Who He Wants To Be

by Gracefultree

Chapter 50: James's Diary, part one

Posted: June 1, 2015

A/N: I've written so much of the diaries that I have to break them up into several chapters. I thought about including a part about Ianto remembering some salacious scenes from their first weekend together... would anyone be interested in a small tangent to read that?

Oh, and warnings for sexual situations.

Anyhow, enjoy!

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Ianto settled onto his bed, leaning back against the pillows stacked against the headboard. He picked up the first of James's diaries and opened the book, unsure about what he was going to find. Would it be a detailed description of sexual exploits? Would it be a heartfelt confession of some kind? Would it be a description of heartbreak? Would it be some fantasy about aliens or time travel? He steeled himself and looked down at the page.

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19 November, 1996, Tuesday

When I was ten, my mother showed me how to keep a diary. She showed me how to use words and pictures and thoughts and feelings to evoke the present. She showed me how to think about the future, and how to remember the past. She taught me about big pictures and little details. She explained that sometimes, it was the mundane, everyday things we wanted to remember later, after that time in our life was over.

I didn't understand, and not just because I had to look up the word 'mundane.' I was ten, after all, and I lived very much in the present. I didn't think very far into the future, beyond knowing that someday I wanted to be an adult, and someday I wanted to find a partner or partners like my mom and dad were to each other. I wanted to be an astronaut, and a biologist, and a trapeze artist, and a sailor, and an explorer, and a technology expert. I wanted to build spaceships, and fly them, and discover new planets and stars. I wanted to go to the bottom of the ocean and learn about new life down there. I wanted to meet aliens and people and animals. I wanted to be like my father, who built machines to harness the wind to make electricity. I wanted to be like my mother, who took care of me and my dad and my brother and taught children about art and love and life in school. At ten, I thought I could do it all, be all those things and more.

My world fell apart when my brother went missing and my father died. My mother became a shadow of herself, constantly reading and rereading her old diaries and journals, thinking about them and the past, blinded to me, to the present and future. Only twelve at the time, I still didn't understand about the diaries. I thought I would always remember Dad and Gray, always remember the color of my father's hair, the sound of his voice, the feeling of my brother's hand as I held it in mine as we ran.

By sixteen, I had other things on my mind. Girls. Boys. Dreams. I wanted to be a soldier, or I convinced myself I did. So I lied about my age and enlisted, getting my best friend to sign up. It was a disaster, start to finish. I always thought I'd remember my best friend, but the truth is, I don't even remember his name anymore. He had light hair, and green eyes. He was taller than me, though not by much. He was the first boy I kissed.

I'm more than twice the age he was when he died, and I'm six inches taller. Time moved on for me when it stopped for him. That's not fair. Not by a long shot. I was the one who begged him to join up with me. I should have been the one to die. I should have died. But instead I live. I live, and live, and live, and I don't think that I want to die anymore, but it's just so hard, sometimes.

Alitair. That was his name. Alitair Benganji. I can't believe I pulled that out of my head.

Alitair. Part of me loves you even now.

When he died I returned home, heartbroken. Heartbroken like my mother, who'd never recovered from our losses. I sat with her and read her diaries with her, and wrote my own, writing about Alitair. I tried to write about my brother and father, but they were faded memories by then, and it seemed a waste when I had my mother's journals to look at.

I was still in training, already recruited by the Agency, when my mother died. She died, our house burning down as her suicide, taking all her memories and all of mine, because at nineteen, I didn't think to take my own journals with me when I left home for school. Who does, at that age?

I've learned a lot since then. I've learned the meaning of true mourning. I've learned how fragile human memory is, and how necessary those lessons she gave me all those years ago can be. I've learned how to recognize significant events in my life, at least in hindsight, and I've taken to writing them down. Even the small things. The mundane, everyday details that no one remembers, I write down, because someday I'll want to know what color shirt he was wearing the day I met him, or what kind of flower she likes, or which cross-street I used as a shortcut when I was running late for work.

One day, I'll want to remember every single detail of my life, and so much of it will be hazy and lost, and while I can't write down everything, I can write enough that maybe, just maybe, I'll be able to keep the important stuff in my head.

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Ianto wasn't reading the diaries, per se. He flipped idly through the pages, just enjoying James's handwriting. He knew he'd read them eventually, but he wanted to read the entries about himself first, masochistic as that might seem to his friends. After reading the first journal entry, he felt like he had to start with the ones about him, had to see what James really thought about him. He'd go back and read the others later.

