Torchwood
Sleeping With Ghosts
Watching Hart leave with the clone gives you a not completely dissatisfying sense of warm nostalgia. Honestly, you think a few hours of something like happiness is the least you can do for your sometimes ex-lover.
Ianto waits until the doors are firmly shut before materialising out from the shadows he’s been lurking in. “Sir?” he says, all prim and efficient and standing just on the edge of your vision. A part of you — a large part, truth be told — wishes you could just send him away, but…
“Give them a few hours. Hart will sleep; remote kill-switch for the clone and a delta-class implant for the Captain.” Hart was always most dangerous when caged. It’s likely you’ll be able to keep him content on dreams of sex and camaraderie with your former selves, but it always pays to have a backup plan.
Ianto makes a slight move in your peripheral vision which is likely a nod. “Yes sir,” he says, no trace of anything there but obedient acceptance.
And maybe it’s just the sort of day that it’s been, but as he turns to go — to calmly prepare and execute a plan that makes even your heart ache — you say, “… Ianto?”
“Sir?”
‘Sir’ indeed.
Once upon a time, so many years ago, a desperate boy offered you almost anything for a job. You think maybe the cruelest thing you’ve ever done was take him up on his promise.
Ianto moves, circling around to crouch in front of you. “Sir?” He’s concerned now, raising one hand to press against the glass; the edge of three hexagonal tattoos peeking out above the cuff of his shirt. It occurs to you that, given a few more years, you’re going to have to start on the other arm.
Because the truth is… you don’t have anything to say. Not to answer his question, nor to explain why you’ve kept him here. Only that two floors below the ghost of your past is whispering filthy promises to your most dangerous ex, while three floors below that the stranger who was never your lover paces restlessly in his cage. Death is teaching two ghosts Boeshane poker and somewhere deep underground an entire room full of Ianto Jones wait patiently to be called on.
There’s a storm coming, and even though you’ve had aeons to prepare, you still feel… adrift.
Ianto says nothing, instead holding himself near-motionless and meeting your gaze evenly; one of the few people who still can. You can access his entire biogenic imprint in seconds but still, somehow, that information gives you no insight into what he’s thinking. Chillingly, you doubt the feeling is mutual.
And maybe you’d be happy to stay in this moment forever, but Ianto’s legs will cramp and a hobbling assassin is no assassin at all. Still, you can’t bring yourself to send him away. So you summon someone who can.
Ianto doesn’t even blink when Jack’s hand falls heavily on his shoulder.
“C’mon.” Jack’s eyes flick to yours momentarily and you know he’s displeased. Honestly, sometimes you think the only reason your various clones don’t try and kill you is due to the futility; there are some past selves you can’t work with at all for that exact reason. It doesn’t bother you; their opinions are, after all, simply your own writ small. Jack, at least, realises that. Realises that fact is what makes him useful. You’ve had worse working relationships.
Ianto’s other hand reaches up to cover Jack’s, though his eyes are still on yours when he says, “I trust you.”
The words hurt, all the more for being true, and you close your eyes against the honesty.
“Ianto.” Jack’s voice is cold, but the emotion is directed at you and so you endure it silently. Listen to their footsteps as Jack leads his love away. You think maybe they’ll argue a little when Ianto tells Jack your plans for Hart (not that Jack expects him to disobey, of course, but you’re grateful that he can voice the qualms you cannot). After, they’ll retreat somewhere to make love; Jack will likely broadcast this to you live via the MnemLink, as he tends to do when he takes umbrage against your use of Ianto’s loyalty. The predictability of this act does not, in any way, lessen the pain you will feel at the reminder of a time when your most useful creation was your most treasured love. Nor can you begrudge Jack his anger, nor Ianto his devotion.
And in the meantime, you will do what you’ve been doing for aeons; think and plan.
Because there’s a storm coming.
But it’s not here yet.