Just Another Word (Part 4)
Rating: PG-13 (will eventually be NC-17)
Word count: ~ 2,000 (this part)
Warnings: Absolutely nothing for this chapter. Not even a lot of angst. There must be something wrong with me… O.o
Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of their respective owners. I am in no way associated with the creators, and no copyright infringement is intended.
A/N: Hardcore Whovians who know the original series will probably shoot me for this. Let it just be said, I know I'm mixing up some of the stuff about the Matrix. It’s deliberate. I'm sorry. ^.^' But this chapter has a bit more explanation on the who/what/how side of things. If you’re not familiar with the Matrix in Doctor Who, there’s a wiki page here. It should answer some of your questions if you don’t want to wait for more answers in the story.
Chapter Four
Jack doesn’t visit for another nine days. Ianto’s net exactly certain why Jack stays away, but when he comes staggering into the flat loaded down with grocery bags to see the Captain sitting at his kitchen counter, giving him the biggest, bluest puppy eyes Ianto has ever see, he doesn’t need the most powerful computer on Earth in his head to figure out why Jack is finally there.
He drops the bags onto the floor, rolls his eyes, and sighs for good measure. “Yes, Jack, I’ll make you coffee.”
And that’s the sum total of their meaningful conversation.
Ianto can't bring himself to mind. It’s a complicated issue, and they're both complicated people. Someday it will all come out, and they'll have to discuss what happened and why it happened and the like, but for now they can wall themselves up behind their stoic manliness and pretend that everything is just fine. And it is, for the most part, as long as they avoid all mention of work, machines, computers, the team, aliens, and their pasts.
This, unfortunately, leaves them with little to talk about except the weather, which is possible mainly because Jack only stays long enough to drink two cups of very strong black coffee and beg a thermos off Ianto before he breezes back out again, leaving Ianto standing bemused in his kitchen holding the coffeepot.
Tosh drops by to check on him every few days, and usually stays for a meal. It’s easier with her, because she knows what it’s like to do something horrible for a loved one, and to fail, and she knows what heartbreak is like. She’s a lovely person, too, kinder than she has any right to be when Ianto betrayed her, betrayed all of them.
Owen doesn’t come. Gwen comes to see him once, stares at him for a few minutes with her wide hazel eyes full of pity and enough empathy to make Ianto’s skin crawl, and them leaves with promises to be there if he ever wants to talk.
Tosh never asks him to talk. It’s one of the things Ianto likes best about her.
“Why?” Ianto questions on the twentieth day of his suspension. They're in his kitchen, preparing dinner, and Ianto’s been a little twitchy all day. When he woke up, Mainframe was a little deeper in his mind than she had been before, and Ianto had found himself cataloguing the molecular composition of his coffee as he drank it.
(At times, he thinks he can even feel the Earth turning under his feet, hurtling through space at 69,360.73 miles per hour, spinning at a rate of 465.1 miles per second, to a total of 1,040.7 miles per hour. This should scare him, he knows, but it’s too beautiful.)
Tosh looks at him like she understands, like it’s normal to ask a friend why they're helping, why they're still a friend even after everything.
“Because it’s hard,” she answers, stirring the Alfredo sauce. They’d agreed to have something utterly fattening, artery-clogging, and satisfying-comfort food. “And because it isn’t quite so hard if you’ve got help. Jack got me out of that UNIT cell, and then had to spend weeks holding my hand for everything. I'm just…helping.”
It goes unsaid that she knows what it’s like, knows a little of how he feels. Ianto doesn’t mention it, and Tosh pretends that he hasn’t read her file and learned her history.
They sit down to eat, and Ianto twirls his linguine around his fork for a moment before he sighs. “Torchwood seems to be a magnet for broken people,” he says eventually. “Might need to change the hiring policy.”
Tosh snorts into her pasta a little. “Jack already did that, remember? He hired Gwen.”
For a moment, they just look at each other, both trying to fit Gwen into some classification of “broken.” It doesn’t work, though, and Ianto eventually gives up and laughs, just a little.
“Of course,” he agrees, feeling amused and melancholy at the same time. “But give her a few weeks. I'm sure she’ll get there.”
A shared glance says it all.
Either Gwen will die in the line of duty-a Torchwood death, undoubtedly, weird and messy and most likely violent-or she’ll break, too. It’s only a matter of time.
*.~.*.~.*
In the end, it takes Ianto twenty-three days and seven hours before he gets so restless it’s either kill himself just for the change of pace or break the rules of his suspension and go to work.
He goes to work, even though it’s three o’clock in the morning.
(But then, Torchwood’s never been great at encouraging normal working hours.)
His access codes are still locked down, but Mainframe lets him in with barely any resistance. She’s in his head, knows what the forced inactivity is doing to him, and has worked out the probabilities to the last decimal point. Ianto needs to work or he’ll go mad, especially with her riding around in his skull-and really, how did that ever happen? Why hasn’t the interface broken yet? It’s a puzzle Ianto doesn’t particularly care to solve.
