[torchwood] greetings from the future! - g - april 1
Wrote this at work. It came out a bit longer than I expected!
***
tw - greetings from the future! - g - in which Ianto is very bored by the past.
***
"Don't talk to anyone, don't wander away, don't do anything."
The only indication that Jack wasn't right down in the Hub was an extra crackle over the comm line. Except, well, Jack was down in the Hub. But not his Jack. And that wasn't his Hub. Yet.
Time travel was confusing. Ianto didn't quite think he was intelligent enough to handle it on a regular basis. Maybe it was something you got used to.
"Ianto?"
"Right," Ianto said, shaking himself out of his reverie. "Don't irrevocably destroy the future by giving away the secrets of 2008." The woman at the table next to him glanced over curiously and he rolled his eyes and pointed to his comm, miming mindless chatter. She smiled at him and nodded, as though commiserating, and turned back to her coffee and book. "I'm not that stupid Jack, I promise."
"I don't think you're stupid," Jack said. "I know you're not stupid. But sometimes time travel makes people think with their heart and not their heads. I've seen it happen to some of the most brilliant people I know. Hell, I've fallen prey to it myself more than once. Just wait at the café. It'll take me an hour to fetch you at the most."
"I'll stay right here," Ianto assured him. "Tell the girls not to fret and tell Owen not to go rifling through my belongings quite yet."
"Will do. Stay safe. I'll be right there, I promise."
"I know," Ianto said. "I trust you. You stay safe too, Jack."
"I will. See you soon, gorgeous."
The line clicked in disconnection and Ianto sagged back into his chair. It was a rather peculiar feeling, traveling such a short distance through time. Sure, there were some minor differences, but generally he felt as if he had just ducked out of work to visit the shops.
He drained his coffee mug and then glanced at his watch as he got to his feet. Jack said he had an hour. That was plenty of time to explore and be back at the café in plenty of time to meet Jack. He wasn't going to waste what was possibly his only chance at time travel by sitting in a café drinking sub-par coffee. The world he was exploring might be incredibly similar to the world he walked through every day, but that didn't mean he could justify sitting still and waiting patiently for rescue. After all, he might be in Cardiff, but it was Cardiff over two years ago. It was, in fact, a Cardiff without a Ianto Jones.
Huh.
This was a Cardiff without a Ianto Jones because this Ianto Jones was in London. He was in London, working for Torchwood One, dating Lisa Hallet, and still a few months away from the tragedy that would send him spiraling into the person he was (would be) when he landed back here in Cardiff.
He sat down again.
Ianto wasn't stupid. And despite Jack's fears, he wasn't going to run out and try and call himself or warn himself or save the day. He'd read enough stories in the archives about messing with time and crossing your own timeline. He knew he couldn't risk causing a paradox or disrupting the timestream. More than that, even, he realized that... well.
He really didn't want to.
It was an incredibly selfish thing to say, an incredibly selfish thing to think, but that didn't mean it wasn't true. Yes, the tragedy at Canary Wharf had been horrible and yes, it had changed his life in ways that weren't good or healthy, but it had also brought him back to Cardiff. Without Canary Wharf, he'd never found a place at Torchwood Three. He'd never have found a best friend in Gwen Cooper or a team in Toshiko Sato and Owen Harper. He never would have found Jack Harkness.
There was no guarantee his life would have turned out any better if he hadn't suffered through Torchwood One, and he wasn't willing to risk what little happiness he had just to see what would happen. He stood up again, his legs and bit more steady, and walked purposefully towards the door to the café. He still had a world to explore, and now he had even less time to do it.
He tried to psych himself up. He was a time traveler. He was stranded in a different time. He had gone out into the past.
The past looked an awful lot like the present. The same hoodies were hanging around the same newsstand. The 's' on the dry cleaner's sign was still out. Luigi's had the same "Under New Management" sign that had been hanging there since Ianto moved back--would move back-in 2006.
Christ, when he moved away from Cardiff he complained it was because nothing ever changed. Nothing really did ever change, did it?
He stopped outside Jubilee Pizza and considered ordering lunch, then realized how pathetic it was that he was about to order lunch in the past from the same place he ordered lunch yesterday in the future.
