Fic: Fitting In
Title: Fitting In
Author: badly_knitted
Characters: Ianto, his TARDIS.
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Nada.
Summary: Finding Jack is not going to be easy. Ianto knows that first he’ll need to find a way to fit in among the people whose help he’s going to need.
Word Count: 1234
Written For: Prompt 179 - Faking It at fandomweekly.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Torchwood, or the characters. They belong to the BBC.
A/N: Set in my ‘Through Time and Space’ ‘Verse.
Ianto had in no way been prepared for this. If he’d ever given so much as a passing thought to someday leaving earth and travelling among the stars, visiting other worlds, and encountering alien races in their natural environments, he’d expected that he’d be with Jack, and probably the Doctor, not all by himself.
Not that he WAS by himself, not completely; he had his TARDIS for company and support, but she was fairly new to space travel herself. It was difficult to gain experience of other worlds and other peoples while growing under a heat lamp on a desk in the underground base of a secret alien-hunting organisation. Growing to maturity in the void, cut off from practically everything, hadn’t done much to further her education either.
Nevertheless, here they were, far from earth and everything that was familiar, travelling from planet to planet in search of Jack, who didn’t even know anyone was looking for him. Ianto had never felt more completely out of his depth.
All he knew of other worlds came from the tales Jack used to tell of his adventures with the Time Agency, and later, with the Doctor. To make matters worse, Ianto had no way of knowing how much of those stories was the truth and how much was artistic embellishment, or even outright lies. Jack had always spun a good yarn, but Ianto had read his reports and knew the other man to be an expert at bending and stretching the truth to suit his own purposes.
Whatever he and his TARDIS needed to learn they would have to find out for themselves, and perhaps it was better that way. Knowledge that came too easily could be just as easily disregarded, and that kind of carelessness could get them into serious trouble. No, they were better off finding their own way rather than relying on second-hand information of dubious accuracy.
His TARDIS was busy everywhere they went absorbing as much information as she could, watching, listening, learning, and sometimes remembering things passed down to her by the TARDIS equivalent of ancestral memory. Ianto was trying to do the same, in a much more limited fashion, but he was still at a disadvantage, especially since they’d stopped looking for Jack around the docks and more… official areas of the space stations and spaceports they visited and turned their attention to the seedier side of town.
Ianto Jones, former Torchwood archivist and general support officer, clad in his immaculate three-piece suits, could never hope to fit in amongst the smugglers, thieves, and sundry other lowlifes who frequented such places. He would have immediately drawn their suspicion, which was the last thing he needed, and yet it was necessary that he be able to move freely amongst them, asking questions without putting himself on anyone’s radar.
If in doubt, fall back on what you know; someone had told him that a long time ago, and it had stuck. There was just one problem; Ianto didn’t know anything that might help him in this situation. His experience as a Torchwood field agent was useless; he might have become reasonably skilled at dealing with humans and the odd Weevil, but this wasn’t earth, and most of the people didn’t look or think like humans. He racked his brain for ideas, and eventually came up with one; maybe his slight obsession with a certain series of spy movies hadn’t been such a waste of time after all.
He smiled to himself. Okay, so what would James Bond do?
007 would find a way to blend in. He’d dress to suit his environment, act like the people around him, think the way they did… Ianto frowned; how did one think like an alien? The answer was obvious: he’d have to study them, learn from them, then emulate them, but he’d have to be very careful not to draw unwanted attention.
First, he’d need another identity. He could remain Ianto Jones for any legal activities, but for anything illicit he’d have to reinvent himself.
But who as? It would have to be a name that would mean something to Jack, something that would catch his attention if he heard it. James Bond was too obvious. Sean Connery, Ianto’s favourite Bond, was too Scottish for a Welshman. He smiled suddenly. Of course! Desmond Llewellyn, Des for short; that would work. Now he just needed an outfit to go with the name, so he headed for the wardrobe room.
What he picked out was more Indiana Jones than Q, but it was comfortable, hardwearing, and drab enough not to stand out: loose-fitting brown cargo pants, a battered brown leather jacket, a nondescript tunic shirt that looked like it might have been white at one time, even though it had always been this dirty beige colour, sturdy but scuffed ankle boots, and a wide-brimmed hat that would help to hide his face. An old canvas shoulder bag completed the look.
