Working for Torchwood often forces one to accept the unusual and impossible as perfectly normal: aliens that read minds, change color, or buzz the earth looking for cheap wine; technology that swaps bodies, grows limbs, even translates Raxacoricofallapatorian; ships that travel effortlessly through space, time, or the fiery lava pits of Targos Beta.
Of course, working for Torchwood Cardiff means working on a jagged rip in the tattered, worn-out fabric of the universe. One quickly realizes how fragile space and time truly is, and that sometimes no alien, no technology, and no ship is required to tear it asunder and throw one into a mind-boggling, heart-rending, tense-tangling adventure worthy of Issaac Asimov, or even better, Douglas Adams.
Monday
When Ianto turns to find Gwen standing in the middle of the Hub one night, looking more startled than usual and holding what is clearly some sort of alien technology, he sighs, pours another cup of coffee, and approaches her cautiously. She looks as spooked as a horse that's just stepped on an ice snake; he glances down to be sure, but there are no reptiles and no puddles to be seen.
"Trade your tech for tea?" he asks pleasantly, and she frowns.
"That's coffee, not tea," she points out, sounding slightly dazed.
"I like the alliteration," he replies, remembering too late his grammar lessons in school and his misuse of the vocabulary. He holds out her mug anyway, fairly certain that Gwen doesn't know the difference between alliteration and consonance, but annoyed with himself nonetheless. Watching him warily (maybe she did realize his linguistical blunder), she holds tight to her alien tech with shaking hands. It is some sort of colorful, handheld object that looks like a hexagonal Rubik's Cube, and his brain wants to grab it and puzzle it out immediately before Tosh gets a hold of it. "And apparently you like your hexagon toy. All right. Maybe caffeine is a bad idea right now."
"No!" she exclaims, reaching for the mug, but he steps deftly out of her way as if holding it hostage, which might not be a bad idea given her sudden appearance with a hexagonal alien puzzle toy. Coffee for information? "Sorry Ianto, it's just that I'm …I'm not sure what's happened."
"And coffee helps?" Ianto asks, earning a frenzied nod of agreement.
"God yes. One minute I was standing at Tosh's station, and the next I was…well, here."
"Still standing at Tosh's station," Ianto points out.
"But no Tosh," says Gwen, glancing around in confusion. "And no Owen, no Jack." She turns back to Ianto. "And you're here, but you weren't before. You'd gone upstairs for something."
"Instead of standing at Tosh's station?" asks Ianto, and she nods. He inclines his head toward the sofa, starting to get some idea of what might be going on and trying to get his verb forms in proper shape to deal with what could very well be a long night. "Come sit down. I'll get some Hob Nobs, since you look like you could do with that more than a coffee right now."
"Lemon-ginger?" she asks plaintively, and he nods; some things never change, then.
"Naturally. And maybe some chamomile tea?"
"I'm not in shock," she protests.
"Earl Grey, then," he offers, and she accepts. Still clutching her hexagonal prize, she sits on the sofa, gazing around the Hub with those wide eyes. He watches her for a moment, idly wondering how such big eyes sometimes miss so much, then heads to the kitchenette to brew some tea. He returns to find her staring at her hexagon as if it held the answer to life, the universe, and everything.
Which, considering some of the things that had come through the Rift, it very well could. (Alien incontinence pads? While it might be a comfort for some to know extraterrestrial life forms struggled with their bowels on occasion, it had been worse than cleaning Azgoth slime from the back of the SUV.)
Shaking his head at the tangents his mind seems to be taking that night, Ianto sits next to Gwen, sipping his coffee before setting it down and holding out his hand for the hexagon. He's definitely curious now, but she holds it tight, going so far as to press it against her bosom as if guarding a small child from the evil clutches of a monstrous alien.
Which, again, could be possible, but Ianto senses the answer is much more simple than a mind control device pumping paranoid delusions into Gwen's brain. Been there, done that, still in therapy.
"Are you unable to let it go, or just unwilling?" he asks, and Gwen stares at him.
