - pressed firm into the thin padding. Every move was deliberate, every action purposeful to wrap himself in dense steel to deflect anything and everything. Straighten his tie, gently clasp his fingers in front of him with his elbows resting casually on the arm rests.
Small smile for PC Cooper. Remembered to breathe. "And in your expert opinion, what might be afflicting me if it's not alien?"
"Oh god, Ianto," Gwen clapped a hand over her mouth, looking about the room with, if Ianto were to be asked, a certain degree of desperation for someone to intercede. Ianto wouldn't have been that surprised at this point if someone had. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean...I don't think you're..."
"Insane?" Breathe, Ianto reminded himself. No panic, no fear, no anxiety. Just calm, blue skies, a friendly conversation among friends. "If my faculties have been in any way diminished due to a mental illness, I believe any number of my earlier experiences would have broken me long before the stress of making you coffee or planning your wedding."
Her eyes grew large and Ianto swore he saw the gears shift to an alternate track. He should be kind, he knew her question wasn't completely out of line and his remark was far less than cordial. In fact, he'd be lying to himself to say he hadn't feared something similar. But if this was to be a conversation about his mental stability he would rather have not been invited. She didn't deserve the swipe -- his temper stressed to snapping -- but he couldn't bring himself to apologize.
"Lisa." She nodded in presumed understanding, a better friend than he as the comment struck her and still she tried to empathize. Gwen stretched out her hand to touch his arm and he wished he was on the other side of the table as in a proper police interview, no touching allowed for all the touch unnerved him. "Losing someone you love is traumatic, I think I'd lose my mind if I lost Rhys."
Ianto stared at the slim fingers resting on his arm and truly wished she would stop touching him. The wide-eyed, tearful compassion made him physically sick for as misplaced as it felt, or else it was her sweet perfume that was overwhelming in the closed conference room. But he believed it the first; it was wrong, her compassion was wrong, and while it was genuine, it didn't fit in a way he couldn't explain but it made his jaw tighten as he restrained himself from jerking away. That wouldn't be proper or calm. He couldn't risk that.
For a brief, horrible moment, however, he guiltily acknowledged a small hope that whatever he had was catchable.
"It wasn't just Lisa." Tosh's vioce was timid but loud enough to stop whatever Gwen was going to say next, her lips snapping shut but she still left her hand on his arm, apparently to calm him? Perhaps calm herself. "Ianto survived the Battle."
Gwen's confused questions were interrupted by a welcome voice, even if it belonged to Owen. "Tea-boy's right, to some extent." Ianto hid his surprise as easily as he hid his anger, slowly averting his gaze from his arm (Gwen removed her hand at the snap of Owen's voice) to Owen who chewed a pen while his attention was on Ianto. Disgusting habit, Ianto found many half-chewed pens laying around the Hub. He would have called Owen on his oral fixation, but didn't since Owen never bitched about missing medical supplies. "But not perfect in practical application." A chewed pen cap was pointed in his direction and Ianto couldn't stop the small curl of his lip in distaste at the gnawed, twisted plastic. "You turned away all the psychiatrists I lined up for you. Why?"
This time, Ianto couldn't smother the startled expression, darting a quick look at Jack for explanation but the man just shrugged his shoulders and looked as surprised as Ianto felt. He'd thought maybe Jack in a fit of guilt had been behind the phone calls and attempts to confirm appointments, half-hearted attempts to slap plasters on a gaping wound. After Lisa, one had even showed up on his doorstep. He'd sent her away as easily as he had the others - when one had experience with how they worked, it was easy to speak their language. "That was you?"
Owen snorted and went back to chewing his pen, almost more pleasant than it being waved in his direction. "We were on site the next day retrieving the most dangerous alien artifacts and two of your lot are in such a state they show up ready to work, either not grasping or in denial that their building's gone." His chair spun as Owen enjoyed the attention, though Ianto's was purely disbelief. "I contacted a few people I knew, made sure the survivors had access to help. Asshole, not heartless."
Ianto shook his head slightly, more to clear his mind than in denial that Owen had just admitted to performing good which went unrecognized. And that he had a heart. It was like learning there was no Santa. "Thank you," Ianto said with utmost sincerity, still trying to wrap his brain around Owen and good deeds. "They were left to fend for themselves, I'm sure your help was appreciated."