Or something. He wondered if there was a class on time-travel grammar in the future. He wondered if Jack would tell the truth if asked.
He was about to give up and head back to the café when a display at the tacky souvenir shop next to Jubilee caught his eye. In particular, he found himself staring at a postcard that he knew he'd seen before. Not in the tourist shop, but-
It took a split second for his brain to make the connection, though it felt like longer. As soon as the neurons fired, however, he took a step back in shock. Yes, he recognized that postcard. It hung on his refrigerator in London for nearly six months before he packed up all of his things and hastily returned to Cardiff.
A series of events suddenly coalesced in his mind-receiving the card in the mail addressed to 'I. Jones.' Assuming it was misdirected and belonged to someone else. Lisa insisting that since it was from Cardiff it was clearly fate that it should come to him and sticking it to the fridge, message side out. A message written in a strangely familiar hand that Ianto never could pin down.
It's going to get worse before it gets better, but once it gets better (and it will), it gets brilliant. I promise.
He still had the stupid thing packed away somewhere. Somewhere along the way, he'd started to believe it was meant for him after all as he endured the tedium of junior assistant in the lower archives before being promoted to the upper. He'd wanted to throw it out when he frantically packed his old flat up, but something made him stuff it in a carton with his books, somewhat vindictively thinking about how the writer clearly never realized it could get this bad if he thought it could possibly get better. When he was back in Cardiff, naively thinking that he could cure Lisa, he was sure that the "better" meant that Lisa would be okay and they'd carry on with their lives. In the four weeks after that, he'd pitched the thing in a box with the photos and mementos of Lisa.
He hadn't thought about it in months, but now he knew what it meant. He knew because he was about to buy that postcard and write it out and know it was true. That, yes, he was still in an incredibly dangerous job and yes, he was likely to die before he hit thirty and yes, he was currently stuck in the past, but things were still brilliant. Because Jack would rescue him and he'd go home and be mocked by Owen and fretted over by the girls. Because then Gwen would take him out for a drink and make him spill all the details and not believe him when he told her how boring the whole thing was. Because afterward he'd go home to his idiotic and incredibly apologetic boyfriend who would spend the night making it up to him.
It was awful, sometimes, Torchwood. But it was worth it and he wouldn't trade it or try and change it for anything.
He was handing over some loose change for the postcard before he even realized it and belatedly hoped that none of the coins were too new. Not that, it seemed, the bored girl working the cash register would notice either way. He twirled the postcard between his fingers and walked over to get a stamp to post it. He checked his watch again as he walked over towards the post box and figured he'd have just enough time to scribble the now familiar message and the address of his old flat on the card before rushing back to the café to meet Jack.
He looked at the card one last time before dropping it into the box. He couldn't help but smile.
When Jack found him, fifteen minutes later, breathless and a little wild-eyed, Ianto was sitting at the café, sipping a coffee and pleasantly chatting with the woman from earlier.
"You're here," Jack said. He sounded surprised.
"I told you I would be," Ianto said. He smiled at the woman-Marcie-and rolled his eyes. "Are you ready to go or do we have to wait?"
"No," Jack said. The surprise turned to suspicion. "You're here."
"I am." Ianto got up and wiped his hands on a napkin on the table. "It was a pleasure, Marcie. Enjoy the rest of your semester."
"Have a good day!" Marcie said, waving as Ianto and Jack left the café. Once they were outside, Jack put his hands on his hips and glared at Ianto skeptically.
"You didn't do anything that might affect the time stream," Jack said, still frowning.
"Well, I did write a letter to myself," Ianto said. "Long one, warning myself off of you. 'Stay away from that Harkness bloke, he leaves his socks everywhere and he has appalling taste in breakfast food.'"
Jack cracked a smile at that and relaxed, visibly. "So nothing I can't fix solely with good looks and charm, then?"
"Nope," Ianto said. "Nothing that needs fixing."
Maybe he'd go home and dig out the 2008 version of the postcard and share it with Jack. Maybe he wouldn't. For the moment, he was going to revel in the fact that's he'd just completed his own tiny time loop entirely on his own. Maybe he was smart enough for this time travel thing after all.
