Ianto Jones' Diary
Format: This story will be publised with five entries at a time because I didn't know how to better organize it. Some entries will be long and some will be short.
Pairing: Ianto/Jack
Spoilers: For everything basically: Torchwood Seasons 1-3, Doctor Who 1-4, The Novels, The Radio plays, random information released online, and even some well-known fanfiction from the fandom (Material other than the season's isn't required to understand the plot).
A/N: Starts after Cyberwoman so it's a bit angst-ridden at first. Other notes: it operates under Gareth-David Lloyd's assumption that Jack and Ianto were having sex before the events of Cyberwoman.
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Torchwood Probation Protocol 12: An employee must meet with a Torchwood psychologist or in the absence of one a UNIT psychologist as often as necessary, until cleared for duty by both the head of the Torchwood station and the psychologist. After reinstatement they will continue to attend weekly meetings for a period of at least two months.
Apparently "Captain Jack" decided that Torchwood Three is now following Torchwood protocol. Today, Doctor Davies from UNIT broke into my flat. He seemed to be under the impression that this was the only way he would be able to have a face-to-face interaction with me.
"My office has called to confirm appointments with you several times this week." He said: wrinkling his nose distastefully at the run down, one room, crumbling flat.
I took a swig from a cheap can of beer, "I never made any appointments."
Davies ignored him and asked, "From what I hear: Torchwood pays quite well: why do you have such a shit flat?"
"Is shit a medical term?" I asked: tossing the empty can on the stained cement floor. Ianto reached behind to sofa and pulled out another can from the refrigerator, "Want one?"
"No thank you," Davies replied, pulling the dining room chair around next to the couch.
"Good," I snapped open the can, "I'm recently out of a job so I couldn't really afford it."
"I've spoken to your boss: Captain Harkness," Davies told me, "Would he have sent me over here if you were out of a job?"
"He hasn't made up his mind yet," I downed his beer and frowned at the taste, "That doesn't mean anything."
It was a rather embarrassing first encounter for my part. I vaguely recall telling him that a water mark on my ceiling looked identical to Jack's cock. Thankfully, he tactfully avoided asking how I knew this information and instead shoved me fully dressed into a cold shower. I had been wearing the same suit since the incident, torn, covered in blood, and soaked with sweat, but I still protested the further damage to the Italian tailored silk-cotton blend.
I'm not much of a talker and the idea of spilling my guts to a stranger sounded not only unappealing, but rather like an extreme form of narcissism. I said as much to Davies and he came up with the "brilliant" idea of diary writing. A week ago I would have immediately protested the term diary. Now, I don't have any dignity left to be wounded by such a term and calling it a journal would just be one more lie for me to tell myself (though I suppose the routine would be familiar). I don't know who Jack thinks he is fooling by calling his diary a Captain's Log... just because he files them in the archives
We're the same when I think about it: Jack and I. Both of us monsters, hiding our secrets in the basement of the HUB, and shagging each other's brains out in a vain struggle to grasp some sort of normality: Trying desperately to feel something and to forget about the darkness.
Ianto Jones.
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Owen came by the flat yesterday. He rang the bell until I answered. Owen was the last person I would have expected, but the most welcome (largely because he brought alcohol). Apparently Davies submitted an initial evaluation of my mental health to Torchwood, and Owen, being the medic, had been on the receiving end of my report. He told me about his fiancée, Katie, and how he would have done anything to save her. Of course I already knew this, I had read it his files when I did background checks on all of the Torchwood employees, but I listened silently.
When he had finished he passed me a bottle of vodka. We sat there drinking for awhile before he decided it was time to criticize my flat. Apparently nobody considered the cost of secretly moving your half converted cyber-woman girlfriend to London, reconstructing a conversion unit into a life support system, and getting the leading professor in cybernetics to fly out for a week long engagement. With the added cost of hand tailored suits, even with Torchwood's sizeable salary, I would be in debt for at least another year.
Hopefully, if Jack decides to Retcon me, Torchwood will pay off my debts in order to alleviate suspicion. I wonder if they will erase just my Torchwood Three memories when they dump me in a hospital with "amnesia" or if they will erase me all the way back to birth (the amount of Retcon that it would take to erase all my Torchwood memories will cause me to forget my own name).
Owen left after an hour, but left the vodka with me. I don't remember the rest of the evening. I woke up in the morning and thought for a moment that the vodka had Retcon in it. I laughed.
Ianto Jones.
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I heard from another member of Torchwood today. Toshiko sent me an e-mail. I've posted it below:
To:
From:
Subject: Hope you're doing well
Ianto,
I was going to stop by your flat today, but I realized I didn't know where you lived. I thought about looking it up in your file, but I decided that you might want to be left alone. Jack is refusing to talk to any of us, but I'm sure that you'll be back at work soon (Even if it is just because he has bags under his eyes from the caffeine withdrawal). We all miss you: especially Myfanwy. She hasn't been eating properly and just sits in her nest brooding.
None of us can make heads or tails of the coffee machine. Gwen started tinkering with it yesterday, but then Jack yelled at her. I've never seen her at a loss for words: you would have enjoyed it. Owen has been even crankier without you: he complains about the lack of coffee and the cleanliness of the Hub every two seconds.
We all took for granted everything that you do around here. The place is falling apart without you. Feel free to call me if you would like to talk.
From,
Tosh
I sent a generic reply and am expecting that this polite message from her was just a prelude and her reply to that will be a variety of questions about the workings of Torchwood. Things only I know such as: the codes to the archives, the place I take the dry cleaning, and what gets blood out of the cement floor of the Hub. Maybe if I don't answer they'll send Gwen: after all she is the "heart of Torchwood".
That was rude of me. Apparently I'm now a mean drunk. That's rather unfortunate. I remember I used to be funny when I was drunk. Back when I was funny: before Canary Warf.
Ianto Jones.
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I saw the SUV today: parked outside my flat with Jack in the driver's seat. It was there for hours. After three hours of watching it: I got up and made myself some pasta. It was the first real food I had in a week.
Ianto Jones.
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The SUV was parked outside my flat again on Tuesday. I took an hour long shower. It was there on Wednesday. I shaved. After seeing it there on Thursday I stopped drinking and only partly because I ran out of beer.
Today I saw it and went on a walk. The SUV followed behind me as I walked down to the corner of the street and then back up to the door of my building. I stood on the stoop for a few minutes and breathed in the air. Tomorrow I think I will pick up some groceries.
On Thursday, Doctor Davies asked me what is causing the turn around. I didn't tell him about Jack even though he must have seen the SUV with its conspicuous 'Torchwood' engraving on the side. He brought pizza with him and rubbed my back as I had to run to the toilet at the sight of coleslaw. He rubbed my back as I puked bile into the porcelain bowl.
I had been throwing up every few hours since the incident but this is the first time I was sent violently back to scrubbing blood out of the floor of the hub. My stomach heaving unpleasantly as I threw up into the bucket of bloody water. Jack came over and sat behind me; his hand resting firmly on my lower back as I emptied to contents of my stomach.
Ianto Jones.
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