ICEMAN AND the Coffee Boy

by Soledad

For disclaimer, rating, etc. see the Introduction.

Author's note: In which we'll have a reunion with some old friends in new roles. *g*


Chapter 06 – First Contact

The evenings were usually busy at Angelo's, but there also was a time of lull – about two hours in the late afternoon – after the lunch crowd had left and before the dinner crowd would start to file in. Barely a few couples were occupying the best tables at this time, and today was particularly quiet. Ianto chalked it up to the football match broadcast through the main channels. Only affairs concerning the royal family could keep the Londoners more firmly in front of the telly than such an important game.

Even though lull time meant fewer tips (and fewer tips meant a somewhat restricted diet for the next week, studying being an expensive hobby), Ianto didn't mean the peace and quiet. The last couple of weeks had been rather hectic at university; plus, he had the nagging feeling that he was being watched.

He didn't have any hard proof, of course. The pleasantly crowded environment of Angelo's offered countless very good places to hide any number of security cameras; it wasn't as if he'd get the chance to search for them methodically (although he was quite sure he could find them… eventually). But he thought to have spotted the same car parking near the restaurant a couple of times; and even some of the casual customers appeared familiar.

He could make an educated guess who might be behind the surveillance act. His mysterious father most likely had the means to keep tabs on him; if for no other reason, than out of precaution. Ianto didn't really care. He was not about to initiate contact with his father – not unless he absolutely had to – but he could understand that the man might be interested in him. After all, he was something of a treat to a presumably patrician lifestyle.

A minor threat, or so he hoped. He really didn't want to vanish without a trace, never to be heard of again.

But the quiet hours of late afternoon were welcome nonetheless. They gave him the chance to get some help with his studies from his flatmate. Wes – or rather Wesley Wyndham-Price – came from an old, yet nowadays fairly penniless family, which was why he needed a flatshare (if their dank little place could be called a flat). But he'd gone to Westminster, thanks to a generous elderly uncle (sadly, deceased in the meantime) and was a lot better at the classic disciplines than Ianto could ever hope to become.

And he was more than willing to share his knowledge. Socially inept and almost painfully shy, he had no friends worth that name of his own. Travelling in Ianto's orbit made him less isolated, and for that, he was absurdly grateful.

Angelo didn't mind them sitting over some essay or homework at one of the least popular tables, as long as no customers needed it and Ianto still delivered his magic coffee in-between. He probably hoped that the presence of young students would attract more young people, enabling him to build up a whole new generation of clientele or something like that.

Of course, the fact that he'd grown very fond of Ianto very quickly did help, too.

They were puzzling over some bizarre new type of computer language that promised to make archiving even more efficient (Wes wanted to get a job as a librarian at the British Museum or some other great temple of culture eventually, so archiving was his special interest), when the front door got tossed open with a flourish, like in some kind of action film.

Ianto glanced up automatically – then he had to look twice, cos the man entering was rather unusual, to say the least. Over six feet tall, wearing a grey World War II RAF greatcoat like an armour or a second skin. On anyone else, that outdated coat would have looked like a ridiculous carnival costume. This man, however, did have the height and the breadth to fill it well. On him, it seemed like the most natural thing in the world.

Ianto wondered briefly whether a captain's stripes on his sleeve were genuine or not. Somehow he didn't think they'd be there just for the show. The man was clearly too young to have served in the War, but he also clearly had – or used to have – a military background. There was something in the way he carried himself, in the underlying alert with which he scanned the restaurant, like someone who needed to be vigilant all the time.

In strange contrast to the outdated uniform and the semi-military mannerism, the man wore his brown hair in aggressive spikes that would put any Japanese anime character to shame. An odd choice that, Ianto was sure about it, wasn't a coincidence. Whoever this man was, he clearly worked hard on his image.

The man in question now crossed the restaurant and went straight to Wes and Ianto's table, right next to the coffee counter. His eyes were very bright and very blue, and he was almost ridiculously good-looking. He even bore a slight resemblance to that American actor, Tom Cruise – or the other way round – yet there was something deeply British about him, although Ianto couldn't really tell what it was.