***
tw - greetings from the future! - g - in which Ianto is very bored by the past.
***
"Don't talk to anyone, don't wander away, don't do anything."
The only indication that Jack wasn't right down in the Hub was an extra crackle over the comm line. Except, well, Jack was down in the Hub. But not his Jack. And that wasn't his Hub. Yet.
Time travel was confusing. Ianto didn't quite think he was intelligent enough to handle it on a regular basis. Maybe it was something you got used to.
"Ianto?"
"Right," Ianto said, shaking himself out of his reverie. "Don't irrevocably destroy the future by giving away the secrets of 2008." The woman at the table next to him glanced over curiously and he rolled his eyes and pointed to his comm, miming mindless chatter. She smiled at him and nodded, as though commiserating, and turned back to her coffee and book. "I'm not that stupid Jack, I promise."
"I don't think you're stupid," Jack said. "I know you're not stupid. But sometimes time travel makes people think with their heart and not their heads. I've seen it happen to some of the most brilliant people I know. Hell, I've fallen prey to it myself more than once. Just wait at the café. It'll take me an hour to fetch you at the most."
"I'll stay right here," Ianto assured him. "Tell the girls not to fret and tell Owen not to go rifling through my belongings quite yet."
"Will do. Stay safe. I'll be right there, I promise."
"I know," Ianto said. "I trust you. You stay safe too, Jack."
"I will. See you soon, gorgeous."
The line clicked in disconnection and Ianto sagged back into his chair. It was a rather peculiar feeling, traveling such a short distance through time. Sure, there were some minor differences, but generally he felt as if he had just ducked out of work to visit the shops.
He drained his coffee mug and then glanced at his watch as he got to his feet. Jack said he had an hour. That was plenty of time to explore and be back at the café in plenty of time to meet Jack. He wasn't going to waste what was possibly his only chance at time travel by sitting in a café drinking sub-par coffee. The world he was exploring might be incredibly similar to the world he walked through every day, but that didn't mean he could justify sitting still and waiting patiently for rescue. After all, he might be in Cardiff, but it was Cardiff over two years ago. It was, in fact, a Cardiff without a Ianto Jones.
Huh.
This was a Cardiff without a Ianto Jones because this Ianto Jones was in London. He was in London, working for Torchwood One, dating Lisa Hallet, and still a few months away from the tragedy that would send him spiraling into the person he was (would be) when he landed back here in Cardiff.
He sat down again.
Ianto wasn't stupid. And despite Jack's fears, he wasn't going to run out and try and call himself or warn himself or save the day. He'd read enough stories in the archives about messing with time and crossing your own timeline. He knew he couldn't risk causing a paradox or disrupting the timestream. More than that, even, he realized that... well.
He really didn't want to.
It was an incredibly selfish thing to say, an incredibly selfish thing to think, but that didn't mean it wasn't true. Yes, the tragedy at Canary Wharf had been horrible and yes, it had changed his life in ways that weren't good or healthy, but it had also brought him back to Cardiff. Without Canary Wharf, he'd never found a place at Torchwood Three. He'd never have found a best friend in Gwen Cooper or a team in Toshiko Sato and Owen Harper. He never would have found Jack Harkness.
There was no guarantee his life would have turned out any better if he hadn't suffered through Torchwood One, and he wasn't willing to risk what little happiness he had just to see what would happen. He stood up again, his legs and bit more steady, and walked purposefully towards the door to the café. He still had a world to explore, and now he had even less time to do it.
He tried to psych himself up. He was a time traveler. He was stranded in a different time. He had gone out into the past.
The past looked an awful lot like the present. The same hoodies were hanging around the same newsstand. The 's' on the dry cleaner's sign was still out. Luigi's had the same "Under New Management" sign that had been hanging there since Ianto moved back--would move back-in 2006.
Christ, when he moved away from Cardiff he complained it was because nothing ever changed. Nothing really did ever change, did it?
He stopped outside Jubilee Pizza and considered ordering lunch, then realized how pathetic it was that he was about to order lunch in the past from the same place he ordered lunch yesterday in the future.
