incidental [ open to capnhotness & viable torchwood people ]
Work. Work is good and safe and the most viable option for distraction at this point in time. Ianto does not want to think about anything - about everything, about how he's ruined it, again, just like always - and so he throws himself fully into his work. There are requisition orders to be signed (though he is conscientious of the budget and ( Read more... )
"My team's always busy," Jack answers, keeping that eager-to-please smile in place in a way he knows Ianto, if no one else, will detect as an utter lie. It's a little bit of a slip, but it works so well with what he says next that he can't seem to help himself. "You should know that, sir." As well Ianto should, being as intimately familiar with Jack's style of leadership as anyone else at Torchwood Three, and he's only vaguely disappointed that his former office manager has seemed to have forgotten during his tenure as Director in London.
Honestly, Jack only dropped by - he suspects, at the sinking feeling in his stomach - because he was almost certain that Ianto's bitterness would outweigh his work ethic in this regard and that he would be sent away, back to whatever corner of whatever office it is the defunct Torchwood Three Director now occupies, until Toshiko is available to consult on the device. Perhaps he's underestimated Ianto's lack of emotional attachment to ... anything vaguely resembling them and a relationship. "I am," he agrees, shameless to a fault, and steps into the office without missing a beat to watch the exchange of lights between Ianto's side of the device and the technician's own.
"Doesn't seem like the connection's broken between the two sides of the device, does it ... Myers?" the Captain asks, sarcasm hidden behind politely jovial conversation, as his attention flits between the alien technology on the table and the technician's name badge. "Whatever the ports are for, they're both working, we just haven't discovered the connection between them." Jack tilts his head at Ianto's hand in the device, half joking when he asks, "Didn't push a button, did you?"
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Impassivity can only be stretched so far, and there is a hint of annoyance visible in Ianto's expression, a reaction to Jack's attitude, although he can only suspect it is a direct result of his own words in their last conversation. (Can one really disdain something when it's their own fault?) Even still, he knows how to remain professional; he'd done it for years at Torchwood Three, blending in as the quiet office manager while he kept his secret in the basement, and he can certainly do it now.
Fortunately, Myers' embarrassed reaction to Jack's words saves Ianto from any response. "Well," the scientist tries, attempting to save face, "we haven't been able to get much of a response out of it, really, aside from the lights. We've done a few different scans, but the results haven't come back yet. I'm hesitant to attempt an x-ray in order to see the wiring inside until we have a better idea of what it is."
Ianto is well-aware that the moment lacks the decided feeling of comraderie that had always been present at the Cardiff Hub, and his sigh is half-hearted at best. "No, I haven't pushed any buttons. As far as I can tell, the inside is completely smooth, and you can see through from one side to the other if you look in." Perhaps it really is just a piece of junk, but it isn't Torchwood policy to write anything off until they've run every possible test to see.
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... And that's exactly the tiny hint of an emotional response Jack is looking for, satisfied with getting even, that seems to (in his disgruntled mind, at the very least) justify the way he picks so elegantly at both of their fresh wounds. Slowly, he's growing to hate that calm, collected, professional veneer Ianto presents to the world - especially after seeing, or perhaps assuming at the very least that he's seen, something more undone, open, honest - because it doesn't match, at all, what's inside. It's pretty to look at, the suit and tie and carefully calculated smile, but it isn't anywhere close to what it masks. Ridiculously, it's like looking at the tip of an iceberg on the calm surface of the ocean and admiring, from a distance, the way the ice curves ... when beneath the surface there's just so much more.
"That's stupid," Jack says abruptly, addressing Myers despite the way his attention doesn't seem to want to move from the Director's now more professional expression. He grins a little more, something like honesty slipping into his features behind the bluntness of his tone, and the way he does it without looking away from Ianto only serves to make the statement something like a private little joke. It is stupid; doesn't Ianto agree? "You've gone around sticking your hand in an alien device you haven't even x-rayed yet. I don't know what your standard operating protocol is here at Torchwood One, but my team has a set series of scans they subject all new, uncategorized and unclassified alien technology to, Myers. All the scans have to be completed before they do anything quite so foolish as stick their tiny, unprotected, little human hands into things they don't know what are." Somehow, miraculously, he's carried on an entire conversation directed at someone else with the gray depths of his (former) lover's eyes.
"It could be a ritualistic suicide device," he says, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial level when he finally, and obviously, addresses Ianto again. "I've seen a few operated by two. Kind of like seppuku, with a kaishakunin to perform the daki-kubi." Jack knows that Ianto speaks fluent Japanese (and has no doubt given careful consideration to the Japanese culture), but wonders if that's something about himself of which Ianto was aware. He doesn't require a translator to assist with most of the current (and dead) Earth languages anymore. Grinning, like this is still some sort of in-joke for the both of them, he continues, "Without any scans of the interior, I can't tell you there isn't a hidden panel on your end with a needle inside that'll deliver a lethal dose of an alien toxin when I, say, slip my hand into what could very well be the control end."