"I'm looking for Ianto Jones," he said with a slight American accent (must have lived in the overseas for a long time; not recently, though, the accent has already faded, Ianto's brain supplied), and when he smiled, he showed more teeth than any mortal man was entitled to have, all perfectly even and blinding white.

"You've found him," Ianto replied warily. "How can I help you, Captain…"

"Jack Harkness," the man introduced himself. "My… employer wants to talk to you. The car's waiting outside the restaurant."

"Too bad," Ianto stepped behind the counter and began to feed the ancient Fraema with exactly the right amount of freshly ground coffee – the good beans, of course, he'd never insult her with using something cheap. "As you can see, I'm busy right now."

The bright blue eyes narrowed in annoyance in a second. "So is my employer, and believe me, boy, he can throw around a lot more weight than you or me, if necessary."

"I'm quaking in my shoes," Ianto replied, filling up the machine to the necessary level with water and switching it on. The after-work coffee crowd was about to start arriving in ten minutes. Time enough for the first round of coffee to be ready.

"I would, if I were you," the man – well, Captain Harkness, apparently – said, his voice utterly serious. "Here, read this."

He handed Ianto a smartphone. There was a short text message on the gleaming black surface of the small screen.

I believe you know who I am, it said. We need to talk. Come out to the car. MH

For a moment Ianto just glared at the message, dumbfounded. His father – well, his biological father – had apparently decided to make his move, after all. Had taken him long enough, but in the end…

It didn't mean that Ianto would blindly trust the mysterious and very powerful man whom he'd never met before, though.

"I'm sorry," he told Captain Harkness, "but I'm not getting into some unknown car with people I don't know. That would be reckless and stupid, and I'm none of those things."

"I wouldn't be so sure about the stupid part," Captain Harkness replied, the warning clear in his voice. "Unless, of course, you're simply ignorant and have no idea who Mr Holmes is. People don't simply refuse his requests. Not if they have their own best interest on their mind, that is."

"He's right, you know," Wesley, who'd been listening to their conversation with growing unease, said quietly. "I heard stories from my uncle…"

Ianto just shrugged again. He wasn't easily intimidated, and whatever Captain Harkness might think, he wasn't stupid. He knew it was risky to annoy someone with a position in the British government, no matter how minor that position might be (although he seriously doubted that it would really be that minor). But it was still safer than getting into a car with the same man while he still couldn't be sure of said man's intentions. He could easily vanish from the face of the earth, never to be seen again.

"Well, I'm truly sorry," be said calmly, "but I've got more pressing issues at the moment. Like working for a living. You can tell your… employer that he doesn't have to worry. I'm well content with who I am and what I've got – I won't ever bother him, for anything."

In the meantime the coffee had run its circle. Ianto filled one of the tall latte glasses with a triple espresso, put the glass on a silver tablet, added four sugars, a small can of cream and the obligatory glass of water and pushed it in the captain's direction.

"Enjoy your coffee, Captain. It's on the house. I hope it's strong enough."

Captain Harkness looked at him in mild confusion and jut a little bit of annoyance, and Ianto realized that the man – most likely his father's chief bodyguard or whatnot – had no idea about his true identity. That cemented his decision not to get into the car even more. If not even the chief honcho knew about him, then his father clearly wasn't planning to acknowledge him. Therefore it was safer for him to keep his distance.

"I'm afraid things aren't quite that easy," a soft, cultured voice said from behind the captain's broad back, and a previously unnoticed man walked up to the coffee counter.

He stood out of the usual afternoon crowd of Angelo's like a sore thumb in his expensive, tailored three-piece suit (Gieves & Hawkes, Ianto's brain automatically supplied), and though they had little to nothing in common, save perhaps a round face, Ianto knew at once that this can only be his biological father. The man had dark eyes, slightly thinning dark hair, a long, pointy nose and thin lips. He was leaning on his umbrella like on a walking stick and looked around in the restaurant with quiet disdain.

