(no subject)
Title: Through Other Eyes, Part 1/4: Prologue (walk out of any doorway)
Word Count: 750
Characters: Ianto, Torchwood One OCs
Summary: An AU in which Ianto is offered command of Torchwood Three after Canary Wharf. Written for tw_exchange.
They approached him while he was still in hospital. It was UNIT's doing, the cordoning off of an entire wing of Albion Hospital just for the survivors, what few of them there were. Ianto Jones wasn't nearly injured enough for full-time medical care, but it had only been a few days and the doctors were citing observation for acute stress. It was the same for all twenty-seven of them; all in shock.
Their world had just burned. Of course they were.
They came, a woman in a smart pantsuit and a man in waistcoat and tie. The two of them certainly hadn't been in the battle, but they were Torchwood, through and through.
They found him in his bed, gown pulled tight around him, tapping with the oximeter clipped to the tip of his right index finger, listening to the steady beep of his heartbeat. His other arm was hung in a sling close to his chest, his wrist in a plaster cast.
The man pulled a chair close to the bed and sat down. He seemed to be the more personable of the two. "Mr. Jones, how are you feeling?"
"Better," Ianto said, though he didn't even try to smile. Better than what, he wasn't sure, but it seemed to be enough for the visitors. It was going to have to be.
"Good. My name is Emmett Sadeler and this is Miss White. We're from the steering committee."
"You're aware," the woman began in clipped tones, "of the recent death of Suzanne Costello, leader of Torchwood Three?"
Taptaptap.
"Mr. Jones."
"Yes," he answered, wondering what it had to do with him. "I'm aware."
"You've decided to remain with Torchwood?." Somehow, in the woman's voice, it rang out like an accusation. But it was true. Most had chosen not to. He didn't need to be told; there was no blaming them, but Ianto couldn't go that route. The implications were too great to bear thinking about: to leave Torchwood is to die, one way or another. He could die on an autopsy table or die in another life, believing he was someone else-- or a constructed version of himself, which was almost worse.
Or he could go on, so that the lives lost were not in vain: he could remember. So Ianto nodded. "Yes."
"Long story short, Mr. Jones," she continued, "until Torchwood One becomes operational again, and it will, Cardiff is going to be our forerunner. It will be Torchwood. And therefore, we can no longer afford to let it run amok."
Sadeler nodded. "Of the current management, barely enough people survived to get the main office running again, let alone one or two spare to ship off to Wales. The Committee has therefore voted to promote from within."
"And that is why we've come to you."
"What--"
Before he could ask them to clarify, or otherwise stutter through a question that would no doubt embarrass himself, Sadeler gave him a much gentler smile. Strangely, he didn't feel patronised. "We'd like you to consider the position."
Ianto struggled with that a moment. They were offering him Torchwood Three? He knew he was more tired than he wanted to admit to himself, but that seemed a little far-fetched for even his brain. "I'm not sure I'm qualified--"
"You possess a background in technology, are trained in data and logistics, and have completed two field rotations. Your record is flawless. In fact, you were on Director's personal watchlist for recruitment into the administration."
"Ah." That would be something else to mull over later. Being chosen by Yvonne Hartman no longer sounded like the honour it would have been a few days ago. "And should I choose not to accept?"
The man smiled. "We'll move on to the next name on the list and you'll be offered the same choice as the rest. Memory alteration and a new life, or placement at the head of a department when we're off the ground."
His own department or his own branch. Either way, he was being offered a promotion-- a promotion he wasn't sure if he'd deserved, and one he certainly hadn't earned. He was being rewarded for watching hundreds of people die, for holding on just a few seconds longer than they had managed.
He wanted to scream about how unfair this was, but all he did was nod.
Shock, Ianto reminded himself. In the background, his pulse rang out in tinny, echoing beeps.
Part 2
Word Count: 750
Characters: Ianto, Torchwood One OCs
Summary: An AU in which Ianto is offered command of Torchwood Three after Canary Wharf. Written for tw_exchange.
They approached him while he was still in hospital. It was UNIT's doing, the cordoning off of an entire wing of Albion Hospital just for the survivors, what few of them there were. Ianto Jones wasn't nearly injured enough for full-time medical care, but it had only been a few days and the doctors were citing observation for acute stress. It was the same for all twenty-seven of them; all in shock.
Their world had just burned. Of course they were.
They came, a woman in a smart pantsuit and a man in waistcoat and tie. The two of them certainly hadn't been in the battle, but they were Torchwood, through and through.
They found him in his bed, gown pulled tight around him, tapping with the oximeter clipped to the tip of his right index finger, listening to the steady beep of his heartbeat. His other arm was hung in a sling close to his chest, his wrist in a plaster cast.
The man pulled a chair close to the bed and sat down. He seemed to be the more personable of the two. "Mr. Jones, how are you feeling?"
"Better," Ianto said, though he didn't even try to smile. Better than what, he wasn't sure, but it seemed to be enough for the visitors. It was going to have to be.
"Good. My name is Emmett Sadeler and this is Miss White. We're from the steering committee."
"You're aware," the woman began in clipped tones, "of the recent death of Suzanne Costello, leader of Torchwood Three?"
Taptaptap.
"Mr. Jones."
"Yes," he answered, wondering what it had to do with him. "I'm aware."
"You've decided to remain with Torchwood?." Somehow, in the woman's voice, it rang out like an accusation. But it was true. Most had chosen not to. He didn't need to be told; there was no blaming them, but Ianto couldn't go that route. The implications were too great to bear thinking about: to leave Torchwood is to die, one way or another. He could die on an autopsy table or die in another life, believing he was someone else-- or a constructed version of himself, which was almost worse.
Or he could go on, so that the lives lost were not in vain: he could remember. So Ianto nodded. "Yes."
"Long story short, Mr. Jones," she continued, "until Torchwood One becomes operational again, and it will, Cardiff is going to be our forerunner. It will be Torchwood. And therefore, we can no longer afford to let it run amok."
Sadeler nodded. "Of the current management, barely enough people survived to get the main office running again, let alone one or two spare to ship off to Wales. The Committee has therefore voted to promote from within."
"And that is why we've come to you."
"What--"
Before he could ask them to clarify, or otherwise stutter through a question that would no doubt embarrass himself, Sadeler gave him a much gentler smile. Strangely, he didn't feel patronised. "We'd like you to consider the position."
Ianto struggled with that a moment. They were offering him Torchwood Three? He knew he was more tired than he wanted to admit to himself, but that seemed a little far-fetched for even his brain. "I'm not sure I'm qualified--"
"You possess a background in technology, are trained in data and logistics, and have completed two field rotations. Your record is flawless. In fact, you were on Director's personal watchlist for recruitment into the administration."
"Ah." That would be something else to mull over later. Being chosen by Yvonne Hartman no longer sounded like the honour it would have been a few days ago. "And should I choose not to accept?"
The man smiled. "We'll move on to the next name on the list and you'll be offered the same choice as the rest. Memory alteration and a new life, or placement at the head of a department when we're off the ground."
His own department or his own branch. Either way, he was being offered a promotion-- a promotion he wasn't sure if he'd deserved, and one he certainly hadn't earned. He was being rewarded for watching hundreds of people die, for holding on just a few seconds longer than they had managed.
He wanted to scream about how unfair this was, but all he did was nod.
Shock, Ianto reminded himself. In the background, his pulse rang out in tinny, echoing beeps.
Part 2