James didn't write every day, or even every week. Sometimes months would go by before he wrote again. The interesting thing was that the majority of James's writing seemed to be about interpersonal situations. Colleagues and friends, lovers and one night stands. There were weeks of heartbreak and sadness after his lover Ginger and their daughter were killed, with James raging at his employers and UNIT and Torchwood for putting him in the position of mourning, again, for he'd discovered that someone named Michael from Torchwood had arranged the break-in that turned so deadly. There was finding comfort in the arms of his supervisor, Alex, who killed himself and all of their colleagues a few years later, leaving James alone and with a job he never wanted.

There were the months of anguish upon taking command of the now-dead team, of having to do his work alone, until he found his own people. There was the brief affair with Billy, the way Billy wanted more than James was willing to offer, and his regret that he couldn't be the man Billy wanted him to be. Billy was a good man, he wrote, and he hoped he'd find someone, someday. Billy also gave great head, James added at one point. Then mentioned again.

Ianto sighed. James knew about Torchwood and UNIT as early as 1997, it seemed. The diary was filled with entries that referenced both organizations.

A name caught his eye as he turned the pages in one of the later diaries, however, and he found himself going to the beginning of the entry and reading before he could stop himself.

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5 April, 2001, Sunday

They say that everyone on the planet has a doppleganger, someone who looks and sounds exactly like them. An identical twin, almost, except there's no relation. I used to think it was a myth, a hoax set in motion because of all the stories of twins separated at birth finding each other later in life.

I used to think that.

Until I met him.

My doppleganger.

Captain Jack Harkness.

I'd seen him around Cardiff for years before I actually met him. I thought we looked alike, that we could pass for brothers or cousins, but I never suspected we were so indistinguishable from each other, though he's older by at least five years. We have similar tastes in fashion. We both wear a WWII RAF greatcoat, though for different reasons. We style our hair similarly. We both like flashy cars. And coffee. And flirting.

We both like men. And women, but that's not really worth noting in this heterosexist world we live in.

I met him for real at a club, of course. Where else, right? Where else would you run into the identical twin you know you just don't have? Mind you, I've known twins who go out on the pull together, reel someone in and take them home to bed, but the idea of doing something sexual with my brother… ick.

But that night, Captain Jack was in a fine mood, and I was curious to meet him. We rarely ended up at the same place at the same time, though we often missed each other by mere minutes, as I was constantly being asked why I was coming back when I'd only just gotten somewhere. I imagine he got the same.

The woman at my favorite coffee shop could never tell me apart from Captain Jack, calling me 'Captain.' After a while, I stopped trying to correct her. The folks at my favorite pub also have trouble, and I can't tell you how many times they gave me scotch when all I wanted was a pint, just because they thought I was Captain Jack. That's how I developed a taste for the stuff, actually. The Captain has good taste, and he likes good scotch. Fortunately, I can afford his tastes. He always orders the same main dish, though, and I like a variety, so they've taken to waiting for my food order before they pour my drink, unless I specify what I want to drink as I walk in. Apparently, Captain Jack grumbles at this treatment, but he hasn't stopped coming, so things keep going like that.

Anyway, I met Captain Jack on a Friday. We were at opposite ends of the club, but the crowd noticed us and forced us together. He's as much of a flirt as me, so of course we ended up snogging. He's a very good kisser.

I'm not sure how the conversation went, since there was copious amounts of alcohol involved, but we ended up going back to his. I was curious, of course, how my doppleganger lived, and I think he was humoring me. In fact, I know he was, since I distinctly remember his quirky smile. It turns out that he's the leader of Torchwood. The Cardiff branch, anyway, and they certainly seem less atrocious than the London branch. Smaller, too, with only half a dozen people instead of hundreds.

I'm not supposed to remember any of that. I'm not supposed to remember him, either, but the coffee he made in the morning was so vile that I poured out the mug into a dying plant when his back was turned. Good thing, too, because he'd drugged it.

Torchwood catches aliens. Real aliens. I'd always suspected there was more out there in space than we knew of, but he knows. He's been there. He said it that night, that he'd been to space and met aliens. He said he was born in the future, and got stuck back here, somehow, though he wouldn't tell me anything more than that. He even showed me an alien, a 'Weevil,' he called it. It looked humanoid, with dark, wrinkled skin and a huge, snarling snout. If I hadn't just gotten a tour of an underground base that looked like a sewer but had better technology than I've ever seen, I might have doubted him. He explained Torchwood, it's purpose, it's mission, his voice full of pride for the team he was developing, his place protecting Cardiff.