Then his eyes measured Ianto's appearance with the same faint disappointment. Ianto noticed that slightly pained look and did his heroic best to suppress a grin. They'd scheduled some practice time with the band for tonight, and so he was wearing his skin-tight jeans with the studded leather belt again, with a black shirt, the top three buttons of which were open to show off the string of coloured clay beads around his neck and the sleeves of which were rolled up at work.

Add the long, black apron bound before him and he certainly didn't look like what a wealthy and powerful man would expect of a son. Of his only son, if Mr. Williams's research had been thorough. But Ianto wasn't ashamed of what he was and how he earned his living, and he wasn't about to change his life just because his previously unknown father might not approve.

Said father now gave the clearly petrified Wesley – who seemed to recognise him – a fleeting look.

"Wesley," he said in a somewhat patronising tone that made Ianto wish to punch him in the face," My sincerest condolences on the passing of your uncle. Mr. Wyndham was a good, decent man."

Wesley gulped nervously. "Thank you, Mr. Holmes. I… I didn't think you'd remember me."

"I didn't," Mycroft Holmes replied with a faint smile. "Not until Mr Howarth mentioned you recently, that is. We are members of the same club, you see."

Ianto rolled his eyes. Of course his father would order a full background check on him and on everyone he socialised with. Of course he'd know Rupert Howarth. And, of course, he wouldn't be able to resist rubbing that in.

"Look, sir," he said firmly but politely, "I know that you've had the same surprise recently as myself. In truth, I'm still dealing with the shock as well as I can. But as far as I'm concerned, this… this big surprise doesn't mean anything. I'm who I am, and I don't intend to change it any time soon. I like what I am. I like to be independent, for the first time of my life."

"And I'd like to believe you," his father replied. "But as I said, things aren't quite that simple. There are a number of issues that we need to discuss, regardless of your final decision."

"Well, why don't we sit down and talk then?" Ianto demanded, his voice challenging. "No offence, sir, but I'm not getting into that car of yours, and if your gorilla here tries to force me, I'm gonna scream loud enough for Her Majesty to hear it at Buckingham Palace."

Captain Harkness shot him a fairly annoyed look, apparently not used to be called a gorilla (vanity?), and Wesley, mortified, seemed just about ready to faint. His father, however, didn't seem to take offence.

"I assure you that won't be necessary," Mycroft Holmes said smoothly. "I do understand your mistrust. People in my position do have the reputation of being ruthless; a reputation that's well-earned, I'm afraid. We really do need to talk, though; and while this place is said to be a fairly decent one as Italian restaurants go, it isn't suited for the kind of conversation I have on my mind."

Before Ianto could answer, the coffee machine started to blow off steam and Angelo emerged from the kitchen as if it were a signal horn. He did love Ianto's coffee like everyone else. When he spotted the man in the expensive suit, though, he all but got rooted on the spot.

"Mr Holmes!" he exclaimed. "We didn't expect you. Sherlock isn't here… hasn't been for days, actually."

Ianto was fairly surprised, too. Angelo knew his father? And the eccentric detective he'd recently met here knew him, too?

"That's fine, Angelo," Mycroft Holmes said calmly. "I'm not here to check on my little brother today. I need to talk to Mr Jones here, assuming he's willing to talk – and you can give him the evening free. I assure you I'll compensate for the loss his absence might cause your business."

Ianto cursed inwardly. He had meant to do an internet search on Angelo's resident mad genius, but there had been so much else to do in the recent days that he'd completely forgotten about it. Now he wished he hadn't. Finding out on his own that said mad genius was actually his uncle would have been less of a shock.

He blinked repeatedly, realising that Angelo was talking to him.

"You can go with Mr Holmes," the Sicilian was saying encouragingly. "He won't harm you."

"And you know that… how exactly?" Ianto asked.