"Unwilling," she says. "I don't know what it did to me, and I don't want the same thing happening to you!" After a pause. "At least, I think that's why."
"What if I get a containment box?" he asks. "Could you put it in there?"
"I think so," she says, clearly unsure she'll be able to relinquish it when the time comes. He pats her knee, goes to grab a box from the storage cabinet, and returns to the sofa. Fortunately, Gwen is able to put the colorful hexagon into the box fairly easily, confirming Ianto's suspicions that she is not, in fact, being controlled by alien technology.
"Tell me what happened," he says.
"Where are the others?" she asks instead, as if he hadn't said anything. Sometimes he wonders if he did, given how many times his questions to both Gwen and Owen (and sometimes Jack, if he's honest, though never Tosh, which is why he still likes her best of all, even if he is sleeping with Jack) go unanswered in favor of their own questions first. He sighs, knowing that whatever has happened to Gwen is officially His Problem now; it could be an even longer night than anticipated.
"Tosh has a date, Owen is secretly sulking about it, and you just left to have dinner with Rhys." She raises an eyebrow, and he rolls his in response, knowing she's waiting for him to finish. "And Jack is…out. Working." The look Gwen gives him—exasperation mixed with pity—is one of her more irritating looks, and Ianto ignores it in hope that she won't say anything. Jack is out, and he is working. Gwen doesn't need to know that he's meeting one of their alien contacts at an underground strip club for displaced extraterrestrials with multiple limbs. She wouldn't understand.
Besides, Ianto went last time. It's his night off from tentacles.
He clears his throat.
"So you just left to meet Rhys, only you're wearing different clothes and you seem rather startled. I'm assuming you didn't come back on your own. Having a guess, I'd say you touched your alien toy and showed up here."
She nods slowly; he wonders if he should get her some paracetamol or a dictionary, as she looks both pained and completely confused.
"What day is it?" he asks, trying to be patient when it's all quite obvious to him: alien tech, rift in time, clear as day.
"Friday the 5th," she replies. Her mouth forms a small 'o' as she finally realizes what he's leading toward. "What day is it for you?"
"Monday the 1st," he replies. "Which confirms it. Congratulations on your first real jump in time!"
"My first—what?" she asks, confused once again. He shakes his head with a fondness he doesn't quite feel (he's almost wishing he was being felt up by green tentacles as opposed to explaining the space-time continuum to a woman who measured time by how long she could chase a Weevil in high-heeled boots. Which was impressive, but still.)
"You picked up the hexagon and were transported five days into the past. Think about it. Do you remember leaving Monday night to meet Rhys at Café Lou?"
"Yes," she says. "And then we—"
Ianto holds up a hand. "Stop. Timelines."
"What?"
"You can't tell me what happened because it hasn't happened yet. You just left for the restaurant." He glances at his watch. "Or it's happening right now. Either way, I don't want to know what you and Rhys get up to in your spare time. And because you've lived five days ahead of me, if you tell me anything that's going to happen, it could inadvertently change the timeline."
"And that's bad?" she asks so innocently that Ianto almost wants to cry.
"It's bad."
He can practically see the wheels and gears shifting as she attempts to wrap her brain around the intricacies of quantum entanglement, causality, and the grandfather paradox. He sips his coffee and waits.
"If I tell you something that changes the future, that means I might not come back after all, which would mean I couldn't tell you something to change the future, which means I could come back because it wasn't changed, which means-"
"High marks, Ms. Cooper!" he proclaims, earning a rueful smile in return. "It's a paradox. Not a big one, I suspect, but quite possibly big enough to take out most of Cardiff."
"Seriously?" she gasps, choking on her tea.
"I have no idea," he replies with a shrug. "I'd suggest we ask Jack given his proclivity for mucking about in time, but something tells me it would be best if we kept this to ourselves."
He stands to take his mug back to the kitchen. Gwen follows him, protesting loudly.
