Ianto hadn't been too keen on that woman appointing him interim second in command. Miranda had even created a rota that shuffled many of his duties through the rest of the team members, as if he couldn't handle a bit of extra paperwork along with the tidying up. She might be acting like it was a promotion but it certainly didn't feel like it to him.
When Torchwood had become his life rather than merely a means to save Lisa, Ianto hadn't had any delusions about where that life would lead him - to a sticky end and an early grave. With a stomach full of rats nearly every day, Ianto hadn't much cared that Torchwood would mean his death and he admitted that sometimes he'd hoped for precisely that. He'd had no where else to go anyway. And then there was Jack.
It wasn't anything like a romance novel. Visiting Jack's bed - if you could call that ridiculous thing in his bunker a bed - didn't make everything right again but it had taken some of the pain away. Basically, Ianto had simply liked feeling good and escaping, even if it was only for a few hours. It had all started out as just sex but after the riftugees and the suicide of John Ellis, Ianto had extended the first olive branch.
Jack had come back to the Hub with John's body, reeking of exhaust. His face had been streaked with tears and there'd been a haunted look in his eyes. There'd been no sex that night, just Ianto holding Jack while he cried and talked. After that, he'd started to see a different side to the man. Jack had begun to confide in him and to tell him things. He may not have told Ianto he was immortal, but he'd revealed the existence of Flat Holm and a host of other secrets…
Ianto had always considered himself straight. Sure, having sex with another man was the exact opposite definition of straight but it was just sex. It was physical enjoyment and sexual satisfaction. He was a man with needs after all. But just before Abaddon, Ianto had thought, maybe, there'd been the start of something more between them. He'd started to fancy Jack in a way he'd never thought possible and he couldn't help but wonder if maybe Jack didn't fancy him too. It was little things that Ianto noticed like how Jack had started to act disappointed that he never spent the night. Even the sex had taken on a different quality. He'd thought he'd seen the possibility of happiness, the chance of love.
When Jack had died, they'd all thought it was for good but he'd revived. After that awkward near handshake, Jack's arms found their way around him. Ianto had thought that would never happen again and that had upset him more than it should have. He'd been so relieved that he'd decided to talk to Jack and tell him how he felt.
But then Jack had vanished and left Ianto dangling out on a limb and a bit embarrassed. Jack had pretty much announced their… their… whatever the fuck it was to the rest of the team when he'd kissed him. Ianto had thought there'd been something more in that kiss but it had all been in his imagination. He was nothing more than Jack's part time shag. Ianto had been wrong and the longer Jack stayed away, the more the embarrassment had turned into foolishness.
He shook off the thoughts. It was best to keep busy. When he let his mind wander, it always went down the same caverns so he focused his attention on the task at hand. He was organising some items to be filed but his careful arrangement of the trolley slowed and eventually stopped as his thoughts drifted again.
The idea of becoming interim second in command annoyed him because he couldn't see the point but mostly it focused a spotlight onto an ugly truth. Once again, he was wondering what he was still doing here at Torchwood. Once his sword training had ended, Duncan had made suggestions about returning to university or trying out a different city but Ianto had dismissed them. After such an earthquake, it didn't make sense to him to start somewhere new, creating more aftershocks. One geological shift at a time, he'd told himself. Duncan hadn't been the only one to introduce the subject. Since he'd become immortal, Miranda had told him, several times, that if he wanted to go off and explore his options that he'd be free to do so without retcon. It was kind of pathetic but he still didn't have anywhere else to go.
If Ianto did decide to leave, it wouldn't matter when. He was immortal. He had time. He might not know where he was going or what he wanted in a few years… or the next few centuries for that matter, but Ianto did know that he wasn't planning on bunkering down with Torchwood for the whole of eternity. He wasn't Miranda Ryan or whatever the fuck she was calling herself these days.
Ianto knew all about her and, ever the unobtrusive butler, he'd watched and learned. Torchwood was Miranda's idea of penance and purpose and, right now, Ianto didn't feel he had a particular need for either. He was living day to day and that was just fine with him. He got up in the morning. He exercised and practiced the sword. He did his job well and efficiently. He took his meals. He went out at night and took a variety of women and sometimes men. He was fine with the way things were.
He was fine.
If you're fine why are you so bloody miserable? He squashed the thought the minute it came up. With a sigh, he rearranged the artefacts on the trolley one last time to make sure he was leaving nothing behind. He dropped a box of files alongside the artefacts. He may as well swing past that section on his way down. There was a pressure between his temples and then a small knock at his office door. He groaned inwardly. He glanced over to his sword laying across his desk. He shouldn't assume it was Miranda. It could be anybody really but he was within the Hub and generally safe. While Miranda carried her sword with her from room to room within the Hub, Ianto often left his in his office or next to his workstation in the main Hub. Besides, if it was an immortal bent on taking his head, he doubted that person would take the time to knock.
"Come in," he called out.
"Jones," Miranda said with a nod.
"Is there something I can do for you, ma'am?" Ianto asked, not looking up.
"I thought we might have a bit of a chat," Miranda said.
Impatient, Ianto waved at the trolley and said, "I've got rather a lot to do."
"I understand that, Jones, it will only take a few minutes," she insisted.