He sounded lonely.

Captain Jack is a dynamo in bed. He's open to everything, and he had no reservations about switching, which surprised me a little, given his bigger-than-life persona. It took a little getting used to kissing someone with my face, but it was all worth it. And the things that man can do with his tongue! Damn. Let's just say I learned a lot, when my brain was able to engage.

I've seen him a few times around town since that night, and he gives me a stranger's smile and nod. He thinks I don't remember him, and I pretend, so we're good. We've never hooked up again, which is both too bad, because he's an awesome lay, but probably as it should be, because I wouldn't want him to have to try to drug me again. I get the impression that he doesn't like drugging his lovers, or anyone, but that since I saw the Torchwood base, I have to forget.

Well, I've signed the Official Secrets Act myself, so I know there are things I can't tell anyone, but he might not know that, and I don't want to push it. I don't want him delving more into my past than he already has, and 'remembering' our night together would get him to do exactly that. I don't want him as a long-term lover, so I can let it go. There's someone out there for me, just waiting for me to meet him or her, and we'll build a life together. Captain Jack's not that man. I doubt he'd be that person for anyone, given what he does, unless they work for Torchwood also, and that might get messy.

So here I am, living in Cardiff with my doppleganger just around the corner, searching for someone to love, just like everyone else.

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Ianto steeled himself yet again and opened the last of James's diaries. He already knew it would be about him. He'd read the first paragraph to everyone the other day. But actually reading it? Actually finding out what James thought of their relationship, from the beginning to the end? He wasn't sure he was ready.

But he wanted to know. He needed to know. And he had less than a week before he had to go back to work, so he knew he wanted to have the bulk of the diaries read by then. At least the parts about him.

He took a deep breath and plunged in.

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21 May, 2005, Saturday

You know when you meet someone, and you know they're important? Not in a 'this is the prime minister' kind of way, but important to your life? I think I met someone like that last night.

His name is Yanto.

I wanted a quick shag before I left London. Suzie had called and said there was something that needed doing first thing in the morning, so I planned on going out, getting laid, and being back in Cardiff by six. Time enough to shower and be ready for work. Needless to say, it didn't quite pan out like that.

I'd been at the bar for about ten minutes when I noticed Yanto walking in. He came with a friend, and they were both nervous. First time in a gay bar nervous, despite the fact that they were of university age. Perhaps a little older. Not much, though. Still, guys these days tend to figure themselves out sooner than they did ten years ago, so I paid attention. Yanto seemed slightly more comfortable, looking around with a bit of curiosity as he sipped his beer. His friend looked like a deer in headlights. I thought about chickenhawks and made a mental note to watch out for them.

Tall, with dark hair and light eyes, Yanto had a nice smile. And a nice arse, which I got a good look at when he went to get the third round of drinks. (They were doing shots and beer, I realized. Ah, youth!) I watched them as I made my rounds, chatting up a few guys, getting chatted up. No one seemed interesting enough, and I suppose I'd already made up my mind about who I'd go home with.

I was a bit disappointed to look over and see Yanto and his friend making out when I finally realized that he was the one I wanted, but Yanto happened to open his eyes and meet mine, and before I could do more than smile in acknowledgment he'd shoved his friend away and was coming in my direction. I felt my heart rate rising, for he was even more beautiful than I'd thought. And younger. But, Goddess, he looked good!

"Hi, I'm Yanto," he said as he bounded up to me, and I could hear the enthusiasm in his voice and see it in his smile. His eyes sparkled. "Yanto Jones."

"Good to meet you, Yanto, Yanto Jones, James Harper," I replied, shaking his hand. He had nice hands, warm and smooth, with long, graceful fingers, and I was already fantasizing about feeling them against my skin. "Not to risk being cliché, or anything, but, come here often?" I asked in a deliberately cheesy tone. I thought the over-the-top thing might work with him, given how nervous he seemed at the start of the night. I winked, and I could see the flush on his face that had nothing to do with alcohol. Yep, it was working. I was still holding his hand, and he didn't seem to want it back quite yet, so I ran my thumb over the back of his hand.