He liked Angelo, but the fact that the Sicilian was associated with both Holmes brothers raised his suspicions. Was this all some elaborate conspiracy, designed to get rid of him? He wouldn't put it beyond his father.

Angelo raised a thick, lecturing forefinger. "Cause Sherlock would never forgive him if he did."

"I seriously doubt that," Ianto muttered darkly. "Bloke probably won't even remember my name."

"Oh, but he'll remember your coffee," Angelo said conspiratorially. "Sherlock is very fond of good coffee."

"Indeed he is," Mycroft Holmes gave his chief honcho a pointed look. "And since you share his somewhat… pedestrian taste in beverages, Captain, why don't you drink yours before it gets cold? Perhaps if I leave you behind as a hostage Mr Jones will be more inclined to come with me."

"Yeah, but that would require you actually caring about me, sir," Captain Harkness pointed out, grinning like a loon.

Ianto briefly considered keeping a par of sunglasses at hand in the future, should the man decide to visit angelo's again.

"It would indeed," his father agreed with the captain. "A foolish mistake on my side no doubt."

"Oh, bugger off, both of you!" Ianto said, fed up with their private little games. "You want me to go with you? Fine, I'll go with you. Angelo, should I suddenly disappear, make sure that his brother knows he's abducted me. And Captain, no bullying Wesley around, or next time you set foot in here you'll be on decaf," he turned to his father. "Let's go before I change my mind!"


Mycroft watched with well-hidden amusement as his son tried to secure his back and protect his meek flatmate at the same time, while marching into what he clearly considered a potentially dangerous situation with his eyes wide open. For somebody so young Ianto covered the bases remarkably well. He wouldn't hesitate using Sherlock against him if he had to, despite the fact that he'd only learned about the family connection minutes ago.

Whether that tactic – or threatening Captain Harkness with decaf – would actually work was another question. The boy used what little he had and was obviously good at thinking on his feet.

They reached the car, where Quilla was waiting for them, texting away on her BlackBerry as always.

"Ms Baine has agreed with your suggestion concerning the Germans, sir," she said, without looking up. "The project is a go."

Mycroft sighed in relief. He'd suggested the Home Secretary this joint anti-terrorist project with the Germans months ago and had all but given up hope that she'd actually listen. This was a pleasant surprise.

"Thank you, my dear," he replied. "Now, if you could leave us alone for a while; Mr Jones and I have much to discuss."

"I'd offer you coffee again," Ianto added, "but I'm afraid Billy is rubbish when it comes using the coffee machine."

She looked up from her phone now, and gave him a puzzled smile.

"I'm not sure I understand…"

"Oh, I'm sure you do," Ianto replied with his bland receptionist smile. "You've came to Angelo's recently; no doubt to check me out on behalf of your boss. You had a different hairdo and a Scottish accent, and you were wearing that horrible pink and crème costume, but it was you. I'm very good at marking faces."

She smiled noncommittally. "You must be mistaken."

"No, I'm not," Ianto said, slightly irritated now, "so you can stop playing dumb. And next time you're sent to spy on me you should think of a better disguise."

Mycroft was impressed. Most people wouldn't have recognized Quilla, after having had but a short glimpse at her in disguise. She was almost like a chameleon. The boy obviously had excellent observation skills. Howarth must have been guessing right with that photographic memory assumption.

"You were at Angelo's lately?" he asked, but all he got was an enigmatic smile.

"That would be telling, sir," she opened the car door for him. "If you don't mind, sir, I'll be having lunch while the two of you… err… discuss your issues. Should I get you some takeaway?"

Mycroft shook his head. "Pasta doesn't fit in my diet plan, I'm afraid. I'll eat in the office," he looked briefly at his pocket watch, "in about one hour."

She looked as if she wanted to argue but reconsidered, doubtlessly because of Ianto's presence.

"Very well, sir," was all she said and left them alone.

"She's not happy with your eating habits," Ianto commented, looking after her with mild interest.

