Mirror Image

Disclaimers: Torchwood is not mine. It is owned by BBC One, and created by Russell T. Davies.

Summary: They say that mirrors reflect your own self, and shows you exactly who you are. But what if you and your reflection were two different people? He had found out the hard way. Now, Another Ianto is wreaking havoc in Cardiff while the Real Ianto is finding a way to stop this.

Author's Notes: It's high time we learn who Nathan is.

Chapter Six

Ianto had woken up drooling over the armrest of the couch at quarter to midnight alone. After he had wiped his spit and cleaned its remnants on the furniture, he made his way up to his room to continue his slumber.

When he awoke 7 hours later, he instantly and habitually prepared a cup of coffee whilst he tried to map out his entire day. Ianto was one who always made a point to make lists for the sake of being organized. His almost Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder was more of a blessing to him and the people around him than something he should cure himself of. It kept him grounded, albeit stressed whenever he had to insert new tasks, decide which one to prioritize more, and delete other tasks because it simply wouldn't be met. It all depended, really, on how the aliens saw fit to drop by. Usually, he stopped right after 'do chores' which mainly involved making and serving the coffee, cleaning, feeding their pterodactyl and every other whim from his teammates.

After mixing his sugar and cream, he inserted the spoon in his mouth and brought his cup to the table. He clicked his pen and wrote at the top 'Timetable.' He carefully considered the heading, but quickly scratched it off and replaced it with 'To-do Today', then started his list.

- Make self coffee

- Wonder about making Nathan a cup

- Make a decision

- Make self breakfast (Last resort: toast with cheese slices)

- Prep self for day

- Complain at current state of being

- Launder clothes (Priority: Caretaker's uniform)

- Iron shirt

- Greet Nathan (Receive, then, an eye roll, a grunt and an insult as a reply)

- Resist cleaning more

- Find something to do before work

- Report to work

He stopped, heaving a sigh.

- Lunch Break at 1:00 pm (Hopefully a heavy meal)

- Go home at 9:30 pm

- Make self dinner (Last resort: No dinner. Just water.)

- Prep self for bed

- Sleep

He felt odd having to list his day completely right until the last task of getting to bed. It had been long since he's done that. In fact, he can't very much remember when he last exceeded 'do chores'. Except, maybe, when he places a little side note of 'have a bit of How's your Father with Jack' as he fancied. He remembered how it would end up looking like a small illegible scrawl in the corner to avoid people from knowing when they sneak a peek.

He stood from the table and went on to hunting for food he knew, but still hoped against, was nonexistent in the house save for a few. He managed to find crackers and a spread in a random cupboard and said to himself how his supposed 'last resort' stepped down a few levels. He made his breakfast as swiftly as he could, merely slapping the spread on the crackers and biting it whole. The crackers were only a bit stale and the spread tasted like nothing he has ever tasted before. He drowned away the lingering taste with coffee. After his sad excuse for breakfast, he proceeded to get himself ready for the day, even though his work wouldn't start until later. It was difficult for him to adjust to his new environment no matter what he does, and having to prove himself to gain everyone's trust was edging him too far from adjustment. He was uncomfortable having to brush his teeth using someone else's brush and having to use soap seemingly stolen from a hotel that made him smell like a Lemon Strepsil; his shirts were all too tight and his trousers all too loose save for some but they looked as if they were worn during a stampede; he only had one pair of shoes and they were trainers one seemed to have gotten 5 years too long in possession. He huffed as he stared at himself in front of the mirror. He never really did become fed up with complaining about his state of being every morning—having to prepare himself for the day as this man greatly different from him.

After an internal tantrum, he gathered the dirty clothes from the hamper including his 'uniform' and headed on to the washing machine inside the basement. He found himself quite fortunate to not have to make a trip to the Laundrette just to have his shirt cleaned. It seemed as though Nathan had once upon a time lived a 'normal' life—one where he took it slow and actually made home cooked meals.