Which, with an almost playful arch of his eyebrows, Jack does. Alarmingly, the device lights up in a way it thoroughly hadn't in all previous tests. Oops.
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There is something decidedly uncomfortable and almost cruel about the way Jack holds his eyes as they talk, Ianto thinks (but he won't say anything, oh no ... it's not professional to engage in a - former - lovers' quarrel in front of his staff). He is careful not to look away, as if he might actually have something to lose by conceding to defeat in their impromptu staring contest. His expression shifts into something that might just be impressed at Jack's apparent command of the Japanese language - as well as knowledge of their culture. But he doesn't pull his hand out of the device, either, which might prove to be a bad decision.
Because the device not only lights up, but suddenly contracts, with a noise like something being sucked into a vacuum, and either end clamps down around the wrists of the two poor souls unfortunate enough to place their hands inside, moving with a decidedly liquid quality quite unlike any sort of solid metal. The lights perform an interesting show of patterns, flash out in one bright flare, then go back to a regular series of blinks.
Ianto reflexively jerks his hand away - too late, because it's firmly caught inside. He finds he can't even move his wrist, but the pressure isn't uncomfortable, either, just contoured to the shape of his arm, even flowing around his wristwatch. However, there is a warm tingling coming from inside the device itself.
He looks abruptly back up at Jack. "If this thing has killed me, you're the first one I'm coming back to haunt."
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Jack is, of course, reasonably certain the device isn't something used for ritualistic suicide, that 'his' end doesn't contain a control mechanism, and Ianto is, in fact, in no danger of actually being injected with an alien toxin. Reasonably. (Of course, even fifty-first century time displaced technophiles have been known to get it wrong on occasion.) When the device clamps down around his wrist, the Captain makes no effort to immediately move, instead taking time to inspect the construction of the technology, watch it in action, and create a hypothesis of its function based on said observations. Tentatively, he attempts to flex his fingers inside the not uncomfortable pressure of the liquid metal cuff, then attempts to rotate his wrist, and eventually follows the curved shell of the still unknown piece of technology over the blinking lights and to Ianto's similar trapped hand.
... Jack almost entirely misses (or summarily ignores) the abrupt look and the sarcastic comment he gets from his (former) lover. "How's your wrist?" he asks instead, obvious effort in the way he keeps his voice nonchalant. "Sudden compression," Jack explains after a pause, suddenly keenly aware of the third party in the room. "Hope it's not aggravating your injury." While he speaks, he runs his free hand over the outer shell of the device, seeking out buttons, panels, or anything else on the surface that might help them escape.
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In response to both their actions, the device remains infuriatingly inanimate, as enamel-glossy and hard as it had been before it moved at all, and as if it had never done so. It's as solid as if molded that way around their hands, but in addition to the tingling sensation, it begins to hum as well, sounding like the scanning bar on a copier moving back and forth.
"It's fine," Ianto replies, although he feels just a twinge of something uncomfortable at the question, perhaps the concept that Jack can still be concerned about him - apparently. "It healed cleanly, thanks to you."
"Interesting, very interesting." Myers leans forward, inspecting the device, looking from one end to the other. "Very curious - it's absolutely seamless. Reminds me of a Chinese finger trap. Can you feel anything on the inside?"
As if on cue, something warm chooses just then to brush over both their hands.
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How Jack can be concerned about him, really, is a very good question, as that didn't seem just to be basic human compassion bleeding through. The Captain himself gives little indication and doesn't follow up Ianto's response with anything that might give him away, though the reply seems to warrant a counter response in its own right.
"Chinese finger traps aren't seamless," Jack points out, somewhat annoyed by Myers' presence as the only somewhat qualified technician in the immediate area. This thing could start eating their hands off at any minute (anything's possible) and the only help they'd have would be from the guy who can't even seem to manage an x-ray on an alien device. Jack makes an annoyed sound and rolls his eyes towards the ceiling at the question.
" -- Yes," he answers abruptly, almost in spite of himself, and shifts a little at the warm brushing over his head. He fixes his gaze on Ianto's own once again. "Feel that? Just there?"
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"I feel it - thought it was your hand, though." Obviously not, if Jack felt the same thing. Ianto tenses as that answer becomes even more apparent, something that feels a bit uncomfortably close to a finger poking about at different points on his hand, starting on the back and running under to the palm. "What is it doing?"