He didn't look at Jack; didn't need to. Ianto could feel Jack's glare tearing pieces in his armor for the subtle jab directed at the leader of Torchwood Three. This would be brought up later in private conversation for certain. Perhaps not entirely fair as Jack had no responsibility for anyone at Torchwood One, nor had he ever voiced desire to be in any way connected to the outfit. However, Jack had been the sole remaining visible leadership within Torchwood ranks and he'd walked away with the tech and turned his back on the twenty-seven who'd survived. Maybe they deserved it; Ianto knew London's hubris had brought its own destruction. But apparently he still fostered a bit of subconscious resentment, tucked away behind duty and responsibility, memories and the present day. He'd blame it on stress for the deliberate stab at Jack in such a public forum except for the sudden awareness that the thought did exist and it felt remarkably good to voice.
Oh, they'd be discussing this later. He'd be lucky if he didn't get written up for insubordination. If Jack cared about things like employee paperwork; Ianto was hardly writing his own insubordination report.
Owen's nod was the only hint that he even recognized the thanks before he snapped back to the Owen Ianto recognized and was far more comfortable with. "Now answer the question. I'd refer to your medical history for an explanation, but that's right, you haven't any."
"Haven't any what?" Jack finally spoke up, though the conversation was veering quickly into a direction Ianto didn't want it to go. Nothing in front of the others, not in front of Owen; hell, he didn't even want to have it again with Jack. It wasn't pertinent to the conversation, it wasn't necessary to discuss any of the information shared thus far.
"Medical history. Family, vaccinations, injuries, illness. London was notorious for paperwork and records but Ianto's are a big nothing until he joined us."
Ianto lost whatever gratitude he had towards Owen and felt the comfort of the facade of calm slip over him again, tight as a glove and just as warm. He picked up his pen again, set it down once more on the notepad perfectly aligned down the center as he reminded himself to breathe, nudging the pad a little to the left, then back to perpendicular again as he gave himself a moment. What he wouldn't give to slip back into the shadows of Torchwood Three, working unnoticed by the others, his presence essentially forgotten until something was needed. The team was staring again; he could almost read the script Tosh was writing in her head to circumvent whatever had erased his files, to search down the missing history that wasn't so much missing as deliberately gone. His mother would not be a matter of Torchwood and he'd had little of a pre-Torchwood medical file to begin with. "All of which are of no importance to this investigation. My personal life has no bearing on the situation so I kindly ask you stay the fuck out." He smiled at the table without really looking at any of the faces, knowing the expression was just as empty as he intended.
Although, perhaps it wasn't a good thing to be demonstrating a change in behavior; he never cursed in front of the team. Yet another tick on Owen's checklist.
"Your personal life has a nasty habit of becoming a Torchwood situation."
"Enough!" Jack's interruption didn't distract Ianto from his stand-off with Owen. While the doctor was stubborn and intense, forehead knitted in concentration, his pen resting forgotten on his lips as he tried to figure out what he perceived a great mystery, Ianto remained as still and unaffected as ever, save for the incredible pressure he felt on every finger and joint as he restrained himself from reacting. He wouldn't, and he knew to the casual observer nothing would appear amiss. But he could feel it, a vibrating urge to act in response to Owen's jab. Owen wasn't worth it, but the temptation was great.
Besides, his lack of response seemed to unnerve Owen and there was some satisfaction to that.
"Ianto's right, the information's not important now." Before Ianto's lips could curl into a smirk, Jack pointed at him and looked equally as determined as he had when addressing Owen. "However, if it does gain relevance then you'll inform your doctor. Clear?"
Not bothering to agree - he'd do it if ordered by his employer and Ianto trusted Jack enough not to abuse that privilege - Ianto instead refocused on the team, pointing to the CCTV camera in the corner. "No more of this. My life is not for your entertainment. If I need help, I'll contact you on the comms; if I'm needed for more tests, I'll answer." Ianto stood and gathered his pen and notepad as professionally as he could without appearing wooden. Not difficult, professionalism and decorum were standard operation procedure and training for London. "Notify me of meetings pertaining to new discoveries, if they're to discuss the state of my mental health, don't bother."
"Ianto, we don't think-"
"No." Ianto cut Gwen off before she could say anything more; he simply didn't want to hear it. "If you think it's necessary because you believe I've gone mad, then you shouldn't be discussing it in front of me. Otherwise, leave me alone, I'll not be party to these invasions of my privacy."