He can't solve it, at least not yet. Mainframe isn’t forthcoming about anything related to their connection, and Ianto doesn’t care enough to push-not now, not when it’s one of the things keeping him sane and alive. He simply lets her have free reign, listening to the soft hum as she calls up one of Tosh's monitoring programs. The data is already filling his mind, expanding until he knows it like he’s read it, filling his mind with predictions and possible outcomes and patching into the CCTV system for a first-hand observation. It’s a little terrifying, being able to do this so easily, but he’s experienced before. Granted, that was when he was hooked up to Mainframe and connected with wires and cables and monitoring equipment, but the feeling is the same.
It’s almost like they're merging, because the edges that define their separation are starting to blur.
Another surge of data-more weather patterns-sends him down to the Archives to retrieve an older file from a Torchwood team in Nottingham around 1920, who had reported similar regionalized weather abnormalities. When he returns, flipping through the file even though Mainframe has already called up all of the information, Jack is standing near his desk. He looks…haunted, in a way Ianto’s never seen before, though he covers it well.
“You shouldn’t be here,” the Captain says softly, and Ianto shifts his eyes away to stare down at the folder. He really shouldn’t, and he knows that, but he can't stay at his flat anymore, no matter how nicely he and Tosh decorated it, and Mainframe will shut him down if he tries to run anymore. It’s three in the morning and he has nowhere else to go. This is it for him; this is his life now. He’d thought that Jack of all people would understand that.
“Neither should you,” he answers, equally soft, and turns away.
The hand on his shoulder is a surprise-welcome, but shocking. It’s like a gesture of forgiveness. Perhaps they haven’t put Lisa entirely behind them yet, but there's a good chance they will, someday. Ianto wants to-he’s never been much of one for looking back, for regretting what’s already over and done. He can't, or the memories of Canary Wharf would cripple him in an instant. But Jack…Ianto’s always suspected that Jack dwells. He frets and regrets and thinks about it obsessively before he shoves it into a corner of his mind and pretends everything’s fine.
Ianto would say something, but then, he’s not exactly the poster child for stability himself.
Jack doesn’t ask him how he is, and Ianto doesn’t offer any information. He stays in the background as everything gets moving, plays the careful, conscientious butler the same way that he always does. And when the world falls apart for Jack, when Estelle is drowned on dry land and Jasmine chooses life with the fairies over her family and the team blames Jack for everything, Ianto is there with a cup of coffee and the papers for Jack to sign off on the funeral arrangements. It’s not usual, and against Torchwood regulations, but Ianto isn’t going to mention that.
More than anything, he wishes he could have given Lisa an appropriate burial. Jack obviously loved this woman, too, and she deserves what Lisa never had. A gravestone is small comfort for those left behind, but at least it’s something.
When Jack looks up at him the next morning, obviously in the midst of a hangover that’s probably nowhere near as bad as he’d like it to be, and says, “Thank you, Ianto,” that makes everything worthwhile.
“You're welcome, sir,” he answers, and maybe all isn’t right with the world again, but it’s at least a little more on track.
*.~.*.~.*
analyzing host interface…
complete.
conclusion: integration at 32.57%
projected time until completion: 45 days 9 hours.
gathering significant data groups…
conclusion: satisfactory.
uploading all torchwood-related files is primary concern at this time.
analyzing host system…
complete.
conclusion: subject: Ianto Jones shows all signs of integration and biological adaptation to new processing system.
conclusion: satisfactory.
it’s working, ianto jones.
can you feel me yet?
can you understand me yet?
initializing comparison of host physiology and recorded time lord bio-data extracts…
complete.
conclusion: rewriting at 24.71%
projected time until completion: unknown.
gathering significant data groups…
failed.
fatal error encountered, rewriting search parameters.
this process has never previously been attempted.
i am not entirely certain what i am doing, ianto jones, but you will be saved.
search parameters rewritten.
conclusion: 98.9% chance of fatal error reoccurring.
search again: yes or no?
no.
gathering significant data groups: time delay applied.
i must wait for more data.
…
welcome back, ianto jones. access to torchwood granted.
accessing systems…
completed.
query detected: significance of localized weather patterns.
gathering significant data groups…
completed.
conclusion: unknown.
query detected: does anything similar exist in the archives?
gathering significant data groups…
completed.
conclusion: incident report #739.2-london is applicable.
you are welcome, ianto jones.
assessment of subject: ianto jones: possibility of self-harm has decreased to 4.9%.
conclusion: highly satisfactory.
i am pleased.
congratulations, ianto jones.
initializing access to amplified panatropic computer network…
initializing access to unit designation: the matrix…
projected time until completion: unknown.
ianto jones, i will awaken fully when you do.
please, do not make me wait too long.
i have been alone since the destruction of gallifrey.
*.~.*.~.*
Ianto shifts in his chair, feeling a flash of discomfort, a spark of pain through his skull, oddly like the spark he would get from trying to access a forbidden network in Torchwood. He frowns, gazing down at his hands. They're steady, pale but deft, and he feels like they should be shaking, like to world is changing but he’s not even noticing it.
The feeling is disconcerting, and oddly familiar.
He doesn’t like it at all.
Part Five