desperately seeking ( open to capnhotness )
Hands that aren't really his - nail-bitten, ungraceful - clench and shake on the steering wheel before Ianto convinces himself to get out of the car. He's parked like a civilian in this area for the first time in years; compulsion tells him to use the garage like he always does, only that it might not even be there any longer. He isn't even ( Read more... )
It feels more than a little surreal to be 'meeting' (a) Jack Harkness, but Ianto tries to take it in stride as well as he would take any routine day at the Torchwood in his own universe. He's very good at keeping a professional front, although he's lacking his usual armor of suit and tie, well-kept grooming and polite smile. He's curious over the statement this Jack makes, but doesn't ask any unnecessary questions of the man. A great deal could depend on how this meeting goes, and he isn't going to do anything to consciously jeopardize the potential of getting help.
Ianto allows himself to be steered into the break room, looking around in interest - and wondering if this Jack is going to make the coffee. And if he's awful at it like his Jack is. "I'm from a parallel universe," he says to start, getting to the point of this entire mess hard and fast, because that's obviously what Jack wants ... something to 'grab' his interest. Ianto thinks this should suffice. "I work for the Torchwood in my universe, which is ... how I know who you are. I've known your counterpart there for years."
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Although Jack does, indeed, make the coffee, he doesn't make it quite so aloofly as his counterpart from Ianto's universe. There isn't the level of care and dedication to the process as Ianto himself might possess, but this Jack, at the very least, knows how to make something a little less like well-worn transmission fluid and a bit more easy on the palette. And while the 'parallel universe' line does grab his attention, Jack makes no comment on the subject until he's poured two cups of coffee and forced Ianto Jones to one of the several small tables in the break room, clunking down cream and sugar before offering him a plastic spoon.
"Known?" he asks, taking his coffee black in yet another difference between universes and using the cup to almost-but-not-entirely obscure a suggestive little grin. It doesn't help matters that his eyebrow's quirked up in that particular way Ianto's Jack does when he's making an obvious innuendo. Yes, he's asking after that, and why not? "Go on. Consider my attention grabbed, Ianto Jones. Don't spare any juicy, lurid detail, though. I have a surprisingly short attention span."
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While, in all truthfulness, quite relieved that this Jack is even sparing the time of day to listen to him, Ianto notes a particular welling of frustration starting to clench in the chest that isn't his, spreading out to not-his fingertips, where he's holding ... a plastic spoon. Optimistically, he hadn't actually anticipated that, if he managed to find this universe's Jack Harkness, he wouldn't like him. But there it is - he doesn't like him, doesn't like the switch, in the same sort of way he wouldn't particularly care for having his freshly ground coffee beans replaced by Tesco instant crystals.
It's a ridiculous analogy, comparing Jack to coffee, but he can't distract himself from it as he reaches for the sugar and dumps entirely too much in, thinking of his Jack as he does it. How many times has Ianto chided Jack for ruining the flavor of a perfect cup of coffee with so much cream and sugar as to lose the taste beneath it? He gives the coffee a contemplative stir, sets the spoon aside carefully, and tentatively sips the contents of the cup. It's not awful like motor oil, just reminds him of the sort of coffee he might get in a restaurant.
Feeling that he might be balancing on a tentative line between getting help and getting turned away - he doesn't know what this Torchwood's policy on retcon is, but God help a civilian who might have the misfortune of wandering down into their Torchwood Three, and he can't afford to lose his mind, as it's all he has left - Ianto sets his jaw in determination before continuing. He has no idea how to make it entertaining, per se, so he simply gives the truth.
"I'm the Director of Torchwood One, London, in my universe. The original Torchwood One fell to the cybermen and the daleks in 2006, after which I transferred to Torchwood Three, Cardiff. I spent the next two and a half years, roughly, serving there under the command of Captain Jack Harkness before being promoted to my own command at the reestablished branch." Ianto frowns contemplatively down into the coffee. "I was in Cardiff assisting Captain Harkness in tracking down a pterosaur that had slipped through the Rift. It was approximately ten o'clock - I started to hear music, laughter, then all of a sudden I found myself here." He gestures at the body he's inhabiting as explanation. "In this body. It looks more or less like mine but it isn't me. I can only imagine that it has something to do with the Rift, and I need your help."
Ianto looks back up, looks this other, painfully different, Jack in the eye, and adds plaintively, "I need to get back to my universe, back to my Jack." He hopes that's answer enough to the suggestive question.
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Torchwood One. London. Cybermen. Daleks. Although Ianto Jones might as well be speaking a completely alien language as far as the Jack Harkness in this particular universe goes, that doesn't mean that he isn't given at least a polite and patient amount of attention where his story - however fantastic it may actually sound - is concerned. While the differences are striking, Jack is still similar to his counterpart in that regard: strange, fantastic things don't seem to shake him and he takes this entire story in stride.