He started up the washing machine as he checked the tag for an important detail he needed to take note of. After assuring himself that it was indeed safe, he opened the door of the front-loader and placed it inside. As the shirt was being cleansed, he proceeded to separate the whites from the colored, further dividing the latter into their individual colors. He checked each tag and set aside those that needed hand washing. When his shirt was done, he transferred it into the tumble dryer after cleaning the lint filter. Afterwards, he took it out and checked it thoroughly before he ironed it well. He did the same process carefully with each group of clothes, occasionally wiping his brow and wishing to dive into the washing process to cool himself. He ought to have taken a bath after he had done his household work, others would say, but he's definitely had much worse than this. Right now, he was in jeans and a shirt inside a basement whilst washing clothes. In the normal scheme of things c/o Torchwood, he wears four layers of clothing and leather shoes whilst running around the streets under the sun chasing a goddamn alien everyday. His situation at that moment was nothing compared to what he was used to.

When he emerged with neatly folded garments, He could already hear Nathan walking to and fro in his room. He set the basket on the floor and ticked off the items he had already done. He could almost whistle a happy tune for his feats. Now, who was that who had remarked once, "Best whistle than destroy my eardrums with your lousy singing," to which he had replied, "Well, my lousy singing's nothing to your lousy dancing, love."?

Oh yeah, Ianto closed his eyes, Lisa.

His brief wistful thinking was soon interrupted by the sound of feet padding on the wooden staircase. He hauled the basket up again and called out, "Morning."

"Yes, yes, I know that," came a hasty reply.

Ianto quirked his eyebrows and audibly said to himself an "Oh," when Nathan came into view with a cell phone tucked between his ear and his shoulder as he buttoned his turnups.

"The problem is that the company was supposed to receive that package yesterday," he stressed, straightening his tie and transferring the phone to his other ear. "If they failed to send it because of delivering complications, we should have been noted beforehand. Didn't I already explain this to you? If they couldn't make it, we can't put them in."

Nathan paused as he listened to whoever was on the other line—his secretary maybe—whilst he continued to pace around in attempt to cool himself down. Ianto kept his gaze at him even when his fingers started to ache by the weight of his load. He almost flinched when Nathan stopped in front of him, eying the basket of clothes suspiciously. Ianto merely shrugged in concealment of his complacency. When Nathan breathed in, Ianto had expected him to say something snide or question him about it, but the other had just started responding to the phone. "How hard is it for them to understand that they can't force themselves into this?" He walked away, scratching the back of his head. "No matter what arguments they will throw at you, you have to turn them down. Honestly, this definitely—"

Ianto checked his watch and decided to make use of the time placing back the clean clothes in their respective drawers and closets. He would then set aside the unwashed garments for tomorrow. He walked up the stairs watching Nathan pace around the room. He paused when he caught him peer inside the coffee maker, taking in its strong scent before deciding against it and going back to scolding whoever was on the other line. Ianto let a small smile escape from his lips as he assured himself, he won't last long without tasting my coffee. He continued making his way up the stairs with his head held high.

"—me again. If they're going to be this smattering, best let Matt—err, Sir Tucker—give them the upbraiding. I'll bet they'd shut up then."

After the long clarification, Nathan hung up and rubbed his face in vexation. Waking up first thing in the morning with 3 missed calls—one of which were from the telecommunications company, and the rest from his secretary Cath—and having to deal with this issue which could easily be solved with a firm 'NO'. He didn't have to—want to—contend with stubborn and unprofessional businesses just because his secretary wasn't pushing hard enough. Plus, why did he have to be the one concerned? If anything, complications should be directed to the boss. Yet, being second-in-command—a fact he would admit quite bitterly—he understands that it's his job to look over everything unless considered highly urgent that it should be transferred to the care of the president. So, whilst Nathan was swamped with calls and messages and appointments enough to have his hair pulled out with balled fists at the end of the day everyday, Sir Tuckers would be confined inside the four walls of his office doing God-knows-what. If Nathan happened to catch him playing Pacman in his computer, he'd jump off a building.