For a few days he resisted shaving, or washing his hair, making sure he looked suitably scruffy, and he had the TARDIS stop off briefly on an uninhabited planet where he could dirty himself up a bit by rolling on the dry, dusty ground. His clothes needed to appear lived in; showing up looking too clean would be a dead giveaway. Finally, he felt ready to venture out as Des for the first time.
‘Are you sure this is wise, Ianto?’ His TARDIS spoke in his mind.
‘Wise?’ he replied, thinking the words rather than saying them out loud. ‘Possibly not, but I know what I’m doing, I swear. At least, I think I do.’
‘Be careful. I do not wish to lose you.’
‘You won’t; I’m immortal. Anyway, I’ll have you watching my back, and everything around me, right?’
‘Of course.’
‘Then I have nothing to worry about. It’ll be like having eyes in the back of my head, but a lot more comfortable.’
Taking a deep breath, Ianto slung his bag across his shoulders and stepped out of his TARDIS, who’d disguised herself as a shabby wooden door halfway along a rubbish-strewn alleyway. Nerves fluttered like butterflies in his stomach, but he knew he couldn’t let that show. He had to appear calm and confident, sure of himself, if he wanted the people he met to accept him as one of their own. Because Des Llewellyn belonged here; Ianto had to believe that completely if he expected others to. In time, as he established himself, he hoped it would become the truth.
He might have to take on the occasional job, however. He intended to sell himself as a mercenary, specialising in bodyguard work, with a side-line in transporting stolen goods; that was something he could easily do with the help of his TARDIS. He wasn’t quite there yet though. Building a reputation took time.
He remembered what Jack had told him once about being a conman. “Fake it well enough and you can make people believe anything. Sometimes you even end up believing it yourself.”
That was what he had to do, just keep faking it until he believed it, until Des Llewellyn became just another facet of himself. He could do it, because he had to; there was no other choice. If he was ever going to find Jack, he needed to learn the ways of the universe; this was the first step.
The End
Author: badly_knitted
Characters: Ianto, his TARDIS.
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Nada.
Summary: Finding Jack is not going to be easy. Ianto knows that first he’ll need to find a way to fit in among the people whose help he’s going to need.
Word Count: 1234
Written For: Prompt 179 - Faking It at fandomweekly.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Torchwood, or the characters. They belong to the BBC.
A/N: Set in my ‘Through Time and Space’ ‘Verse.
Ianto had in no way been prepared for this. If he’d ever given so much as a passing thought to someday leaving earth and travelling among the stars, visiting other worlds, and encountering alien races in their natural environments, he’d expected that he’d be with Jack, and probably the Doctor, not all by himself.
Not that he WAS by himself, not completely; he had his TARDIS for company and support, but she was fairly new to space travel herself. It was difficult to gain experience of other worlds and other peoples while growing under a heat lamp on a desk in the underground base of a secret alien-hunting organisation. Growing to maturity in the void, cut off from practically everything, hadn’t done much to further her education either.
Nevertheless, here they were, far from earth and everything that was familiar, travelling from planet to planet in search of Jack, who didn’t even know anyone was looking for him. Ianto had never felt more completely out of his depth.
All he knew of other worlds came from the tales Jack used to tell of his adventures with the Time Agency, and later, with the Doctor. To make matters worse, Ianto had no way of knowing how much of those stories was the truth and how much was artistic embellishment, or even outright lies. Jack had always spun a good yarn, but Ianto had read his reports and knew the other man to be an expert at bending and stretching the truth to suit his own purposes.
Whatever he and his TARDIS needed to learn they would have to find out for themselves, and perhaps it was better that way. Knowledge that came too easily could be just as easily disregarded, and that kind of carelessness could get them into serious trouble. No, they were better off finding their own way rather than relying on second-hand information of dubious accuracy.
His TARDIS was busy everywhere they went absorbing as much information as she could, watching, listening, learning, and sometimes remembering things passed down to her by the TARDIS equivalent of ancestral memory. Ianto was trying to do the same, in a much more limited fashion, but he was still at a disadvantage, especially since they’d stopped looking for Jack around the docks and more… official areas of the space stations and spaceports they visited and turned their attention to the seedier side of town.