"Everything should be more apparent once we get a view of the interior ... we may be able to figure out a way to get your hands out of it relatively quickly." Myers, a little annoyed at being ignored, written-off, and insulted all at once, shoots Captain Harkness a look, although he does fail to comment on the American man's rather rude attitude. He picks up a handheld scanner and runs it over the device, recording the new readings on his PDA. "I'm going to go run these new scans through and check on the results of the others. If anything changes, just yell. I'll be in the adjoining room."
Ianto offers Jack an apologetic glance after he watches the scientist exit the room. "You'll have to forgive Myers," he notes quietly, "he hasn't been quite the same since the year ended. He didn't make it out, and I think he's still a little addled at being alive again."
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"No," Jack answers, trying to keep a sudden touch of disappointment from his voice. How Ianto would have reacted, had their hands actually touched in the alien device, isn't really an issue at the moment. "No, I can't ... there's something in the way," he explains, carefully checking his words as he says them to ensure that he doesn't sound particularly straining towards Ianto's hand. "The compartments are divided."
At the question - what is it doing? - Jack stills his attempts to move his hand and takes another moment to study the outside of the device carefully. The design is familiar, like bits of technology that oftentimes wash in through the Rift, but he can't begin to place the exact civilization of origin, let alone the purpose behind the piece of technology. "Scanning?" he asks after a pause, searching for an edge of confidence to give his own inquisitively phrased answer ... and he suspects his only purpose with that being the want to alleviate Ianto's own fears at being, for no better word, stuck. "Yeah, feels like a scan. Just relax, breathe normally, and - yell? Oh, gee, thanks, Myers. Page Toshiko while you're at it, maybe?"
The Captain follows the retreating technician out of the room with a frown, then glances back towards Ianto's rather apologetic expression a moment later. "Oh." For nothing better to do, Jack busies himself attempting to find a comfortable position to lean against the table in, propping the elbow of his free hand up to do so. "Well, I feel like an ass, don't I?" It's a hypothetical question. "Then again, it's hard to walk on eggshells around here when all the lights are off." Jack still has very little idea what exactly happened at Torchwood during the past (and recently reset) year, but he's inferred from the bits and pieces that Ianto's almost told him that the Director is responsible - somehow, or simply taking the blame - for the deaths of almost the entire staff.
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The noise the technician makes is decidedly noncommittal at the idea of finding Dr. Sato, but presumably the aide Ianto sent off earlier is still trying to get in touch with her. Then he's gone.
Ianto stretches his arm out, trying to give slack to his wrist, which while not exactly constricted, is still growing a bit numb from the awkwardness of the position. He can move his hand and fingers around, but can't seem to rotate his wrist and there's no room inside the device to clench his fist, either. He reaches out his free arm and manages to roll over an office chair, and hooks his foot under one of the lab stools the technicians use. "We might as well get comfortable," he offers with as much of a shrug as he can manage, moving to perch on the stool, leaving Jack the chair.
He looks down at the device again, breathing out a sigh at their current situation and the place he's inadvertently directed their conversation toward. "I've found that the longer they remained dead, the easier it's been on them," Ianto explains tiredly. "They don't remember very much. We lost eighty in the first wave of Toclafane attacks ... they've all readjusted remarkably well in comparison. But their temperament before also seems to affect the way they're handling it now."
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Presumably. Or so Jack hopes. (While it seems a bit ridiculous, a technophile like himself not being able to get his head around the idea of a device such as the one in which they're both currently stuck, Jack will admit that Toshiko Sato just has a feel for alien technology. Not to mention a few choice pieces of equipment in her kit.)
"Thanks," Jack answers, actually shifting carefully - and with indication of his intent and direction, what with being stuck in the device with Ianto - until there isn't a lab table between them and he's able to settle into the desk chair next to Ianto's chosen stool, facing the Director with the alien device and their trapped hands between them. If it's a little awkward, sitting almost at crotch level in a chair much lower than the perch his (former) lover has taken, Jack gives absolutely no indication. Though he does let the tech rest lightly on Ianto's knee, sheerly out of necessity of comfort.
At the explanation - or something like it, finally - Jack nods, looking for the most delicate thing to say that doesn't express his frustration at being kept almost completely in the dark for this long. "I assume you retconned any of your staff who couldn't handle the transition or didn't pass a psych eval?" he asks, something in his quiet tone expressing more sympathy than he assume he'd be able to express at current given the recent stress between them. It works well with the small, sincere smile he gives.
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"I've had a small army of psychologists doing evaluations." Ianto reaches up and pinches the bridge of his nose, a small sign of stress in a usually unflappable exterior. "Twelve have failed, sixteen have submitted resignations since the waiting period I imposed has passed, and another eight have had to be placed back into the outside because they elected to retcon themselves." He tilts his head back, trying vainly to stretch out the beginnings of a tension headache just at the base of his neck. "We've had to hunt down another nearly three hundred who joined us throughout the course of the year. When the timeline reset, they were back in their normal lives - but they could remember Torchwood. Thankfully, many of them so far have been confused about the whole thing. That useful human tendency to deny anything that can't be easily explained."