Inwardly sighing, he grabbed his suitcase, checked for all his essentials and walked outside his home towards his car. Glancing towards the locked door from his window, he drove on to his office.

~.::.~

His office was a tall 26-storey building that held a great reputation to other businesses and corporate companies. What Nathan did was the key to these companies' success—no exaggeration there. Oliver-Hullin & Co. specializes in Research and Other Tests (as stated in its complete company name) and it was responsible for a new product's experimentation. Everybody thinks that a company itself does everything, but the truth was all they have to do was conceptualize their idea, determine the needed materials and the span of time, and leave it to O-H&Co. to make it possible. Once a unit is made, they hand it back to the client company with files of how they had conducted the test for the company to imitate to produce the desired number of units themselves.

It was a tough job, especially when work piled on everyone's desks as more and more companies create new innovations. Damn 21st century, Nathan snorted.

Nathan parked in front of the building. He gazed up and sighed before heading inside to be greeted by the lobby receptionist and other employees and workers. He pressed the arrow-up button of the lift and let it carry him to the 23rd floor. He always looked at either the lift doors or the ground whenever he rode it up. No one really questioned him about it, but the only reason for that is because they never noticed. At least it saves him the trouble of having to give a confusing and naïve reply.

The truth was that he despised looking at his reflection at the mirror walls. It made him think, and when he thought, it was always about his work, Cadell or mostly where he stood in life. Looking at himself at work and wearing corporate attire he thought he'd only wear during special family occasions and school defenses made him wonder how he ended up in that position. He once said how, as a child, he never really got to plan what he'd do with himself after College and he regretted that lost opportunity. He only got to business because his parents willed him to when they realized his indecisiveness.

But he was great at it. That should be the only thing that mattered, right? As long as you showed your expertise towards the job, it was fine and you'd definitely go far.

Sometimes, Nathan managed to kid himself before he would turn away in shame.

The doors slid open and he strode out and looked at everyone hunched on their desks doing paperwork, answering calls, typing away on their computers or all of the above. When he passed by, they would look up with utmost respect and greet him a good morning. Others who failed to do so he shrugged off because he didn't really need that much attention anyway.

He walked up to Cath and said, "How'd it go?"

She looked up and sighed, "Good morning, sir. I managed to get them to stop calling, but I'm not quite sure if I've had convinced them enough."

They'll call again, Nathan grumbled in certainty and crossed his arms. "Are there any other messages?"

"Just e-mails, sir."

"All right," he walked around and unlocked the door to his room. "And get me my usual breakfast, please."

"Black coffee with honey and an egg sandwich, sir?"

He swung the door open. "Make it a chicken. I'll pay you when you get up."

"Right away, sir."

Nathan closed the door and dropped his suitcase on the chair placed against the wall. He stretched and shoved the papers to the side of his desk to give himself space. Just as he sat down, there was a knock on the door. "Well, that was fast," he said as he started up his computer.

"What was fast?" a voice echoed before a sound of the door being shut. Nathan looked up in surprise and saw Matt walking casually towards him. Nathan stood and said, "Good morning, sir. Sorry, I thought you were my secretary."

"It's all right," Matt answered. "I wanted to talk to you about the delayed files."

"Oh," Nathan yanked his suitcase off the chair and pulled it towards the desk for his boss to sit on. "You should have called me in your office instead, though."

"No, no. I wanted to see how you've been keeping your room. I see your table is flooded with paperwork. Shouldn't you get Cath to archive them?"

Nathan shrugged. He couldn't mention his secretary's incompetence to most things. She was quite nice and amiable and she really did want that job. It supported her family, and he didn't want to hurt her by firing her. "Anyway, sir," he tried to change the subject, "the files?"

"Ah, yes." Matt took his seat and pulled on a stern face. "I managed to talk to the head of the company."

Nathan jerked his head up slightly.