Ianto Jones, former Torchwood archivist and general support officer, clad in his immaculate three-piece suits, could never hope to fit in amongst the smugglers, thieves, and sundry other lowlifes who frequented such places. He would have immediately drawn their suspicion, which was the last thing he needed, and yet it was necessary that he be able to move freely amongst them, asking questions without putting himself on anyone’s radar.
If in doubt, fall back on what you know; someone had told him that a long time ago, and it had stuck. There was just one problem; Ianto didn’t know anything that might help him in this situation. His experience as a Torchwood field agent was useless; he might have become reasonably skilled at dealing with humans and the odd Weevil, but this wasn’t earth, and most of the people didn’t look or think like humans. He racked his brain for ideas, and eventually came up with one; maybe his slight obsession with a certain series of spy movies hadn’t been such a waste of time after all.
He smiled to himself. Okay, so what would James Bond do?
007 would find a way to blend in. He’d dress to suit his environment, act like the people around him, think the way they did… Ianto frowned; how did one think like an alien? The answer was obvious: he’d have to study them, learn from them, then emulate them, but he’d have to be very careful not to draw unwanted attention.
First, he’d need another identity. He could remain Ianto Jones for any legal activities, but for anything illicit he’d have to reinvent himself.
But who as? It would have to be a name that would mean something to Jack, something that would catch his attention if he heard it. James Bond was too obvious. Sean Connery, Ianto’s favourite Bond, was too Scottish for a Welshman. He smiled suddenly. Of course! Desmond Llewellyn, Des for short; that would work. Now he just needed an outfit to go with the name, so he headed for the wardrobe room.
What he picked out was more Indiana Jones than Q, but it was comfortable, hardwearing, and drab enough not to stand out: loose-fitting brown cargo pants, a battered brown leather jacket, a nondescript tunic shirt that looked like it might have been white at one time, even though it had always been this dirty beige colour, sturdy but scuffed ankle boots, and a wide-brimmed hat that would help to hide his face. An old canvas shoulder bag completed the look.
For a few days he resisted shaving, or washing his hair, making sure he looked suitably scruffy, and he had the TARDIS stop off briefly on an uninhabited planet where he could dirty himself up a bit by rolling on the dry, dusty ground. His clothes needed to appear lived in; showing up looking too clean would be a dead giveaway. Finally, he felt ready to venture out as Des for the first time.
‘Are you sure this is wise, Ianto?’ His TARDIS spoke in his mind.
‘Wise?’ he replied, thinking the words rather than saying them out loud. ‘Possibly not, but I know what I’m doing, I swear. At least, I think I do.’
‘Be careful. I do not wish to lose you.’
‘You won’t; I’m immortal. Anyway, I’ll have you watching my back, and everything around me, right?’
‘Of course.’
‘Then I have nothing to worry about. It’ll be like having eyes in the back of my head, but a lot more comfortable.’
Taking a deep breath, Ianto slung his bag across his shoulders and stepped out of his TARDIS, who’d disguised herself as a shabby wooden door halfway along a rubbish-strewn alleyway. Nerves fluttered like butterflies in his stomach, but he knew he couldn’t let that show. He had to appear calm and confident, sure of himself, if he wanted the people he met to accept him as one of their own. Because Des Llewellyn belonged here; Ianto had to believe that completely if he expected others to. In time, as he established himself, he hoped it would become the truth.
He might have to take on the occasional job, however. He intended to sell himself as a mercenary, specialising in bodyguard work, with a side-line in transporting stolen goods; that was something he could easily do with the help of his TARDIS. He wasn’t quite there yet though. Building a reputation took time.
He remembered what Jack had told him once about being a conman. “Fake it well enough and you can make people believe anything. Sometimes you even end up believing it yourself.”
That was what he had to do, just keep faking it until he believed it, until Des Llewellyn became just another facet of himself. He could do it, because he had to; there was no other choice. If he was ever going to find Jack, he needed to learn the ways of the universe; this was the first step.
The End