Or something. He wondered if there was a class on time-travel grammar in the future. He wondered if Jack would tell the truth if asked.
He was about to give up and head back to the café when a display at the tacky souvenir shop next to Jubilee caught his eye. In particular, he found himself staring at a postcard that he knew he'd seen before. Not in the tourist shop, but-
It took a split second for his brain to make the connection, though it felt like longer. As soon as the neurons fired, however, he took a step back in shock. Yes, he recognized that postcard. It hung on his refrigerator in London for nearly six months before he packed up all of his things and hastily returned to Cardiff.
A series of events suddenly coalesced in his mind-receiving the card in the mail addressed to 'I. Jones.' Assuming it was misdirected and belonged to someone else. Lisa insisting that since it was from Cardiff it was clearly fate that it should come to him and sticking it to the fridge, message side out. A message written in a strangely familiar hand that Ianto never could pin down.
It's going to get worse before it gets better, but once it gets better (and it will), it gets brilliant. I promise.
He still had the stupid thing packed away somewhere. Somewhere along the way, he'd started to believe it was meant for him after all as he endured the tedium of junior assistant in the lower archives before being promoted to the upper. He'd wanted to throw it out when he frantically packed his old flat up, but something made him stuff it in a carton with his books, somewhat vindictively thinking about how the writer clearly never realized it could get this bad if he thought it could possibly get better. When he was back in Cardiff, naively thinking that he could cure Lisa, he was sure that the "better" meant that Lisa would be okay and they'd carry on with their lives. In the four weeks after that, he'd pitched the thing in a box with the photos and mementos of Lisa.
He hadn't thought about it in months, but now he knew what it meant. He knew because he was about to buy that postcard and write it out and know it was true. That, yes, he was still in an incredibly dangerous job and yes, he was likely to die before he hit thirty and yes, he was currently stuck in the past, but things were still brilliant. Because Jack would rescue him and he'd go home and be mocked by Owen and fretted over by the girls. Because then Gwen would take him out for a drink and make him spill all the details and not believe him when he told her how boring the whole thing was. Because afterward he'd go home to his idiotic and incredibly apologetic boyfriend who would spend the night making it up to him.
It was awful, sometimes, Torchwood. But it was worth it and he wouldn't trade it or try and change it for anything.
He was handing over some loose change for the postcard before he even realized it and belatedly hoped that none of the coins were too new. Not that, it seemed, the bored girl working the cash register would notice either way. He twirled the postcard between his fingers and walked over to get a stamp to post it. He checked his watch again as he walked over towards the post box and figured he'd have just enough time to scribble the now familiar message and the address of his old flat on the card before rushing back to the café to meet Jack.
He looked at the card one last time before dropping it into the box. He couldn't help but smile.
When Jack found him, fifteen minutes later, breathless and a little wild-eyed, Ianto was sitting at the café, sipping a coffee and pleasantly chatting with the woman from earlier.
"You're here," Jack said. He sounded surprised.
"I told you I would be," Ianto said. He smiled at the woman-Marcie-and rolled his eyes. "Are you ready to go or do we have to wait?"
"No," Jack said. The surprise turned to suspicion. "You're here."
"I am." Ianto got up and wiped his hands on a napkin on the table. "It was a pleasure, Marcie. Enjoy the rest of your semester."
"Have a good day!" Marcie said, waving as Ianto and Jack left the café. Once they were outside, Jack put his hands on his hips and glared at Ianto skeptically.
"You didn't do anything that might affect the time stream," Jack said, still frowning.
"Well, I did write a letter to myself," Ianto said. "Long one, warning myself off of you. 'Stay away from that Harkness bloke, he leaves his socks everywhere and he has appalling taste in breakfast food.'"
Jack cracked a smile at that and relaxed, visibly. "So nothing I can't fix solely with good looks and charm, then?"
"Nope," Ianto said. "Nothing that needs fixing."
Maybe he'd go home and dig out the 2008 version of the postcard and share it with Jack. Maybe he wouldn't. For the moment, he was going to revel in the fact that's he'd just completed his own tiny time loop entirely on his own. Maybe he was smart enough for this time travel thing after all.