"She's a mother hen," Mycroft replied, climbing into the back seat. "Would you kindly join me? I'm not going to abduct you. Captain Harkness is driving me today and, as you can see, he isn't even here."

Ianto gave him a funny look. "Does that mean you can't drive?"

Mycroft withstand the urge to roll his eyes. "I most definitely can drive, don't be ridiculous, boy! My father was an automobile aficionado; he'd have disowned me if I hadn't learned how to drive at the age of fifteen. Of course, he never allowed me closer than ten feet to any of his cars after I'd crashed Bessie less than a year later."

"Bessie?" Ianto's eyes glazed over for a moment; then he brightened again as realization hit. "Oh! A pet name for a beloved car!"

"The ugliest oldtimer ever polluted this planet," Mycroft nodded. "But Father loved her… it. He and Aunt Diane were crazy about cars; Aunt Diane still is."

"But not you," Ianto grinned. It wasn't a question.

Mycroft nodded again. "I find it more practical if a professional driver does the crashing. One cannot fire oneself over a car."

"Not to mention that sprawling on the back seat is a great deal more impressive than slaving behind the steering wheel," Ianto was still grinning.

"There's that," Mycroft admitted, allowing himself the luxury of a thin smile. Then he became serious again. "I believe I must apologize for the manner in which I've arranged this meeting. I'd have preferred a more… civilized ambience. Unfortunately, I'm quite busy at the moment with…err… things of national importance."

"Let me guess," Ianto said sarcastically. "If you told me more, you'd have to kill me."

"Afraid so," Mycroft replied amiably. "Not with my own hands, of course. We've got minions for that sort of thing."

Ianto seemed to hesitate for a moment whether he should laugh or not; then he decided against it. Smart boy.

"You're not kidding," he said flatly. It wasn't a question, either.

"No," Mycroft smiled his faint politician's smile, but with an edge of shark in it. "I'm not. I'm a dangerous man, Ianto, and any allegiance with me would endanger you, too."

"Is that why you've waited so long before contacting me?" Ianto asked, the tone of his voice revealing his doubt. "Cos you didn't want to endanger me?"

"No," Mycroft replied bluntly. "I was waiting to see how you would act; what you'd do with the information revealed to you. Yet you did nothing."

Ianto shrugged. "What was I supposed to do? Mam and Tad might not have been my biological parents, but they loved me like their own and raised me as a Jones. Actually, I am a Jones… to one half anyway. That the other half didn't come from the Lloyds but from some remote, posh family doesn't seem terribly important to me."

"Most people would be excited to discover that they're related to some of the oldest and wealthiest families in England," Mycroft said.

Ianto shrugged again. "Well, I'm not most people. May I as why you did decide to contact me after all, sir? I can imagine that learning about me wasn't a pleasant surprise."

"It was something of a shock, at least at first," Mycroft admitted. "Regardless of the circumstances, though, you are my heir. My only heir."

Ianto's glance flicked to the ring upon his finger. "You're not married, then?"

Mycroft shook his head. "This ring only means that I'm the Holmes family head. It's an old family heirloom that has gone from father to firstborn son for many generations."

"And yet your PA wears a similar one," Ianto commented.

"Similar but not identical," Mycroft explained, pleased with his son's observation skills. "It empowers her to access certain areas of the family business when I'm not available."

"So she and you aren't…" Ianto trailed off, suddenly embarrassed.

"Good Lord, no!" Mycroft felt mildly scandalized by the idea, just like when Commodore Sullivan had asked the same question. "Why would people possibly believe that?"

"Well, a lot of men do have affairs with their secretary," Ianto pointed out reasonably. "Even rich and powerful ones."

Mycroft shot him a baleful look, but considering the boy's own accidental conception, he couldn't really blame him for asking.

"I've learned to be more… disciplined," was all he said.

"But you could have married, couldn't you?" Ianto asked. "Why haven't you? I mean, isn't it what those posh families want from their sons? To produce heirs that would carry on the family name and all that nonsense?"

