A knock at the door.
Ianto sighs, pulling the cord of the red silk dressing gown tighter and contemplating whether or not to answer. It's been a long and confusing evening, but the hot shower has revived him and he doesn't think he could sleep yet with all the questions racing through his mind. But there's only one person that could be and he's still furious with him: would it be better to confront him now or sleep on it?
Knocking again, more insistent. A voice: "Ianto? I know you're in there. Can we talk?" A pause, then a new tone to the voice, almost desperate: "Please?"
Holding the door open a crack, Ianto meets Jack's intense gaze for a moment, then finds safer territory staring at the floor. He hasn't seen the man since his disturbing announcement earlier, and had rather been hoping that he was alone in the Hub.
"I don't think there's anything else I want to hear right now. It's all been a bit much to take in," his voice low, fury contained for the moment.
Jack pushes past him confidently, walking into the sleeping quarters like he has every right to be there. Ianto feels a shock like an electric charge as their arms make brief contact.
"So, what do you think of the room? Reckon we did a good job, you wouldn't think you were ten metres underground!"
Ianto casts a critical eye over the redbrick walls, polished floorboards and low ceiling with recessed lighting. The only furniture is a large, low bed; a leather armchair and small side table facing the wall mounted screen; and a row of built in cupboards lining one wall. It is clean, warm and minimalist so there is nothing to find fault with, but he hadn't fully taken stock of it when Gwen showed him in earlier. She'd said he could find an apartment as soon as he was ready, but he would need to make himself officially alive again first. Until then, this was his room.
"Except for the lack of windows, perhaps?" he comments drily, waiting to see what Jack wants.
"Oh, I forgot," Jack exclaimed, an expression of childish glee transforming his chiselled features. "You have got to see this!" He strides over to the blank screen and presses a few buttons. It transforms into a night view out over Cardiff Bay. "Live feed from the camera outside. Thought it would make you feel at home."
Ianto stares at the screen, feeling a lump rise in his throat as he takes in the view he had thought lost forever. He turns to Jack, wanting to thank him but is surprised to see that he is rummaging through a cupboard in the corner.
"Aha! I thought I'd put them in here," he says triumphantly, holding up a bottle of scotch and two glasses. "Can I offer you a drink? You take it straight up, I believe?"
"Um, shouldn't that be my job?" Ianto manages. He could use a stiff drink. This situation is alarming him and he doesn't want to think about why.
"Well, I was wondering where your manners had got to," Jack grins, "I was hoping you hadn't left them in that other universe. Are you going to offer me somewhere to sit?"
"Yes, please, take it," Ianto says faintly, gesturing towards the armchair.
Jack sits down on the bed and pats the covers next to him. Ianto's eyes widen and he steps backwards, sitting down in the vacant armchair instead. He knocks back the scotch in one, enjoying the warm sensation in his mouth and throat.
"Have you had a chance to look through the cupboards, yet?"
Ianto shakes his head so Jack continues, rising to pour him another large scotch. "There's a fully stocked wardrobe. I figured you must be the same size as Ianto was, so they should all fit. Yes, you look the same size," he pauses, eyes travelling up and down the younger man's body, "You know, you should be careful wearing red around a man like me. It inflames the passions; that's why hookers often wear it."
The way Jack is staring at him makes Ianto intensely uncomfortable, suddenly aware of his vulnerability, clad only in a thin silk dressing gown. He rises, on the defensive now: "Are you saying I look like a prostitute?"
Infuriatingly, Jack just laughs and walks over to the cupboards.
"This one at the end here contains some of Ianto's personal effects. It might give you a few clues as to what he was like, his interests and so on."
"But I am Ianto," he states, emphatically; his rising anger giving him courage to stand up to this overbearing intruder.
"I don't follow your meaning," Jack says, looking puzzled.
"I am Ianto Jones and I don't have anything to do with this other man you're calling by my name. You're going to have to call him something else when I'm around as this is confusing enough without there being two of me. And you know what: I don't give a damn about his life and 'personal effects'. They are nothing to do with me!"
He advances on Jack, fury raising his voice and fuelling his outburst: "And another thing, you needn't think that just because you brought me here that you can choose where I live and work, what I wear, what I do with my time." He pushes Jack roughly in the centre of his chest; pushes him in the direction of the door, too enraged to notice the stricken expression on the other man's face.
"I am my own man and you are just my boss and you have no right to push your way into my bedroom in the middle of the night."
Jack is out of the door now, but he puts a foot out to stop Ianto from shutting it in his face.
"Okay, if that's the way you want it then fine. I'll expect you to report for work at nine. I want a coffee on my desk by quarter past: black, industrial strength, no sugar." His voice is colder now, controlled.
"Yes, sir," Ianto hisses at him as he slams the door shut, investing the last word with as much venom as he can muster.
*****
Two sides of a door.
Against one, a man in a red dressing gown is slumped, head between his knees, body heaving as he weeps.
Against the other, just inches away, a man leans, stony-faced, with a glass of scotch in his hand. He stares at the wall opposite without seeing it, eyes brimming with unshed tears.