No one argued when he left.
Next Chapter
Chapter: 4 of 10
Author: sarcasticchick
Pairing: Jack/Ianto
Rating: R
Spoilers: TW S1, S2
Fluffers/Betas: lilithilien
Summary: "A hallucination is a fact, not an error; what is erroneous is a judgement based upon it." - Bertrand Russell
Please see full A/N for story details, credits, and posting schedule.
Previous Chapters:
The Windhovers (1 of 10)
The Windhovers (2 of 10)
The Windhovers (3 of 10)
A/N: Fanart! I've got fanart! *dances* The lovely love_jackianto has created a perfectly woobie Ianto/Jack fanart for the previous chapter. *mrphs at the Janto hug* Still working out the details as far as posting the image and all that, but check it out now! Fanart: Chapter 3. Hee this makes me glee. Lots. Can you tell? *smishes love_jackianto*
Chapter 4
Nearly eight hours of overt observation (Jack, Tosh via the internal CCTV), not-so-subtle covert monitoring (Gwen, who would fail miserably as a spy), tests of every nature, and writing down every artifact he could remember coming into contact with for the past two weeks left Ianto in an incredibly foul mood. Not that he thought it should be any different - according to official Torchwood policy he ought to be confined to a cell - so he considered himself lucky by that account. But the constant, heavy weight of eyes on his back watching for the next chink and the conversations that ended as soon as he arrived, clumsily altered to discussions of the weather or the Rift, ratcheted his anxiety to new levels.
He didn't blame the team; he could practically feel Tosh's concern when he'd handed her afternoon coffee. They were worried, but whether from protective self-interest or honest care for his wellbeing he couldn't discern. And if it made Tosh feel reassured to train the cameras on him wherever he went, he couldn't argue. However, his graciousness didn't kill the unsettling irritation crawling like bugs beneath his skin, distracting him from the perfect cup of coffee (twice remade) because he couldn't be trusted to work the bloody coffee machine without spooking. He might steam himself to death while making Gwen's coffee. And wouldn't that be one for the Torchwood books: Ianto Jones, death by latte.
Fuck, it'd be hilarious if it weren't so true. And he'd laugh, but laughter would most likely be misconstrued as a symptom of whatever ailed him; another tick box in Owen's notes, Tosh would add that to her search parameters and Gwen would tell him that perhaps a nap would do him well.
They'd watch and record, they were watching and recording, and while Ianto desperately tried to understand and rationalize why, the hair on the back of his neck never relaxed. He'd spent eight bloody hours in a state of half-crazed adrenaline alert confusing his fight-or-flight until it felt like even Myfanwy watched, concerned and wary from her alcove.
If he wasn't mad, Torchwood would succeed in driving him there. Day one, confined to Torchwood Three's main Hub with nothing to do but pace, tidy up, and brew bloody coffee, as he'd been officially placed on restricted duty and couldn't even venture to the Archives without someone holding his hand to make sure he didn't get into trouble.
Nothing to do but think about what he'd seen, what he'd done.
In frustration, Ianto slammed his hand against the coffee machine, wincing when all he received for his effort was a stinging palm and a jarred shoulder when the machine didn't budge. He'd curse the thing if he thought it'd do any good, then realized someone had most likely witnessed that display as well. 'Subject prone to fits of violence and self-inflicted harm upon his person'; Ianto could almost see the annotated notes in Owen's reports, clinical and detached as a good doctor should be.
At this rate, he wasn't going to last a night, much less seven.
"Feel better?"
Eyes. Everyone watching. It wasn't paranoia if it was true.
Ianto spun slowly on his heel, not bothering to hide rubbing the sting from his palm as he faced Jack who leaned ever so casually against the pillar. Hands stuffed in his pockets and looking small without his greatcoat, Jack was almost the perfect picture of indifference. But Ianto knew that mega-watt, full-toothed smile which never was as honest as one believed it to be. "Would you care for some coffee?" Ianto asked, blatantly ignored Jack's question ; answering honestly would gain him nothing and Jack would see through the lies.
"It's only for a week."
"Only?" Ianto gave up pretence of maintaining any form of calm, stabbing into the air in the direction of the CCTV cameras, though he kept his voice down so at least the others wouldn't hear what he said. "Now I know what an animal in the zoo feels like, on display twenty-four hours a day."
