Methos has a tendency to wander a lot. It comes with being old and restless. Even if he doesn't, y'know, LOOK old. Unfortunately there's not much of anywhere to wander outside the basement, and Methos doesn't really feel like going out anyway.
So he's wandering the basement. And happens to be so lost in though that he's not watching where he's going. And thus, he manages to run into Jack, which promptly jolts him out of his thoughts.
Jack catches and steadies him mostly by reflex. "Whoa, hey, there--" He grins, but it's a fairly distracted grin. It's a good day for distractions. "No problem." I've been run into by worse things than good-looking guys. He quirks his head, aimless(ish) wandering, for the moment, curtailed. "You look like a man with something on your mind."
Methos shrugs. "Not... that much on my mind, really, just... the usual 'came-through-the-Rift-no-longer-at-home' brooding a lot of Wanderers seem to do their first few weeks."
"Ah, yeah. Know how that goes," Jack says. Even if he doesn't, quite. His universe was really not a place he wanted to... be. "Not the easiest adjustment, is it? The scary thing is, after a while, this place starts to feel like home."
Disasters, catastrophes, sky in a constant state of falling....
You were looking for a Ianto, Jack, and one has stumbled into you!
He's got his own laptop tucked beneath his left arm, having been doing a little bit of research on his down time. However, if Jack will notice (which, it's really sort of obvious) his right arm is casted and being supported by a sling. Ianto, if anything, seems both a little frustrated and pained. After getting the bones reset in his wrist and everything back in order, it's still bothering him quite a bit.
Looking up before he nearly runs into Jack, he stops and gives a small (almost hesitant) smile. "Hello, Jack." Yeah, he's finally gotten rid of the whole 'sir' thing. Well, for the most part.
Jack looks up, greeting him with a grin. He keeps meaning to look Ianto up, he swears, but it's something about this place--the sky always seems to be falling down on one of them. "Ianto," he greets, as warmly as circumstances can merit. "I was j--arm."
He frowns, taking in the cast. Ianto didn't have it, the last time he saw him. And this is no measly wrist brace, either--this is quite a comprehensive job.
Ianto returns the grin, as it's definitely nice to see something other than blatant stress on the other man's face. It's something they both wear well, definitely.
Looking to his arm almost a little helplessly, he glances back to Jack, "I had a few problems on my last trip out. I was checking a few places for possible base set-up."
If Jack asks, he'll tell him just who did it. He knows he can't lie about it (because between Gwen and Tosh, Jack would find out), so if it opens itself, he'll explain. "I'll be in this for a month or two before it's opened, checked and recast."
"A month or two?" No, Jack's not going to miss it. He hadn't missed this whole lack-of-communication between his team and himself, and upon finding it on this side of the Rift, he's been less than enthused. Toshiko's nascent heroin habit was bad enough; he's fine-tuning his warning signs. "What did you do, trip in front of a bus?"
Oh, if only things in Torchwood were ever that easy. Or accidental.
Sam won't be able to help on the plague front. It's not exactly his area of expertise.
He may, however, be able to distract Jack from worrying until he can actually do something about the situation at hand.
The thing about the basement is that there's not far you can prowl without retracing your steps a couple times, unless you just want to keep going down the endless hallway - which gets a little boring, and pointless after a while, once you get to rooms that haven't been filled. So Sam's noticed the prowling, and after a while decides to intercept him.
"Are you looking for someone?" Or just wandering for the sake of wandering? Not that Sam can blame him if he is, but if he can help... Well. Pacing people get on his nerves, when it's not him doing the pacing.
Jack doesn't actually jump. Just thinks it. He'd forgotten how... unobtrusive Sam could be.
"In particular?" he asks. "Not... particularly." He glances around at the room--oh, the problems he never had to deal with in the Hub--and, upon seeing no one in the immediate vicinity, lowers his voice. "Looking for something constructive to do. Not much I can, until Martha gets me more information."
Sam can understand that. He's not able to offer any help, but he wishes he could. "You're going with her when she comes back?" It would make sense - if there's the possibility of a plague, you send people who aren't going to get it... or at least, if they do get it, will without a doubt be fine eventually.
For a moment, he's silent, considering, and then Sam adds, "Where do you need me?" He can't imagine he'd be much help, but if there's some reason for him to come along, he will.
Far away from the bloody plague, is Jack's get response. That's not really a viable option for anyone in Torchwood.
"Here," he says. "Looking after the civilians. We're probably going to have to close the basement off, and I can imagine the sort of atmosphere that will breed." He looks grim for a moment. Babysitting. Babysitting a bunch of frightened people, no doubt. "Not the best job I can offer, but."
Then again, the last time he was called in for plague assistance, it was to use him as a living petri dish. And that's quite probably the worse end of the scale.
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So he's wandering the basement. And happens to be so lost in though that he's not watching where he's going. And thus, he manages to run into Jack, which promptly jolts him out of his thoughts.
"Oh, Hell. Sorry," he says, sheepishly.
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Disasters, catastrophes, sky in a constant state of falling....
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He's got his own laptop tucked beneath his left arm, having been doing a little bit of research on his down time. However, if Jack will notice (which, it's really sort of obvious) his right arm is casted and being supported by a sling. Ianto, if anything, seems both a little frustrated and pained. After getting the bones reset in his wrist and everything back in order, it's still bothering him quite a bit.
Looking up before he nearly runs into Jack, he stops and gives a small (almost hesitant) smile. "Hello, Jack." Yeah, he's finally gotten rid of the whole 'sir' thing. Well, for the most part.
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He frowns, taking in the cast. Ianto didn't have it, the last time he saw him. And this is no measly wrist brace, either--this is quite a comprehensive job.
"What happened to your arm?"
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Looking to his arm almost a little helplessly, he glances back to Jack, "I had a few problems on my last trip out. I was checking a few places for possible base set-up."
If Jack asks, he'll tell him just who did it. He knows he can't lie about it (because between Gwen and Tosh, Jack would find out), so if it opens itself, he'll explain. "I'll be in this for a month or two before it's opened, checked and recast."
No ordinary break at all.
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Oh, if only things in Torchwood were ever that easy. Or accidental.
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He may, however, be able to distract Jack from worrying until he can actually do something about the situation at hand.
The thing about the basement is that there's not far you can prowl without retracing your steps a couple times, unless you just want to keep going down the endless hallway - which gets a little boring, and pointless after a while, once you get to rooms that haven't been filled. So Sam's noticed the prowling, and after a while decides to intercept him.
"Are you looking for someone?" Or just wandering for the sake of wandering? Not that Sam can blame him if he is, but if he can help... Well. Pacing people get on his nerves, when it's not him doing the pacing.
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"In particular?" he asks. "Not... particularly." He glances around at the room--oh, the problems he never had to deal with in the Hub--and, upon seeing no one in the immediate vicinity, lowers his voice. "Looking for something constructive to do. Not much I can, until Martha gets me more information."
Not on the plague front, at least.
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For a moment, he's silent, considering, and then Sam adds, "Where do you need me?" He can't imagine he'd be much help, but if there's some reason for him to come along, he will.
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"Here," he says. "Looking after the civilians. We're probably going to have to close the basement off, and I can imagine the sort of atmosphere that will breed." He looks grim for a moment. Babysitting. Babysitting a bunch of frightened people, no doubt. "Not the best job I can offer, but."
Then again, the last time he was called in for plague assistance, it was to use him as a living petri dish. And that's quite probably the worse end of the scale.
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