Short Fic - Adam
Title: Adam
Disclaimer: Being a bloke who likes to slash pretty men doesn't make me RTD, I don't work for the BBC, and as much as I might like to, I don't own Jack or Ianto or any part of Torchwood. I do, however, order pizza under that name on principle.
Pairings: implied Jack/Ianto, Jack/?
Rating: PG for adult themes.
Notes: Ianto discovers that he is not who he thinks he is.
Every tactile sensor active, synaptic templates on.
Coping until all self-restraint is gone.
Human themes with plastic seams.
Nothing to share, but I don't care.
- Information Society, "I Like The Way You Werk It"
# # #
No one knows what happened to the real Ianto Jones. No one ever realized he was gone until Jack went to kiss him.
They avoid his gaze, afraid to see the tiny rim of alien characters around his left iris. They refuse to touch him when he gets his hand blown off saving Tosh from a device gone critical. Even Jack flinches when it grows back before their eyes in a mist of golden light. They throw him in the cells for a week, only releasing him when it becomes evident that he is merely terrifying rather than dangerous. He is an exact copy, down to every freckle and hair.
He does not feel like a monster. He feels like Ianto. He knows what Ianto knows, feels what Ianto feels, loves what Ianto loves. He doesn't remember being manufactured. His memories are complete. His handwriting matches. And yet here he is, where Ianto is supposed to be. Jack even takes him into his bed occasionally, though their relationship lacks the intimacy and ease he remembers. It stings, but he understands.
They call him Adam.
He doesn't eat -- he doesn't need to -- though he does persist in drinking coffee. He is mystified when he finds that his hair and fingernails grow, and is oddly pleased when he discovers that he needs to shave. That he feels pain is a comfort, and he imagines it lets him feel human. When Jack finally agrees to let him work, he joins the search, referencing CCTV and GPS data, allowing them to track his movements as far back as they can. He is so disappointed at finding nothing that he runs the search again on his own every night. There has to be something to explain where he came from, and where Ianto went. Their only other clue, the marks around his iris, defy analysis.
Someday, they will find Ianto Jones. They have to. It hurts too much not to be him.
Disclaimer: Being a bloke who likes to slash pretty men doesn't make me RTD, I don't work for the BBC, and as much as I might like to, I don't own Jack or Ianto or any part of Torchwood. I do, however, order pizza under that name on principle.
Pairings: implied Jack/Ianto, Jack/?
Rating: PG for adult themes.
Notes: Ianto discovers that he is not who he thinks he is.
Every tactile sensor active, synaptic templates on.
Coping until all self-restraint is gone.
Human themes with plastic seams.
Nothing to share, but I don't care.
- Information Society, "I Like The Way You Werk It"
# # #
No one knows what happened to the real Ianto Jones. No one ever realized he was gone until Jack went to kiss him.
They avoid his gaze, afraid to see the tiny rim of alien characters around his left iris. They refuse to touch him when he gets his hand blown off saving Tosh from a device gone critical. Even Jack flinches when it grows back before their eyes in a mist of golden light. They throw him in the cells for a week, only releasing him when it becomes evident that he is merely terrifying rather than dangerous. He is an exact copy, down to every freckle and hair.
He does not feel like a monster. He feels like Ianto. He knows what Ianto knows, feels what Ianto feels, loves what Ianto loves. He doesn't remember being manufactured. His memories are complete. His handwriting matches. And yet here he is, where Ianto is supposed to be. Jack even takes him into his bed occasionally, though their relationship lacks the intimacy and ease he remembers. It stings, but he understands.
They call him Adam.
He doesn't eat -- he doesn't need to -- though he does persist in drinking coffee. He is mystified when he finds that his hair and fingernails grow, and is oddly pleased when he discovers that he needs to shave. That he feels pain is a comfort, and he imagines it lets him feel human. When Jack finally agrees to let him work, he joins the search, referencing CCTV and GPS data, allowing them to track his movements as far back as they can. He is so disappointed at finding nothing that he runs the search again on his own every night. There has to be something to explain where he came from, and where Ianto went. Their only other clue, the marks around his iris, defy analysis.
Someday, they will find Ianto Jones. They have to. It hurts too much not to be him.