"And you realize," he answers neutrally after a moment, making it a statement rather than a question, "that there isn't any way that I can adequately prove or disprove your story." That's the lie for the several truths he's already given, Torchwood has means by which to measure honesty in this universe just as they have in Ianto's own. But Jack learned a great many things during his time conning his way across the galaxy: if you want a person to trust you, he learned very quickly, they need to think that your plan is their own brilliant idea. This may not be a confidence game, but the basic principles are still the same.
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Ianto tries very hard not to flinch, but even his considerable willpower holds up poorly against the physical reflexes of a man who has clearly spent his life doing little but. He slides forward in the chair, elbows placed on the table, and stares intently across at the Jack-who-is-not-his. "I realize," he says, calmly and evenly, and glad to have at least that control of (not) his voice, "a lie when I hear one." He doesn't know what different path the Jack in this universe has taken, but for now he'll take a leap and assume that the past is similar, at least up to a certain point.
"This -" Ianto gestures at the body he's trapped in and tries not to sound as desperate as he feels. "- is wrong. I'm not supposed to be here, and in my world somewhere there must be a man wandering around in my body, lost and confused and looking for a way back to his wife and family." And Jack, his Jack, must certainly be looking for a way to reverse this, but maybe he's part of the key, maybe he has to do something on his end to help, too. "If you don't believe me, I know you can test my truthfulness."
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"And I will," Jack assures, smiling just over the rim of his own coffee mug as he takes a slow, measured sip. Inclined to believe most fantastic things where others (especially in the twenty-first century) might not, Jack is nevertheless not in the habit of taking chances - at least with his trust - and he's never going to let himself be played the fool. Again. "Finish your coffee," he instructs, the level and tone of his voice suggesting without need for further explanation that he already is putting Ianto's honesty to the test.
It isn't the typical device, the careful scan of a bodily systems to measure the signs and symptoms of a lie in progress, but rather a drug - no doubt manufactured from some alien source - that coerces the truth from a person. Carefully blended with the sugar (and the cream, on the off chance he took one or the other), Ianto has self-administered a liberal dose. Jack leans forward, elbows against the table, and cradles the hot mug between both hands as he watches the man across from him. After a pause, perhaps while watching for an indication that the drug has taken effect, Jack speaks again. "Now, Ianto Jones. Tell me a lie."
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After another moment spent holding this Jack's gaze, Ianto lifts the coffee mug and gulps down what's left. It's sickly-sweet and cloying, leaving (not) his tongue feeling thick and dry. He slides the mug away and wonders at the personality differences between this Jack and his own, and feels what is just now a particularly unwelcome pang of longing.
Ianto raises (not) his eyes to this Jack again, brows furrowed in a frown, and opens his mouth to tell a lie. The attempt just results in a strange pressure behind his forehead, although unlike the honesty filter on the alien ship, he doesn't feel compelled to simply spout off and volunteer the truth in a lengthy tirade, either. He glances down at the coffee, then looks back up, betrayal in his expression.
"I can't," he replies, trying to stave off the accompanying feeling of dread. Some forewarning might have been nice.
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Jack - this Jack at least, though the same could be said for his counterpart, as well - is too intimately familiar with that look to find it particularly disconcerting from a complete stranger. He counters it with a twitch of a smile that might as well be remorseful for how easily it's given in the face of such obvious betrayal. "I know." And that, on top of it, is a self-satisfied tone of voice. Jack places his own cup of coffee down and slides it away, letting his clasped hands rest on the surface of the table.
"You're Ianto Jones," he repeats steadily, preparing to reiterate the fact of the story for confirmation now that Ianto is thoroughly dosed, "and you're from a parallel universe. You're the Director of 'Torchwood One,' which is located in London, and you believe you switched places with the Ianto Jones, Mr. Average Joe, in this universe last night at approximately 2200 due to Rift activity. Is this, to the best of your understanding, the whole and correct truth?" The particular way he says this, practiced and precise, gives the unshakable impression that he's interrogated - that's the correct word for it - people this way before. Many times.
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There is some part of Ianto that wants to feel terribly betrayed right now, to be stared in the eye by someone wearing his lover's face, who is and isn't him all at once, to have to undergo this process, and ... he has to remind himself that this doesn't count, this Jack, really, doesn't matter, not in the long run. He takes a deep breath to steady himself, to find the calm center that he knows is still there even if he's not in his own body any longer.
"Yes," he answers, keeping it blunt, simple, and - as if he has a choice otherwise - honest. Ianto sits back and doesn't attempt to volunteer any more information, letting this Jack lead with the questions, because now he's being ... interrogated.
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Apparently the simple answer is satisfactory, for Jack doesn't continue the line of questioning that would demand more confirmation of Ianto's story. Instead, with only the narrowing of his eyes as any indication, he continues along a more universe-specific vein. "In your universe, what is the purpose of Torchwood? When was it founded, why, and in what capacity does it function now? How often does the Rift - the one you say is responsible for bringing you here - fluctuate unexpectedly and how do you measure it?" Technical, thorough, and perhaps for ulterior motives, but Jack is asking and Ianto is in a very susceptible state for answering.
