The second toughest thing about Jack being gone was figuring out who would be in charge of what. (The toughest thing about Jack being gone was Jack being gone, of course. To Ianto, the Hub seemed both smaller and emptier without his presence.) The remains of Torchwood Three gathered around the conference table, Tosh hooking up the projector to display her spreadsheet, Ianto handing out coffee. They all looked at each other.
"Right," said Owen.
"Er," said Gwen.
Which was how Ianto found himself in charge of completing Jack's annual Earth visa check-ins.
"Jack's what?" said Gwen when Tosh came to that item on the list.
"You know," said Owen. "For the aliens that aren't trying to eat us, or destroy the Earth, or subjugate the human race into slavery, or whatever."
Tosh gave a little snort, but sobered a little at Gwen's expression. "It's like for resident aliens, only they're actually aliens," she said. "Some of them are refugees, but most are just rich tourists."
"And we, what, go and see them all? Make sure they're not getting into trouble?"
"Basically," said Tosh. "I'm not really sure what Jack does, to be honest."
"I've got some notes," said Ianto, and they all turned to look at him. He flushed and looked down at the table. "Jack said he wanted to take me on the rounds this year, have me meet everyone. I know he was working on a list about all the people he sees, and I'm pretty sure I can find the file." And it'll give me a chance to get out to Flat Holm and look in on things there, he thought, sighing a little.
"Right," said Gwen. "Which means archiving's for the rest of us, when the Rift is quiet." Owen groaned, but raised his hands in a gesture of defeat when everyone else turned to glare.
"All right, all right," he said.
"And you'll follow the checklist diligently," said Ianto, turning his glare on Gwen, who flushed.
"I said I was sorry about that!"
"You got alien space jam up my nose!" Ianto said. Tosh struggled not to laugh, and Owen didn't even struggle. The meeting went downhill from there, but Ianto didn't mind; he was glad enough to see a little light come back into their faces.
-----
The following Thursday, Ianto rested his head against the driver's side window of his car and sighed. Two more to go today. He'd only done six check-ins so far and already he was tired of having to answer the ever-present question. "Where's Jack?" (Or once, accusingly, "You're not Jack." He'd had a very difficult time not responding with "And you're not a tin of chocolate biscuits, but I don't hold it against you.")
After a moment, his handheld beeped the "you have five minutes until your appointment" warning and he got out, then leaned against the car to check his brief for the meeting one more time. Hopefully this one will be quick and easy.
In fact, he was almost looking forward to it. Jack's notes said the alien was named The Stig, which had made Ianto choke with laughter when he'd first read it. It was unusual; most aliens wanted to blend in, so they gave themselves common Welsh or English names. So far he'd met with Evan Jones, Bronwen Jones, and David Jones, as well as John Smith (he had another two John Smiths on his list for the following week), John Evans, and Steven Morrissey (apparently everyone from the planet Merskeyya really liked The Smiths). It would be interesting, Ianto thought, to meet the kind of alien who named himself after that brilliant bloke on Top Gear.
Jack had also noted that The Stig was "Personality: friendly" with a little smiley face next to it. Ianto wasn't sure what the smiley meant - possibly that this was an alien with a sense of humor (surprisingly rare, or perhaps it was just that alien and human ideas of what was funny didn't quite match up). In any case, it looked to be a relatively enjoyable encounter.
After checking his notes one more time, Ianto made his way to the end of the car park where the meeting was supposed to take place. He turned the corner, and almost dropped his handheld at the sight of The Stig, helmet, suit, and all, leaning against the hood of a silver Aston Martin DBS.
"Oh," Ianto said. "Er, hello." The Stig turned his helmet from the view out over Cardiff, stood, and gave Ianto a cheery wave. Ianto's mind gibbered. The Stig is an alien! The real Stig, from the telly, is from another planet.
"Er," he said again, gathering himself. "I expect you're wondering where Jack is." The Stig shrugged, stepping closer, so Ianto plowed forward with his prepared speech. "He's been unexpectedly called away, unfortunately, so I'm taking over his appointments for the time being." The Stig tilted his head sympathetically and patted Ianto on the arm. Something warm welled up in Ianto's stomach; his other interviews had been polite but impersonal, and now here was one of his television heroes actually seeming to care about how Ianto was getting on. He smiled, and The Stig squeezed his shoulder before letting go.
"Thanks," said Ianto. He looked down at his handheld. "I suppose I'd better ask you the standard questions, then. How are you finding it on Earth in general?" he asked, and checked off the "very good" box as The Stig gave him an exaggerated thumbs up.
The rest of the questions went similarly. No trouble with the law, no illnesses, no accidentally revealing himself to previously ignorant humans (Jack's note said "coworkers okay to know" and Ianto suddenly found himself imagining Clarkson's face at being given the news. He very carefully didn't laugh himself sick).
"Getting enough gnaxfargel in your diet?" Another thumbs up. Privately, Ianto thought some of the questions were ridiculous, but that didn't keep him from being thorough. I just want Jack to be pleased when he comes back. If he comes back. He shook off the thought and continued.
"Communication back home okay?" This only got a shrug, and Ianto paused. "Anything I can do?"
The Stig shook his head slowly and Ianto bit his lip. "Look, let me give you my direct, er, email address." He'd almost said "let me give you my mobile number," realizing at the last minute that it probably wouldn't be terrifically useful. He pulled out a business card for the Cardiff Bay Tourist Center and scribbled his email address on the back. "If you need anything at all, let me know." The Stig took the card and examined it curiously, then tucked it away in a pocket of his racing suit.
"Right," said Ianto awkwardly, marking the checklist as complete. "I think that's the last of them, actually. So, thanks for meeting with me, and you're free to--" The Stig put a hand on Ianto's arm, and he looked up again just as the alien hooked his other hand to the side, thumb out, in an unmistakable gesture: Wanna go for a ride? Ianto's eyes went wide.
"I-- of course!" The Stig let go and moved towards the car, beckoning. Ianto let his hand slide over the side of the door just once before he climbed in and buckled himself up. The Aston Martin was just as sleek inside as it was outside, all beautiful gleaming metal against dark leather. Ianto barely had time to appreciate it before The Stig started it up and put his foot down.
They returned to the car park an hour later, Ianto's blood singing in his veins. He knew he must have a ridiculous grin on his face but he couldn't seem to care.
"Brilliant!" he said. The Stig displayed his smugness in every line of his body. They sat for a moment, just appreciating the purr of the engine. Then, just as Ianto was beginning to reluctantly reach for the buckle of the seatbelt, The Stig leaned over and put one large, gloved hand on Ianto's thigh.
Ten minutes later, Ianto discovered what Jack's little smiley face notation was for. And he still managed to make his last appointment.
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The third toughest thing about Jack being gone was that Ianto had no one to tell this story to.