Ianto Jones on Jack and Gwen
I see him flirting with her everyday, the butterfly touches. He thinks I don't notice. He thinks I believe him when he tells me I'm his only. But with them around me everyday, how can I believe him? Tosh has noticed, I can tell by the looks she sends my way. Even Owen gives me the pity eyes. Surely they've noticed, if they're being so perceptive, that my shell is back up, that I wear a mask, that I too, have noticed Gwen and Jack. But no, the pity keeps on. I've put Gwen on decaf, and she hasn't noticed. It gives me a mundane sort of pleasure to know that she isn't as sophisticated as she pretends. Rhys has been in, to see Gwen, and the way she acts, as if she isn't trying to cheat on him with Jack, and isn't sleeping with Owen. It's truly sickening. Half of the police department has owned up to sleeping with her. She's a whore that one. What Jack thinks he's doing, I don't know. That man's lived so long; he must want more than a steady relationship. He must relish the touch and go kisses of a whore; no strings attached. But when he kisses me, it's different. It's like he cares. I wonder if he doesn't realise how much he's leading her on, almost as though it's natural. Where he comes from it is. I recall him telling me that love in the 51st century isn't shown through sex, it's shown through confidentiality. That he could sleep with anyone where he comes from, and it wouldn't be cheating on me, it would just be another way to show friendship, that all he tells me is the display of his love. But, Jack Cariad, that's where you come from, not here. I'm not used to your societal rules. I'm more fragile than your average partner from the 51st century. Your flirting hurts, whether you mean it to or not.