"How do we do that? I work here, Ianto. I don't want to hide from everyone. I want to…oh my god, I want to see Rhys! I can't keep this from him! We're getting married in a month!"
She sets her teacup down with a clatter and turns to leave. Ianto lets out his put-upon sigh (which she of all people should recognize most by now) and grabs her elbow.
"Gwen, what would you do if you were having a romantic dinner with your fiancé and you came running up to interrupt it?"
"I would—" She stutters to a stop. "Well, I'd probably shoot myself. Think I was an alien imposter or something." Yet another look of confusion mars her face; Ianto wonders if he should start slipping vitamin supplements into her beverages to keep the wrinkles at bay. "Wait, how did you know I wasn't an alien imposter?"
"Are you?" he asks.
"No!"
"That's how I know," he says, and waits for it.
"If I was an imposter, that's what I'd say."
"And if you were an imposter, you'd probably have neutralized me by now," he returns. "Not to mention, I think the Hub would have picked up on it."
She is silent for a moment.
"You didn't even think of it," she says, and he shakes his head.
"I did, I just dismissed it as soon as it came to mind. You're too you to be anyone else right now, Gwen. So, what do we do about your little trip in time?"
"Send me back?" she suggests, but he shakes his head
"It's only five days. On Friday, you'll pick up the hexagon, disappear, and five minutes later you can walk through the front door again and reassure everyone you're all right."
"But what do I do until then? I can't stay here because I don't remember running into myself, and I can't go to Rhys because I'm already with him. Why can't we figure out how this works and send me back?"
Ianto quietly admits to himself that messing with Gwen is almost as much fun as messing with Owen. After admitting it, he acknowledges a tiny sliver of guilt before setting it aside, then runs with it.
"Torchwood policy. We have protocols in place for this sort of thing." Which, technically, is true. They're ridiculously archaic, however, and need to be updated.
Very soon he won't be able to keep a straight face every time Gwen gapes at him. "We have protocols for time travel?"
"We have protocols for everything," he says, and assumes a professional stance to start rattling off the improvised bullshit he's become quite good at over the course of a year and a half covering up alien activity in southern Wales. "If the agent in question travels between one hour and one month in backward in time, they are required to maintain the timeline and catch up to themselves by remaining out of sight." She stares at him, and he shrugs. "Think of it as a forced vacation," he says, then continues.
"If the agent in question travels between one month and one year backward in time, it is the director's discretion as to what action should be taken. And if the agent has traveled back more than a year in time, then every effort is made to return them in to their proper timeline before the universe implodes."
And just like that Gwen ruins Ianto's little game. "Then why did you shoot Owen for following protocol when Jack and Tosh were stuck in 1941?"
"Because Owen is a twat," he replies as casually as he can. "Personally and professionally."
"I'm surprised you haven't shot him again," she murmurs, and he leans forward to share a secret.
"Don't think I haven't considered it."
She grins, he smiles back, and suddenly they've bonded. Ianto sort of wants to shower, because he feels like he's been contaminated, but he can't, it's still His Problem since Jack is getting groped at the strip club and won't be in any condition to deal with Gwen when he returns.
"So what do I do?" she asks again, this time sounding like a lost puppy. "Where do I go?" Ianto freezes, seeing where this is heading and desperately trying to think of a way out of it before Gwen says—
"Can I stay at yours? Just for the week?"
A sigh. A silent groan in his head. If he could roll his eyes without moving them he would. "I'm not sure that's the best solution."
"It'll be fine," she replies in that insensitive manner she's mastered with the team. "I won't be in your way. You won't even know I'm there."
"Gwen, how am I supposed to explain why your future self is staying at my flat?" He watches her struggle with an answer.
"Don't say anything?" she suggests. "Who do you need to explain it to anyway?"
He stares at her, at a loss for words in spite of how well he knows her. She truly doesn't think that hiding in his flat for the rest of the week will be any inconvenience for him. Because he's couldn't possibly be seeing anyone outside Torchwood, and he's certainly not serious about Jack. They only fucked around the Hub before Jack ran off with his Doctor. They don't go back to Ianto's flat most nights now. They certainly don't cook dinner together on their rare nights off, or curl up on the sofa and watch telly, or have loud sex on the sofa when the telly is crap.