He stopped fiddling with the items on his trolley and turned towards her, his arms crossed over his chest. Miranda could feel the contempt rolling off of him. She mimicked the stance.
"You don't seem pleased with your promotion."
Honestly, he said, "I wouldn't exactly call it a promotion, ma'am. I assume Gwen will resume her position once she returns."
"She will but there was a reason I appointed you interim second in command and I'd like to explain-"
"You needn't explain your decisions to me," he interrupted. "Something you've made clear in the past."
"Jones? Will you shut your gob and listen to me?"
Ianto rolled his eyes at her but gestured for her to continue.
"I've never tried to offer you advice because I am not your teacher nor am I your friend. I'm certain the Highlander gave you his version of this speech at some point but as you are not heeding the advice of your teacher, you'll now get my unsolicited version," she said. Her voice betrayed her frustration and annoyance. She waved up at the ceiling. "As time goes by you will start to hate mortals. Once everyone and everything you know has crumbled to dust, you will look around and you won't recognise the world anymore. The mind numbing sameness of it all will start to eat at you and that is when it will begin."
Mind numbing sameness… Ianto repeated to himself. The words struck home. He looked down at the trolley as she continued to speak. "First, you'll start to envy their mortality and the normalcy it brings. Then they'll make you angry because they take it for granted. Then you'll start to hate them for it. That hate will fester until, one day, you won't know how to do anything else and then the madness will set in. You'll die inside and you'll stop being able to feel anything at all. They'll become nothing to you; pointless and pathetic; just dust on your boots. Mortals don't understand madness. They think it's a matter of not knowing right from wrong but it's not that you don't know, it's that you don't care."
She sighed and tapped the trolley's handle. Ianto looked up at her.
"It's started already. I can tell. You're bored," she said, softly and with sympathy. "Immortality presents us with a thrilling array of possibilities. With time on our side, we can explore the world and our interests to the fullest. But there is also terrible possibility. Life can leave even the strongest soul jaded and you can become stagnant as the world changes. That is not a good combination. Immortality isn't about a sprint to the finish line, as it is for mortals. It's about the slow and steady of a marathon. It's about stamina, Jones. We all find distractions along the way, but eventually, we need to find a real reason to keep going."
"So you think Torchwood is a reason?" he sneered.
"No, I'm saying that you should consider the options before you," she said, and then waved at the trolley. "This place? It's important."
Ianto gave her one of his spectacular eye rolls. He leaned heavily on the trolley's handle and shook his head. His voice dripping with sarcasm, he said, "If you say the twenty first century is where everything changes I swear to God-"
"I wouldn't do anything so droll as parrot the company line," Miranda said, annoyed. "All I'm saying is that someday should you seek a purpose, Torchwood will be here. It's why I promoted you, however temporarily. There is more to this place than the archive and tidying up. I thought the idea of expanding your duties would appeal to you. I may not have made it clear but you can refuse this temporary promotion."
She was right. She hadn't made it clear. Ianto had thought that he was interim second in command and that was that. The idea of working more closely with Miranda was the last thing he wanted. He hadn't liked the woman from the start. Gwen was right, he'd never really given her a chance and, frankly, he hadn't wanted to. He still didn't. He donned a professional demeanour when they needed to work together but he had little patience for the woman and he thought it was finally time to tell her why. Maybe it would finally get her to stop these attempts at friendship and immortal bonding. He'd avoided it until now because anything that came out of his mouth would find its way to Tosh's ears and Ianto didn't want Tosh to know exactly what he thought of the woman she loved.
"Permission to speak freely, ma'am," he said, impatient.
"You never need to ask for permission for that, Jones," she said, wryly. Ianto usually never bothered, blurting out his opinions and objections. He constantly questioned her authority, speaking with contempt and ire whenever he wished. Whatever he was saying now must be uniquely disrespectful for him to ask before he spoke.
Ianto narrowed his eyes at Miranda and said, "You're right. I don't like you and I never have. I think Tosh deserves better than a sociopath looking for a bit of penance. I'm already your PA. The idea of becoming your second in command, however temporary, turns my stomach." He continued, his voice becoming more and more scathing, "You rode with the Horsemen for centuries. Methos told me some interesting highlights. But mostly he told me about how much you all loved your… work."
He opened the door to his office and then went back to the trolley. "I understand life was different back then. But you and Methos didn't stop gutting innocent people because you were guilty and wanted to change. You stopped because you got bored with it which was the reason you lot started in the first place."
He pushed the trolley forward a few steps. "You sit up in that office looking down like you're better. You act like you've changed but you haven't. When something needs putting down, you're always the first one to step up. I saw you execute that boy who touched the reliquary. Torchwood is your excuse to put a bullet into a nine year boy every once in a while and say it's all been for the greater good, Doctor Ryan."
Ianto marched out of the room, pushing the trolley in front of him, leaving a stunned Miranda behind him. He didn't care if he was hitting her below the belt. It was true. A niggling voice in the back of his mind sneered at him another truth - that accepting Miranda meant accepting that Jack was gone and never coming back. He dismissed the thought the moment it entered his mind, a rush of anger coming up. He'd moved on. He was over it. But that didn't mean that he didn't hope that wherever that bastard, Jack Harkness, was that he wasn't at least in a little bit of pain.