"They're worried." Ianto didn't ask if 'they' included Jack, in part because he simply didn't want to know the answer, but also because thought derailed when Jack took hold of his injured hand and pressed his lips against the tender skin. Just a simple, small gesture, but one that deflated Ianto's fury and softened the angry line of his scowl when Jack moved the kiss from palm to lips. Maybe Jack did understand; it didn't make the monitoring any less invasive or the intrusion into his private frustration less unwanted, but Jack asked patience and forgiveness in the kiss melting Ianto's ire as completely as his body unwound and draped against the cabinets, losing individual shape until it identified as sharp angles and mirrored reflection of Jack.
"Come on, conference room." Ianto opened his eyes from the languid haze Jack had reduced him to, a slow burn that promised rather than demanded and Ianto found it difficult disengaging to focus on Jack's words laced with a touch of amusement. His unspoken question was answered, however, while Jack straightened the lay of suit coat for him. "We're going to be discussing you, I assumed you'd want to participate."
Bastard. He was so relaxed he could hardly work up the effort it would take to become outraged at the idea of the team conferring about him. Probably intentional on Jack's part. Most likely, given Jack's smirk, though his hands weren't smirking so much as encouraging as they made sure Ianto's suit was in order. He collected himself enough for what was most likely to be an uncomfortable conversation focused on him.
***
"I've sent his labs to Martha for a second opinion, but nothing abnormal in the scans or bloodwork, no trace of alien chip or compound, no injection sites or even a scratch."
Ianto should have been overjoyed at his labs returning normal but was instead quietly seething that Owen would have sent his files to UNIT for fuck's sake, for a physician consult without informing him first. They'd already covered Gwen's inquiries with the police and A&E for anyone brought in displaying similar symptoms - all turning up empty. Then Tosh had launched into her theories ranging from Billis (as yet undismissed) to alien signal to an artifact in the Archives. Rather, the team discussed and Ianto primarily focused on maintaining a level of calm indifference as his entire history for the past two weeks was dissected and analyzed. And now his medical records were being flung about without his consent. He was fairly certain he had a say in their dispersal, but then, when did Torchwood Three ever follow the rules.
And now Jack and Owen were engaged in an exchange Ianto could only half-follow as they were speaking in partial sentences about something which they both were familiar with but left nameless. At least Tosh and Gwen looked as lost as he felt.
"So no..."
"No. No sign."
"You're sure?"
"I know what I'm looking for, Harkness, and no, no sign."
Ianto twisted the pen in his hand sharply, not breaking the barrel but feeling moderately better for the small action while the rest of him was held steady. Of course he didn't need to know what they were talking about. It was only his body and his life they were discussing as though it was the latest threat of the week. Frustrating, humiliating, hell, Owen even had a computer display for the results of the urinalysis, complete with bar graphs of white blood cells and protein counts as well as negatives for known drugs, both human and alien. He didn't think it was possible to hate the man more. And now he had no idea what they were discussing, only that it related to him and he was showing no sign.
Brilliant.
More images, more conversation about what it wasn't. No alien gas corrupting his bloodstream, no particles in his clothing, apparently despite his poor diet he was in perfect health, although his body temperature was slightly elevated, but given no indication of infection Owen discarded the information from relevancy. Comparison analysis run on the previous blood and DNA samples revealed no change.
No aliens, no nothing. Just Ianto.
"What if we're making this too complicated. Maybe it's not alien at all."
The general chatter died instantly at Gwen's words, well intentioned as though they might be, though Ianto was personally having a very difficult time finding any small measure of good intent. If it wasn't alien in nature, then there was only one other option he knew for the visions when his body was in perfect health.
Calmly, he set the pen down, perfectly perpendicular to his body with just a slight 'snap' as the plastic struck the table, parallel to the notepad he adjusted just so until it too fell into alignment. And he breathed, he remembered to breathe through the stranglehold in his chest, panic held at bay for the moment but only just as the silence continued and all eyes turned on him. It might have been minutes, half an hour, or two seconds for all Ianto could tell, slipping back in the chair until his spine, straight and tall - no slouch - pressed firm into the thin padding. Every move was deliberate, every action purposeful to wrap himself in dense steel to deflect anything and everything. Straighten his tie, gently clasp his fingers in front of him with his elbows resting casually on the arm rests.