"They do indeed," Mycroft was equal parts amused and curious if his son would make the proper deductions. He knew his body language was not easy to read – another advantage of the public school education – but if the boy had inherited the Holmes gift of reading people, he should be able to figure out the truth.

"Why didn't you then?" Ianto insisted. "You haven't known about me until you got Tad's letter, have you? So you couldn't know that you already had an heir… even if an illegitimate one."

"True," Mycroft smiled faintly. "So what do you think?"

"Well, I seriously doubt that you'd have been so much in love with my… my birth mother that you wouldn't want anyone else, since you never bothered to seek her out again," Ianto said slowly. "And I don't think that all suitable women would be utterly repulsive… unless you're gay, of course."

"How could I possibly be gay?" Mycroft asked, amused. "I've sired you quite by accident, after all."

"Oh, please!" Ianto snorted. "As if your sexual orientation would automatically render you impotent!"

"True again," Mycroft was hiding a smile. "So, what if I am, in fact, gay?"

Ianto shrugged. "I have no problem with that; it's your life. I guess your family wasn't happy when they found out, though."

"What makes you think they did find out?" Mycroft countered.

Ianto raised a sarcastic eyebrow. "I don't know about the rest of your family, but I'd bet my arm that your brother probably found out before you did. I can't imagine many things that man would miss."

"No, he doesn't," Mycroft agreed. "Although he still has no idea about you; I wonder how long that will take."

"You haven't told your family about me?" Ianto didn't seem particularly surprised. Clearly, he'd expected to remain a dirty little secret.

"Oh, I told them all… except Sherlock," Mycroft corrected. "Besides, it's your family, too."

Ianto actually laughed at that; it wasn't a pleasant sound.

"Oh no, they aren't," he said. Well, by blood perhaps, although that needs to be proved first, too. But in nothing that really counts."

It was now Mycroft's turn with the eyebrow™.

"Blood does count, my boy. Old families like ours are very blood-conscious. They consider an illegitimate child the lesser evil, compared with the lack of any children. Rest assured that the family will eventually get used to you and accept you…"

"…if you decided to accept me," Ianto finished for him darkly.

Mycroft nodded, "Precisely."

"Well, perhaps you should ask yourself if I'd want to belong to a bunch of posh people who'd look down their long noses upon the only family I've ever known," Ianto snapped, his blue eyes hardening to ice. "They'd never have accepted my mother, would they?"

"No, they wouldn't," Mycroft admitted. "The only time Father visited me in Oxford was to break us up."

"And he succeeded," Ianto pointed out with infuriating logic. "You backed off and left her. She wasn't worth a confrontation with your father. And yet you would, they would accept me, just because you provided one half of the genetic material to my haploid egg? So the half of me that's Holmes if valuable, while the other, the really important half, the one that's made me the person I'm now, isn't?"

He was really angry now. Not showing the kind of fearsome temper Sherlock used to terrorize everyone with in his youth, no. This was the simple, honest, righteous anger of a man whose loved ones had just been insulted.

"Well, they're not all that bad," Mycroft said carefully. "I'm sure you'd like Aunt Diane, she's rather… unconventional. And I think you'll get on with Sherlock just fine. He despises the family and its traditions, too."

"Yeah, he just expects people to jump whenever he snaps his fingers," Ianto muttered, slightly mollified now.

Mycroft sighed. "Sherlock lives in the illusion that all other people are there for the sole purpose of assisting him. You handled him well, though, at your recent run-in. Granted, he was distracted by a case, but I've never seen anyone confuse him so much at the first meeting."

The blue eyes of the boy narrowed in anger again. "Are you spying on me? Isn't there a law somewhere protecting the personal rights of British citizens? Or are you so far above the law that you can ignore it as you please?"

"I've got my little brother under constant surveillance, for reasons I'm not quite willing to reveal just yet," Mycroft replied smoothly; not an outright lie, but not the entire truth, either. No need to antagonize the boy any further. "I rather doubt that you'd know, but Special Operations Six gives undercover armed protection to members of the British government, civil servants and others who are considered to be 'at risk' due to the nature of their work."