No, Gwen is Gwen, and she still doesn't realize that the world doesn't revolve around her, that it's not cold and lonely for the rest of them, and that Ianto has far more of a life than he did six months ago. A life he's rather enjoying at the moment, and one that does not include hiding his annoying coworker away in his flat in order to avoid destroying the universe.
Bloody Torchwood.
"Never mind," he says. "You can stay at mine, but there are rules."
"Of course there are," she murmurs, and he gives her a pointed look.
"Would you rather spend the week in a safe house with a lost Bartledanian?"
Big round eyes again and a vigorous shake of the head. Maybe he should get her an eye patch so he'd only have to gaze back at one instead of two.
"Let's go," he says. "I'll explain the rest on the way."
Ianto leads the way down the corridor toward his flat, trying to remember the last time Gwen had been there. Checking up on him after Lisa? No…maybe after the cannibals. No, she'd been shot and sleeping with Owen, maybe it was after…well, it must have been after Jack left. And she hadn't even been checking up on him, but following the others for a night of drunken consolation. First Tosh had shown up with wine, followed by Owen with beer, followed by Gwen with some god-awful mixer.
He probably still had the mixer.
She'd been over since, surely? There had been that one time after…no, that was Tosh's place…maybe after he'd been shot…no, she'd texted him, though. Ianto pauses with the key in the lock as he realizes that Gwen Cooper is about to spend the week in his flat, and he hasn't straightened up for days. Shit.
"Is everything all right?" she asks, and he offers her a rueful grin over his shoulder.
"Bit of a mess, I'm afraid. We were rather…er, I was running late this morning." She frowns at his slip before patting his shoulder in understanding. He was late, but that was only because he and Jack had spent the quiet weekend indulging in just about every hedonistic fantasy they could think of; cleaning up after themselves had not been a priority.
"It's all right, love. Last time you were at mine there was laundry on the table and dishes in the sink!"
Which was true, but he and Owen had been dropping her off after a bit too much at the local, not spending the week with her and Rhys.
"Yes, well, sorry. Come on in, I'll just nip around and pick up a bit while you make yourself at home."
He steps into the main room, a combination of living room and dining room. The table is clear of food and crumbs, though it is obvious there were two people eating there recently as two bamboo placemats are set opposite one another and several leftover chopsticks and napkins from dinner still litter the center of the table for next time he and Jack actually make it back to eat. There are an extra shoes by the door and a brown leather coat on the hooks by the entry (his is black, of course.) A few magazines litter the table, including a rather risqué one that causes Gwen to giggle. The sofa looks rumpled but decent, until Ianto spots Jack's boxers under a pillow and makes to grab them, stuffing them in his pocket. When he turns, Gwen is grinning.
"House guest?" she teases.
"Something like that," he murmurs, trying not to blush. "Come on, I'll show you the spare room."
"Thanks for doing this, Ianto," she says, following him down the short hallway. "I really appreciate it, I know—"
She stops as she takes in the spare room: there is a large treadmill taking up half the space, several boxes stacked in the corner that have now been there for over a year, and a computer desk with a rather sophisticated setup for monitoring the Rift. The walls are bare, the windows curtainless, the floor rugless. She glances around, frowning.
"I can sleep on the sofa," she says.
"Nonsense," Ianto replies, wanting to maintain at least some semblance of normalcy, which means guests sleep in spare rooms, even if there are no proper beds. Besides, if Gwen knew what had gone down on that sofa recently, she'd probably want to sleep under the kitchen table. "I have an air mattress, sheets, towels, and blankets. We'll fold up the treadmill, clear some space for you to spread out in for a few days."
"If it's too much trouble," she starts, and he waves her off.