Small smile for PC Cooper. Remembered to breathe. "And in your expert opinion, what might be afflicting me if it's not alien?"
"Oh god, Ianto," Gwen clapped a hand over her mouth, looking about the room with, if Ianto were to be asked, a certain degree of desperation for someone to intercede. Ianto wouldn't have been that surprised at this point if someone had. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean...I don't think you're..."
"Insane?" Breathe, Ianto reminded himself. No panic, no fear, no anxiety. Just calm, blue skies, a friendly conversation among friends. "If my faculties have been in any way diminished due to a mental illness, I believe any number of my earlier experiences would have broken me long before the stress of making you coffee or planning your wedding."
Her eyes grew large and Ianto swore he saw the gears shift to an alternate track. He should be kind, he knew her question wasn't completely out of line and his remark was far less than cordial. In fact, he'd be lying to himself to say he hadn't feared something similar. But if this was to be a conversation about his mental stability he would rather have not been invited. She didn't deserve the swipe -- his temper stressed to snapping -- but he couldn't bring himself to apologize.
"Lisa." She nodded in presumed understanding, a better friend than he as the comment struck her and still she tried to empathize. Gwen stretched out her hand to touch his arm and he wished he was on the other side of the table as in a proper police interview, no touching allowed for all the touch unnerved him. "Losing someone you love is traumatic, I think I'd lose my mind if I lost Rhys."
Ianto stared at the slim fingers resting on his arm and truly wished she would stop touching him. The wide-eyed, tearful compassion made him physically sick for as misplaced as it felt, or else it was her sweet perfume that was overwhelming in the closed conference room. But he believed it the first; it was wrong, her compassion was wrong, and while it was genuine, it didn't fit in a way he couldn't explain but it made his jaw tighten as he restrained himself from jerking away. That wouldn't be proper or calm. He couldn't risk that.
For a brief, horrible moment, however, he guiltily acknowledged a small hope that whatever he had was catchable.
"It wasn't just Lisa." Tosh's vioce was timid but loud enough to stop whatever Gwen was going to say next, her lips snapping shut but she still left her hand on his arm, apparently to calm him? Perhaps calm herself. "Ianto survived the Battle."
Gwen's confused questions were interrupted by a welcome voice, even if it belonged to Owen. "Tea-boy's right, to some extent." Ianto hid his surprise as easily as he hid his anger, slowly averting his gaze from his arm (Gwen removed her hand at the snap of Owen's voice) to Owen who chewed a pen while his attention was on Ianto. Disgusting habit, Ianto found many half-chewed pens laying around the Hub. He would have called Owen on his oral fixation, but didn't since Owen never bitched about missing medical supplies. "But not perfect in practical application." A chewed pen cap was pointed in his direction and Ianto couldn't stop the small curl of his lip in distaste at the gnawed, twisted plastic. "You turned away all the psychiatrists I lined up for you. Why?"
This time, Ianto couldn't smother the startled expression, darting a quick look at Jack for explanation but the man just shrugged his shoulders and looked as surprised as Ianto felt. He'd thought maybe Jack in a fit of guilt had been behind the phone calls and attempts to confirm appointments, half-hearted attempts to slap plasters on a gaping wound. After Lisa, one had even showed up on his doorstep. He'd sent her away as easily as he had the others - when one had experience with how they worked, it was easy to speak their language. "That was you?"
Owen snorted and went back to chewing his pen, almost more pleasant than it being waved in his direction. "We were on site the next day retrieving the most dangerous alien artifacts and two of your lot are in such a state they show up ready to work, either not grasping or in denial that their building's gone." His chair spun as Owen enjoyed the attention, though Ianto's was purely disbelief. "I contacted a few people I knew, made sure the survivors had access to help. Asshole, not heartless."
Ianto shook his head slightly, more to clear his mind than in denial that Owen had just admitted to performing good which went unrecognized. And that he had a heart. It was like learning there was no Santa. "Thank you," Ianto said with utmost sincerity, still trying to wrap his brain around Owen and good deeds. "They were left to fend for themselves, I'm sure your help was appreciated."