"It just so happened that the representative was complaining how he had to answer to a representative of a representative of our company, so the head took matters into his own hands," Matt replied. "Anyway, I managed to explain to him our situation as a company laden with propositions and whatnot. I made him understand that, as our client, they must accommodate to our provisions."

Matt mustered a smile while Nathan stayed stoic. He just couldn't bring himself to believe how it took only, what, a 5-minute conversation? to chastise this stubborn business company. It shouldn't come as a surprise, actually, for after all Matt was in the highest position.

"I did try to tell them that," Nathan raised meekly.

"Yes, yes," Matt waved his hand. "Don't worry; I know how busy and stressed you must be. Hey, at least you get handsomely paid."

Nathan twitched his lips in attempt of a grin, but disliked using money as motivation to keep up with his job. He started clicking his pen. "So, sir, what did the company say?"

"They agreed, thankfully, to make their proposals by next month. It will give them more time to polish and add a few more touches."

Nathan sunk further down his seat. "You make it seem easy for you." Matt raised his eyebrows. "Even then, people liked you and complied with your requests no matter how silly they were."

"Silly?"

"You asked that girl one time to put an M&M between her front teeth."

"The one who got braces the following week because the teacher saw?"

"Yes."

"She's a toothpaste model now, isn't she?"

"See?" Nathan groaned. "It's like you make miracles or something."

Matt smiled. "Now, no need for that kind of praise."

A knock on the door sounded before Cath allowed herself in with a tray of Nathan's breakfast. When she saw Matt and he watching her, she blushed a deep crimson and squeaked, "Oh, I'm so sorry! I shouldn't have gone in without you saying so! I'm—"

"No," Matt told her, standing from his chair. "Go ahead."

Cath awkwardly shuffled her steps across the office to hand the food to Nathan who gave a polite half-smile in acknowledgement. When she left, Matt sat back down the chair and said, "I see what your problem is."

Nathan raised his eyebrows as he took a sip of his coffee.

"People are too intimidated by you. You always look like this." Matt cast the other a dark look. Nathan merely rolled his eyes. "It's true," Matt defended.

"I just have a lot of things in my mind." Nathan took a big bite from his sandwich.

"You'll get wrinkles if you allow yourself to be stressed with work, you know."

"It isn't always work…" He mumbled into his sandwich before taking another bite and a gulp of his coffee. When he glanced towards his boss, Matt stared at him thoughtfully. Nathan had hoped he didn't understand what he meant and shrugged.

"So, how's Cadell?" Apparently, he had caught his drift. Matt had met Cadell once during an office party. Nathan had brought him along to monitor him because of the recent crime the boy had committed days before. Of course, Matt hadn't been told exactly why, but he had guessed so using the miracles of background information, context clues and people watching.

Nathan drank once more. He didn't know what to say. Usually, when people asked—and it was only rarely that they asked—he would reply with a grunt. However, according to his observations at present, he doesn't seem at all like himself. Nathan had his own speculations, but refused to justify them. He, then, summed up everything he's observed in one word: "Odd."

"That's new."

Nathan watched his boss rise from his chair once again. "Well, I won't take too much of your time now. We've got a busy day ahead of us."

Again, a mumble: "Don't we always?"

Matt opened the door before looking back at him once more. "And you don't worry so much about your mate." He paused. "Not unless he starts washing your undergarments."

Nathan almost choked on his coffee.

Further Author's Notes: In case you forgot, Sir Matt(hew) Tuckers is Captain John Hart's Other Self.

Also, I'd like to inform you that Nathan's work is purely fiction because I doubt there really is a company in charge of experimenting and researching about other companies' ideas to solidify them or tell them what the impossible factor about the product is.

And if you all are wondering, Cath is no one in particular. Just a random secretary who messes up a lot of things. Poor girl. I chose the name Cath because of Death Cab for Cutie, the band whose song called My Mirror Speaks will be sort of like the theme song of this story.