"It's not a problem. This way you'll have your own room rather than the sofa, and we…I won't wake you in the mornings." It occurs to him that Jack will need some assistance after meeting his contact, but Ianto doesn't want Jack and Gwen in his flat at the same time for that. He'll have to go back tonight the Hub, then. Putting Jack off from coming back to the flat for the rest of the week will be tricky, though.
"That's all right, I have to get up too." She stops. "Oh, but I can't go to work with you." He shakes his head. "What am I going to do all day?"
"Relax," he says, and motions to her to help him get things sorted, starting with the exercise equipment. "Torchwood doesn't do many days off, so think of it as a blessing in disguise. Sleep in, lay around, watch telly, read, sleep some more." He pauses. "Seriously. Stock up on sleep because you know you'll need it as soon as you catch up to yourself."
"I can't even go out, can I?" she asks softly.
"Timelines," he says.
"Shit," she replies. "This is serious."
"Time travel usually is," Ianto says. He leaves the room to track down some linens and she follows closely behind him, still talking.
"Jack makes it sound so fun and easy," she says, and Ianto stops, thinking of Jack's last trip through time, the one where he was bound and tortured for a year that ultimately reset itself, a year none of them remember and none of the others know even happened. Not so fun and easy, but then Gwen never sees the shadows when it comes to Jack, only the bright lights.
Gwen walks into him from behind as he gathers wool, like something from a comedy routine. He shakes his head, grabs the required linens (Gwen gets the flowery sheets Lisa had purchased but Ianto has never used. He both resents her for it and is glad they are finally being used again) before dropping them off in the guest room and heading to the kitchen. He stands in the doorway gaping at the mess—when did he become such a slob? Yes, he and Jack were distracted and in a hurry that morning, but still. There are dishes in the rack, bowls in the sink, coffee mugs on the table, and the trash is full to overflowing. His cupboards are probably a nightmare given how much food they'd gone through over the weekend. Gwen bumps his shoulder.
"I didn't realize you had a roommate," she teases. "It's almost as if Jack were living here instead of you!"
He gazes at her with slightly wild eyes, wondering if she is honestly that oblivious or simply in denial. He has no reply, and can only watch with a sick sort of horror as she walks past him over to the refrigerator, where a magnet is holding up a picture of him and Jack on the sofa at the Hub, heads back and fingers loosely intertwined as they grinned at one another. She tilts her head and stares at it.
It had been after a long and difficult Weevil chase a few months back, and they'd both been exhausted. They'd returned to the Hub and dismissed everyone immediately, but Tosh had snapped the picture before leaving and had printed it the next day. Jack keeps a copy tucked into his mirror at the Hub. Gwen is staring at the picture as if seeing Jack and Ianto on the sofa together for the first time.
"Oh." She turns to gaze around the kitchen, at the dishes and mugs, then into the other room at the placemats and shoes and coat. She even glances at Ianto's pockets, where Jack's boxers are poking out; why hadn't he tossed them into his room when he'd had the chance?
"Am I going to find both sides of your bed mussed up if I check your room?" she asks. "Two sets of towels, a second toothbrush?"
"Gwen," he starts, then blows out a breath when she covers her mouth to stifle her reaction.
"I'm completely thick, aren't I?" she asks. "You're seeing someone."
"Er," he says, suspecting that in spite of the evidence right before her, PC Cooper hasn't come to the right conclusion about his love life. No, his sex life. He doesn't have an actual love life, just a lot of sex. Which is probably part of the confusion.
"But that's brilliant!" she says, then stops and glances back at the picture on the fridge. "Only you're not sleeping with Jack again, are you?" she asks. "Believe me, I'd understand if you were, but you can't throw away something good for something that might never happen."
Ianto raises an eyebrow, unsure whether she is talking about Owen or Jack in this context. "Speaking from experience?" he asks, and she nods, running her index finger across Jack's face on the photograph.
"Yeah," she says softly. "I've realized some things recently. And—oh!" She stops and whirls toward him. "Am I in the way, then? Why didn't you say anything?"