He didn't look at Jack; didn't need to. Ianto could feel Jack's glare tearing pieces in his armor for the subtle jab directed at the leader of Torchwood Three. This would be brought up later in private conversation for certain. Perhaps not entirely fair as Jack had no responsibility for anyone at Torchwood One, nor had he ever voiced desire to be in any way connected to the outfit. However, Jack had been the sole remaining visible leadership within Torchwood ranks and he'd walked away with the tech and turned his back on the twenty-seven who'd survived. Maybe they deserved it; Ianto knew London's hubris had brought its own destruction. But apparently he still fostered a bit of subconscious resentment, tucked away behind duty and responsibility, memories and the present day. He'd blame it on stress for the deliberate stab at Jack in such a public forum except for the sudden awareness that the thought did exist and it felt remarkably good to voice.
Oh, they'd be discussing this later. He'd be lucky if he didn't get written up for insubordination. If Jack cared about things like employee paperwork; Ianto was hardly writing his own insubordination report.
Owen's nod was the only hint that he even recognized the thanks before he snapped back to the Owen Ianto recognized and was far more comfortable with. "Now answer the question. I'd refer to your medical history for an explanation, but that's right, you haven't any."
"Haven't any what?" Jack finally spoke up, though the conversation was veering quickly into a direction Ianto didn't want it to go. Nothing in front of the others, not in front of Owen; hell, he didn't even want to have it again with Jack. It wasn't pertinent to the conversation, it wasn't necessary to discuss any of the information shared thus far.
"Medical history. Family, vaccinations, injuries, illness. London was notorious for paperwork and records but Ianto's are a big nothing until he joined us."
Ianto lost whatever gratitude he had towards Owen and felt the comfort of the facade of calm slip over him again, tight as a glove and just as warm. He picked up his pen again, set it down once more on the notepad perfectly aligned down the center as he reminded himself to breathe, nudging the pad a little to the left, then back to perpendicular again as he gave himself a moment. What he wouldn't give to slip back into the shadows of Torchwood Three, working unnoticed by the others, his presence essentially forgotten until something was needed. The team was staring again; he could almost read the script Tosh was writing in her head to circumvent whatever had erased his files, to search down the missing history that wasn't so much missing as deliberately gone. His mother would not be a matter of Torchwood and he'd had little of a pre-Torchwood medical file to begin with. "All of which are of no importance to this investigation. My personal life has no bearing on the situation so I kindly ask you stay the fuck out." He smiled at the table without really looking at any of the faces, knowing the expression was just as empty as he intended.
Although, perhaps it wasn't a good thing to be demonstrating a change in behavior; he never cursed in front of the team. Yet another tick on Owen's checklist.
"Your personal life has a nasty habit of becoming a Torchwood situation."
"Enough!" Jack's interruption didn't distract Ianto from his stand-off with Owen. While the doctor was stubborn and intense, forehead knitted in concentration, his pen resting forgotten on his lips as he tried to figure out what he perceived a great mystery, Ianto remained as still and unaffected as ever, save for the incredible pressure he felt on every finger and joint as he restrained himself from reacting. He wouldn't, and he knew to the casual observer nothing would appear amiss. But he could feel it, a vibrating urge to act in response to Owen's jab. Owen wasn't worth it, but the temptation was great.
Besides, his lack of response seemed to unnerve Owen and there was some satisfaction to that.
"Ianto's right, the information's not important now." Before Ianto's lips could curl into a smirk, Jack pointed at him and looked equally as determined as he had when addressing Owen. "However, if it does gain relevance then you'll inform your doctor. Clear?"
Not bothering to agree - he'd do it if ordered by his employer and Ianto trusted Jack enough not to abuse that privilege - Ianto instead refocused on the team, pointing to the CCTV camera in the corner. "No more of this. My life is not for your entertainment. If I need help, I'll contact you on the comms; if I'm needed for more tests, I'll answer." Ianto stood and gathered his pen and notepad as professionally as he could without appearing wooden. Not difficult, professionalism and decorum were standard operation procedure and training for London. "Notify me of meetings pertaining to new discoveries, if they're to discuss the state of my mental health, don't bother."
"Ianto, we don't think-"
"No." Ianto cut Gwen off before she could say anything more; he simply didn't want to hear it. "If you think it's necessary because you believe I've gone mad, then you shouldn't be discussing it in front of me. Otherwise, leave me alone, I'll not be party to these invasions of my privacy."
No one argued when he left.
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