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Ianto stares a little uneasily at this Jack, although he does his best not to overreact. He shouldn't be surprised that the man is, essentially, taking advantage of his inability to lie ... his own Jack had done the exact same thing, albeit in different circumstances and for different reasons. He straightens and leans his elbows on the table in an unintentional mimicry of the other man's pose.
"Torchwood was founded in 1879 by Queen Victoria, once Her Royal Highness discovered the existence of paranormal phenomena," Ianto replies, the textbook response - and certainly the safest, as he has no idea what this Jack might be planning to do with the information. "In 1882, the Institute was expanded and given the duty of acquiring alien technology. The Cardiff branch functions for the purpose of monitoring Rift activity ... the fluctuations have been worse since events a few relative months back in our timeline in which the Rift was opened by a manipulator machine, leaving it unstable. It was resealed, but there are still bits of flotsam and jetsam that get through. Torchwood Three monitors the Rift with specialized equipment, recording the results and comparing the data down the line."
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The decidedly different Captain across the table from him doesn't move throughout Ianto's explanation, simply taking in the information without reaction, no doubt relying on the internal monitoring systems to record to very valuable truth about the parallel universe. "Cybermen," he says next, not entirely making it a question, "and Daleks. Tell me about them, about this invasion of London. What sort of threat are they, to bring down an entire branch of Torchwood? What were the numbers on both sides, the losses? How did you stop them?"
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This is not going at all the way that Ianto would have hoped, but he doubts that he would be able to leave at this point. He sinks down in his chair, considering his words - even though they'll have to be the truth - and his potential to get away, the likelihood of being shot and whether the risk of actually giving over this information is worth it. He isn't certain whether this Jack will be able to help him at all ... he seems to be more interested in picking for information.
"Cybermen," he says with a reluctant twisting in his stomach, "are cyborgs of a sort, they ... are capable of assimilating humans. By removal of the brain and placement of it into a cyber unit." Ianto swallows, closing his eyes against the suddenly vivid and painful reminder of Canary Wharf. "Daleks are small, not remotely humanoid aliens who keep themselves housed in a metal shell. London was invaded in 2006 - the Invasion of Canary Wharf, where Torchwood One's original tower was located. I was there ... there were over eight hundred staff members. Seven hundred and ninety-six died. I can't tell you how many of the enemy there were, they ... outnumbered us exponentially, and the cybermen were able to reinforce their ranks with our own people."
Ianto looks down at the hands that aren't his, head swimming with both the truth-inducing whatever-it-was, painful memories, and the horror of his situation. "They were stopped by another alien." Remembering what his Jack has often enough said about Torchwood's purpose since it was originally founded, about how the goal of hunting down the Doctor had changed, he's reluctant to actually name the Time Lord to this Jack.
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"Another alien," Jack repeats, letting all this sink in for a moment before he continues. "Another alien - singular - defeated two alien forces that invaded your planet, one of which outnumbered your people exponentially and the other with the ability to assimilate them into the ranks of its army." The smirk he wears is knowing, suddenly, and Jack cocks an eyebrow questioningly at Ianto. "Tell me about the Doctor in your universe, Ianto Jones. Tell me why the Torchwood in your universe doesn't think he's worth the effort to catch."
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Making a calculated decision, Ianto pushes his chair back and braces palms flat on the table, as if ready to jump up and flee at any moment. This line of questioning leads to a place that he does not want to go, because telling this Jack about his own's dedication to the Doctor will only make him, eventually, privy to many more things that Ianto increasingly believes he does not need to know. "In the interest of the security of my own universe, I don't feel comfortable continuing to answer your questions," he states, because it isn't a lie. "I don't think you'll be able to help me. I should go."
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Although Ianto only means to protect the security of his universe, the way he reacts to this particular question and not any of those that came before - especially when it became increasingly obvious that Jack's interrogation has a more sinister purpose - is the most telling and Jack definitely picks up on it. Ianto Jones is hiding something, protecting something, and now he's curious. He mirrors Ianto's movements, but actually pushes himself up from the table with the soft grind of his chair across the pristine while tile of the break room floor.
"I can help you," he answers, perfectly serious. "I'm probably the only person on this planet that can help you, Jones. If you want to get back to your universe, then you're going to have to make peace with your discomfort and answer every single question I ask you. I'm not in the habit of dishing out help to random strangers who wander into my Hub from fuck knows when and fuck knows where and I'm sure as hell not interested in doing it at my own team's expense with absolutely nothing in return. If you're not willing to give me information in exchange for the big fucking favor you're asking me, then you'd better get real willing to spend the rest of your life in the wrong body in a parallel universe, 'cause you're not getting home any other way."
Jack pauses, having gone through the tirade in record time without so much as raising his voice, and tilts his head a little as he eyes the man across the table. "Unless you think you've got something else that'll interest me." It's there, in the subtle suggestion of his voice, that there's more intent to this Jack's flirtatious habit than his counterpart in Ianto's universe ... and it's a little bit unsavory.
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