Certainly enough now giving the impression of someone who is stretched very thin, Ianto trails off speaking and looks down at the device again. It's stopped poking and prodding, but there's a sudden stinging prick at the tip of both their index fingers, probably enough to draw blood. (Or to inject something unsavory.)
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Quiet - perhaps thinking that speaking will break whatever sudden spell Ianto has been put under that's resulted in an actual bit of honesty on his part - and pensive, Jack props his elbow on the edge of the lab table and leans against his raised hand, attention focused on everything Ianto has to say. Eventually, when Ianto trails off and looks unmistakably tired, it's obvious that Jack needs to say something and, unexpectedly, he's not sure what the most appropriate thing is under the circumstance. Compulsively (and perhaps against better judgment, considering the current situation between them), he sits up and reaches out with his free hand to squeeze his former lover's knee in a light, emphatic gesture. Maybe it won't be misconstrued, Jack has always been more physically expressive than most twenty-first century humans. "It can't be easy to see your staff like that after -- "
Attention drawn to the device at the feeling of a sudden sharp prick on his index finger, Jack stares for a confused moment as his mind flies through the possibilities of what that may or may not mean. "It was scanning," he explains, eager to smooth over any worry on Ianto's part given the sudden amount of stress weighing heavily on his expression, "it's acquiring a DNA sample now. Hopefully it'll cycle through this and let us go." He pauses, casts mentally around for a distracting subject, then asks, "I wonder why it didn't activate when you and Myers had your hands in it? Guess I'm just special, huh?" The grin he flashes just there is, at least in part, a genuine attempt to coerce Ianto into doing the same.
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The gesture is, indeed, not misconstrued, maybe even welcome - physical comfort, that's something that anyone can universally agree on, isn't it? Ianto looks down at Jack's hand, then back to the device, starting just slightly at the sudden pain at the tip of his finger. "For what purpose would it be scanning and taking samples of us, anyway?" he asks, more wondering aloud than actually expecting Jack to provide an answer.
Ianto shifts, trying to get a little more comfortable in their currently stuck position, and ponders that next question a bit more seriously. "I'm not sure," he admits, and does manage, if not quite a grin, then at least a smile that is genuine nonetheless. "But if I have to be trapped in an alien device with someone, I'm glad it's you."
No offense to Myers, of course. Really.
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Poor Myers. Always the technician, never the unwitting guinea pig.
Jack smiles - too easily, too genuinely - at Ianto's admission; not exactly the flirtatious grin he might have otherwise given, but a splitsecond reaction to the information, pleased and almost a little relieved. He doesn't stop to consider whether or not this, too, is a lie. What would the point of dishonesty now and about something as ridiculous as this? (Or is that only justifying the deception to himself yet again?) "Likewise," he answers nevertheless, shifting his arm to raise the device a little, attempting to anticipate what might be the more comfortable position Ianto is attempting to find. "I could think of far worse places to be stuck with much less pleasant company."
That's probably (definitely) something he shouldn't be saying - not right now, not after everything - despite the fact that it's genuinely true. Instead, he drops his attention to the device and shrugs, attempting to bring the conversation quickly back around to a more professional level by addressing the unanswered questions in the alien technology. "It could be a medical scanner," he says, thinking aloud by the far-off tone of his voice, "except it seems to only operate selectively with two. Well, it could be for reproductive purposes. Maybe you and Myers weren't genetically compatible." Oh, that's a very amused grin Jack suddenly flashes.
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Ianto wishes rather desperately that he could stop his reaction to Jack's words - it's too easy, falling back into their old habit of casual, flirtatious banter, and he isn't certain if he should allow it to happen or not, whether it hurts or helps their relationship. Regardless of better judgment, the smile lingers, because Jack simply has a tendency to bring that sort of thing out in people. Ianto had told him that once; now, he doubts that Jack even remembers it, even though there are little hints that have slipped out here and there that indicate a vague recollection in there somewhere.
His expression shifts into something disbelieving and quite possibly sarcastic at Jack's suggestion. "I'm not sure if things change between now and the fifty-first century, but I regret to inform you that here in the twenty-first, two men cannot reproduce," Ianto deadpans, eyebrow raised, then more seriously suggests, "It could be an issue of blood types or something."
Regardless of what it is, the device seems to be satisfied; it lights up, blinking three times, then with a hissing noise that sounds like a pipe spouting air, it contracts and the ends flare out, effectively releasing them. Then it goes completely dead again, as if it had never done anything at all.
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