"First time," he answered, smiling shyly. Oh, he was young. Maybe still in university, even. Probably too young for me, and I was beginning to wonder if I was one of the chickenhawks I'd been looking out for. But, no, he was too old to really be a chicken, though he might be new to the scene. "You?"

"Sometimes. Can I buy you a drink?" I let his hand go so I could get drinks for us, and we chatted for a few minutes sipping them. JD and Coke was his drink of choice, neither the shots nor the beer, but I figured he wanted to impress me with choosing it. Or thought he might need the caffeine. He seemed like a decent guy. Young, but intelligent. I was glad I'd changed out of my work attire and into jeans, since that's what he was wearing. Tight jeans and a black t-shirt with a white button-down that had subtle stripes. He had on a cute necklace, too, and I touched his neck when I looked at it more closely. When he leaned into the touch, I knew I'd have him.

I cornered him in the hallway after his detour to the loo and kissed him. He kissed back, pressing himself against me. Full body contact immediately. I liked that. He pulled back, blushing again, his breathing a little heavy.

"You're the first guy I've kissed," he murmured, deliberately kissing me again.

I decided to play devil's advocate. Just to tease him. Well, also to find out the real score. But that's neither here nor there. "Yeah? What about your friend back there?"

"Drunken snogs with roommates don't count," he answered promptly, seeming surprised that I'd noticed. "Especially when they kiss me."

"Oh, and how many of those have you had?"

He grinned cheekily. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

"Well, I have to know what the competition's been like." I slipped my arms around his waist.

He laughed. "If we're being technical, you're the third. A roommate in uni, and Steve. But you're better than they were." He kissed me again, drawing me in with his arms around my neck. I held him close, letting him set the pace. "I'm choosing to do it with you."

"Ever go beyond kissing?" I asked. He shook his head. "If you'd like, I could be the first guy to blow you," I whispered in his ear, licking along the edge. He shivered in my arms. His ears were sensitive, huh? I pulled his earlobe into my mouth and sucked gently. He groaned.

He pulled back to meet my eyes and gave me the most shy, most endearing come-hither smile I'd ever seen. "If a blow job is all that's on offer, I'm not sure you're worth the cab fare home," he replied.

I laughed, delighted at his daring and cheek. I kissed him hard, letting my hands wander over his back and down to cup his arse. He moaned into my mouth and I could feel his arousal. Yes, this would be a good night.

"A blow job is only the first thing on an extensive menu," I informed him, nibbling at his ear again. He liked the bit of teeth I added this time. "And believe me, I'm worth the cab fare." I moved lower, sucking on his pulse point and giving him a gentle love-bite. He groaned and pulled me closer, no doubt feeling my own interest.

"Yours or mine?" he demanded breathlessly a few minutes later. He was rapidly working himself into a frenzy, and I thought getting out of there was a brilliant plan.

"Yours," I told him. "I want you comfortable, in your own territory." Besides, for one night, he didn't need to know I lived in Cardiff.

"I have roommates," he protested, though his hands were exploring my hair.

"I'm in the area for business. I can find a hotel if —"

"Mine'll be fine."

His roommate, Steve, bullied his way into our cab, but that didn't seem to bother Yanto in the slightest, as he kept kissing me and let his hands roam a bit more freely than they'd done at the bar. Of course I followed suit.

At Yanto's flat, he dragged me through to his bedroom super quick, and we were naked a few minutes later. I don't know if it had been a while for him, or what, but he was very eager. He couldn't get enough of kissing me, and, honestly, I loved it. It had been a while since I'd spent so much time just kissing and feeling someone up. I wanted more. So I gave him the blow job I promised, and he came apart under me. I had to tell him it was ok to tug on my hair or move my head, but if he's only been with women, then he might never have had a partner who was into that. He tasted wonderful. He came apart again when I rimmed him, and this time he did tug on my hair, though he kept himself from coming, wanting to save it for when I fucked him, which he was begging for by that point.

I made us slow down a little, mostly because I didn't want to risk hurting him the first time he had anal sex, and partly because I just wanted as much time as possible with him. There was something about him that really made me pay attention. He was genuine. He was honest. I felt like he was looking at me, and not just the happy persona I use when I go on the pull. There was a connection building between us that went beyond the physical, and I wanted to nurture it.