"That would explain you," Ianto said. "But how would Sherlock qualify?"

"He's designated as a protected family member, therefore his movements are very carefully monitored, as are those with whom he has contact," Mycroft explained.

Ianto shook his head in bewilderment. "That gives the phrase Big Brother's watching you a whole new meaning," he muttered. "It's creepy."

"I assure you that it's necessary," Mycroft said with a pained smile. "Sherlock has self-destructive tendencies. He's already overdosed twice. After the second time I decided not to give him a third chance to do so."

"I'm sure he appreciates it," Ianto commented dryly. "And you telling all about it a complete stranger."

"You're not a stranger," Mycroft countered. "You're family; which he'll learn – or figure out on his own – sooner rather than later."

Ianto shook his head again. "You don't understand, do you? I'm not your family. I've already got a family and I'm happy with them. I don't need some posh gits wrinkle their noses over me, just because my mother and you were careless in your misspent youth. I won't be your dirty little secret… or your public embarrassment, and I won't let you turn my life upside down just so that you can present an heir, after all… or because you're feeling guilty."

"Why must you be so unreasonable?" Mycroft complained.

"I'm not unreasonable, sir," Ianto shrugged. "I'm Welsh. It's part of being a Jones."

"Yes, I assume it must be," Mycroft agreed dryly. "If it's any consolation, I haven't planned a grand public announcement just yet. In fact, I thought you'd want to learn more about the family – and about me – by working for me for a while. No strings attached. You can make your decision freely once you have a better idea what it would mean to be a Holmes."

"Work for you?" Ianto echoed warily. "Do you need a butler or a new PA or whatnot?"

"I assure you that I've got perfectly good people for those jobs and I won't even dream of replacing them," Mycroft said calmly. "I was thinking of establishing you as Mr. Howarth's assistant. He'll be retiring in a few years; we'll test your abilities, and if you pass, you can be trained to become his successor."

"As a teacher at university?" Ianto asked in complete bewilderment. "I doubt that I'd be suited for teaching, sir. Besides, shouldn't I have to graduate first? I've just began my studies a couple of months ago."

"I'm well aware of that fact," Mycroft replied. "But you might not know that Mr Howarth's only teaching part-time. His actual job is a much more complex and demanding one. It requires a highly organized mind, an excellent memory and a great deal of dedication. He does have all that in spades. But he's getting old, and his successor would need years to be trained properly. We need to find the right candidate while he's still capable of train him."

"And you want me to be that person?" Ianto frowned.

Mycroft nodded. "If you turn out to have the right abilities, yes. We always preferred a family member overseeing the work of the Institute. As a senior civil servant, I cannot do it – my work is eating me alive as it is – and Sherlock won't do it, out of sheer spite… and there's nobody else in the family who would qualify."

"The Institute?" Ianto repeated warily. "Is that a code name for the Secret Service or whatnot?"

Mycroft smiled. The boy had a vivid fantasy – all those Bond films must have made a lasting impression – but he was searching in the right direction. Not where the Institute was concerned, though.

"No," he said truthfully. "It's a genuine scientific institute, which contributes greatly to the family wealth."

"But sir, I'm not a scientist; neither do I intend to become one," Ianto reminded him. "How can you expect me to become the director of any scientific institute, even after years of training?"

At least he was considering the offer. Good.

"I don't need another scientist," Mycroft explained. "I've got more than enough of them working for me. I don't need a director, either; the current one does an excellent job. What I'll need is an archivist and chief administrator who can eventually replace Mr. Howarth. Your studies would be a good basis for such work. Are you willing to give it a thought?"

"I can't promise anything," Ianto answered after a very long pause. "But yeah, I'll think about it."

~TBC~


This story has a second Interlude, showing what Dame Diane's intervention has resulted re: Mycroft's private life. However, it's for adult readers only, so it won't be posted here. If you are an adult, PM me and I'll tell you where to find it. S.