[RP] Little angels hang above my head and read me like an open book...
[[Locked to no_daylight]]Shortly after a rather disastrous conversation with J, and a somewhat less disastrous exchange on the journals with Winter, a freshly showered and shaven Ianto is at a Chicago hotel, looking for a certain Glaysa-Labolas demon
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"We're here for you no matter what," he says. "As long as we can be." Winter won't promise forever, because he knows too well that politics in Chicago change the rules with alarming frequency. Even Leona is only willing to take on so much risk for two of her kids and a single point of contact, and he can't fault her for that. They're all part of something so much larger. "But if you're asking for reassurance..."
That, he can do.
His hand shifts, the palm sliding over ad behind Ianto's ear to cradle the back of his neck, fingers tracing lines against tension.
"I have faith in Ms. Sandric," he says. It's more than trust, that - I have faith. "She's protected us from terrible things. She's guided us through. I've never met a rakshasa with more a sense of family."
He's moved closer, just a bit, but enough to bring the warmth of his body into more of a presence beside him.
"Almost everyone here will tell you the same things," he says. "She comes across very strong, but you should hear the history of this place. At first it was her group, coming back from Europe after World War Two. She held them together and protected them. They began adopting more into their circles, and slowly turned into a business in a time when it wasn't safe to be one. She made it possible to show no fear, no shame - and when the Organization came to notice them, she negotiated as much autonomoy as circumstance would allow."
He leans in.
"Mr. Monroe may have nominal authority over Ms. Sandric, but he hasn't yet interfered in her purview. Even assignments with the other departments, even visits from other Organization personnel - Ms. Sandric controls those, and anyone who seems to threaten one of us is held accountable to her."
His free hand raises, just slightly, to indicate the room.
"This suite," he says. "This time in my schedule. Both were made available by Ms. Sandric, not because I'm under any orders to court you or to bring you in, but because I asked." A bit of a nudge, there, a subtle emotional undertone of It's me. It's Anna and I. We're the ones who care; Ms. Sandric, the one who respects that. "I've worked for her for some time, now. And I wouldn't rather be anywhere but here."
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"I'm sorry," he says. "I just... One learns not to trust easily, in my line of work." He feels, again, vaguely ashamed for having doubted Winter at all.
And that's what decides him.
"I won't keep avoiding the two of you," he says. "I really don't think I can. Just give me a few days to get everything sorted, and I'll... I can't promise anything more than seeing you more often, but I'll find a way to do that, at least."
Even if he has to leave Torchwood to do it.
It's at this point that he notices that his tail's wagging -- has been wagging, in fact, for as long as Winter's been touching him -- and is making just the faintest of sounds as it brushes against the back of the sofa.
Really, though, in comparison to the rest of this conversation, it's only mildly mortifying.
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"I understand," he says - there is, at least, some commonality in their lines of work. "And that's all that I'd ask."
He leans in to kiss Ianto's forehead, brushing back the hair again, neither touching nor making specific effort to avoid the small horns. When his pulls back his head is still near the crook of Ianto's neck, making them a comfortable shared presence.
"Now let's get away from business, shall we?" he says. "Did you want to talk?"
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