"I tried," he drawls, and her hand flies to her mouth once more.
"I'm so sorry, sweatheart, you did, didn't you? Well, maybe I can stay…I don't know…at a hotel? Or with Owen? He's dead, he hardly stays at his flat anymore." They both wince at the truth of it.
"You're already here, so you're staying. No sense tangling up the timeline even more by letting someone else in on it."
"But your…" she takes a deep breath "…boyfriend won't mind?"
"Boyfriend?" he asks in surprise. Even if Jack was spending an unusual amount of time at the flat compared to the Hub, the term 'boyfriend' wasn't exactly on their radar, was it? Jack would certainly scoff and Ianto wasn't sure if he wanted a boyfriend, it sounded awfully school-age.
"You've got shorts in your pocket," she says.
"They're mine?" he offers, and she grins knowingly.
"Well, boyfriend or girlfriend, do I get to meet them this week?" she asks, and he shakes his head so vigorously he's sure his eyeballs are rattling back and forth.
"Probably not the right time for it," he says. "Too many explanations." To his relief, she deflates somewhat and agrees.
"After I catch up with myself?"
Tempted to blow it all out of the water and confess everything just to see the look on Gwen's face, Ianto opens his mouth before deciding against it, bites his tongue, and nods. He starts to think of ways she can happen upon it, most of which involve complicated sexual positions around the Hub. He doesn't realize he's staring into space until she waves her hand at him.
"Must be someone special," she says, and there is that fond look on her face, as if she's watching a kitten play with a string. Ianto snaps out of it by snorting, completely destroying the mood and earning a surprised start from Gwen.
"It's complicated," he says, and she nods, touching his arm in support.
"Don't let Jack ruin it for you, Ianto. He's always telling me to hold onto my normal, so now I'm telling you."
"Right," he says. "Okay then. I'm heading back to the Hub for a bit. Will you be all right here on your own?"
She glances around. "You're going to leave me in your flat all by myself?"
"Just don't have any wild parties," Ianto says. "My neighbors already complain about the noise." She raises an eyebrow, but he turns and heads back toward the door without explaining, itching to get out and get back to the Hub, where he can't tell Jack that Gwen's jumped back in time and thinks that Ianto has a boyfriend. Because knowing Jack, he'd find a way to let present-day Gwen know what's going on, which would muck up the timelines since future Gwen is so incredibly clueless.
For a moment Ianto stops, looks at Gwen standing somewhat forlornly in the middle of his flat, and feels the tiniest flare of fond exasperation for her. It's a good thing he's leaving, or he might be tempted to hug her and keep her company. Instead, he gives her a simple nod of the head, and one last set of directions.
"Text me and only me if you need anything. And don't wait up for me." Since he's not planning on returning. Something about Gwen in his flat makes him uncomfortable, but he knows he won't be able to lie to about Jack her all week, so he'll have to come back at some point and spend the night. The problem is he won't be able to lie to Jack all week either and put him off coming back to the flat when it's become such a familiar routine. Ianto thinks maybe he should have checked Gwen into a hotel, but he doesn't trust her to not explore, and at least holed up in his flat he can keep an eye on her.
Before Gwen can admonish him about working late or staying at the Hub or god forbid, sleeping with Jack again, Ianto pulls the door shut behind him and breathes a sigh of relief. So far, paradox averted. Which leaves him four more days of making sure Gwen Cooper doesn't destroy the universe—or his life.
Author's Note:
I've been working on this on the side for a while. It's a bit different style for me, writing in present tense with an eye for dry humour. This first chapter owes a lot to Douglas Adams, though the references end here. I've tried to keep the dry voice throughout, but it got a bit serious at times. Still, it's been fun, and I do hope you enjoy it! If there are any mistakes, they are my own and I apologize, but my beta is working hard on A Different Life as well as her own new story! Let me know what you think about this, or where you think it's going. It's always fun to hear what readers anticipate happening next. The story is finished, so I'm planning quick updates. Thank you for reading!