Sure, it was a hook-up, and I suppose it was understood that it wouldn't lead to anything beyond that night, but I wanted it to. I wanted to get to know him. I wanted it to be more than a quick shag. (Not that it was quick, mind. He might have come relatively quickly with the blow job, but after that he surprised me with his stamina.)

So it was more than a quick shag.

I fucked him twice because he took to it so quickly the first time, even though I'd used both sachets of lube and he didn't have any to ease the way for the second time, beyond what was already on the condom. He didn't seem to mind. And he's a cuddler, which is always nice after a good roll in the sheets. I don't get enough of that when I go out. I fell asleep next to him for a few hours, not something I ever allow myself to do with strangers. Usually I'm sneaking out as soon as they're asleep, not falling asleep with them.

It felt good to sleep with him.

Everyone was angry when I showed up at work at ten. I couldn't exactly walk in wearing my clothes from yesterday and smelling of sex, now, could I? Besides, they've never seen me in jeans, and I'd like to keep it that way. Mysterious, that's me.

I left a note for Yanto when I tiptoed out the door at five of six. I asked him to call me, said I'd take him on a real date. We'll see if he calls. I hope he does.

There's something about this Yanto Jones…

Of course, the fact that I can't get him out of my head makes it more clear that he's special. I barely remember most of the people I pull as soon as I'm leaving their bed, let alone spend a whole day thinking about them like I've done thinking about him.

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20 May, 2005 — later

His name is actually Ianto. I. A. N. T. O. It's Welsh, like him.

He called me, and we talked for a while. We've got a date for two weeks from now. I'm going to London, of course. Can't ask him to come here. The good news is that he's finished university. I was a little worried for a while.

Anyway, despite him never having been with a guy before me, he called getting together with me 'a date.' I don't want to get my hopes up, but I like the sound of that. I'll have to do some research, find a nice restaurant that won't spook him too much. I want to court him, not scare him away with my extravagant tendencies. He seems like a practical kind of guy.

But that's what I need, isn't it? Someone practical to balance me?

Hell, I've only just met him and I'm thinking like that…

Damn it.

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26 May, 2005, Friday

The natives were restless today. Not enough work. It can get quiet like that sometimes. Owen spent the day playing video games and ignoring the report I wanted on my desk yesterday. Suzie spent her time following up on that UFO crash, and though she was able to get the information about where we could find the wreckage, it was far enough away that Torchwood London got to it first. It was gone by the time we arrived. Damn it! Tosh is still writing that code for Mainframe, and it looks like she'll be at it all weekend and most of next week, if the amount of coffee she's drinking is any indication. I tried to get her to take a night off, but she brushed me away and told me that she was just doing what I'd hired her for.

I introduced the idea of a rota to cover the place when I'm in London next weekend during the afternoon staff meeting. Tosh agreed quietly, saying she's happy I'm getting to go out. I think she suspects that I'm as lonely as she is. Little does she know that I'm more lonely. I'm just more mused to it than she is.

Suzie shrugged, saying she didn't care what I did with my time as long as I paid her extra for the overtime. We had a laugh about that, since we all know there's no such thing as overtime in this job. Owen… told me to my face he thought it was stupid for me to go on a date with some bloke in London when there were plenty of available men right here in Cardiff. I told him it wasn't about availability or sex, though Ianto's good, but that I want the date. I want to get to know him, romance him… I want the chance to feel human again. To feel connected to someone else.

It's been a long time since I've wanted that.

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6 June, 2005, Monday

I brought flowers to my date with Ianto. Daffodils, the Welsh national flower, in honor of him being Welsh. He didn't expect the flowers. He didn't expect the romance. I didn't expect the peck on the lips when he greeted me at the front door, despite all the flirting over the phone. He just seemed too nervous about being with a guy. Then I got to meet Steve formally, and his other flatmate, Gary. They seem like nice enough guys.

Ianto enjoyed the restaurant. I could tell he was impressed. He gets this really cute blush when he's embarrassed, which happened more than once just as we looked over the menu and chatted. Absolutely adorable. No, more than that. Beautiful. Gorgeous. He's wearing this deep red shirt, the color of good wine, with a purple tie so dark that it's almost black.

You see, Mom? I can learn.

I kept us talking, light subjects, work, nothing heavy or emotional. He started a new job this week, and though we talked a little about it the other night, he went into more details about the people there. It sounds busy, and there's quite a training schedule. 300 pages of manuals to read and memorize in the first month, he said. That would kill me. But, then again, he's young, so he has a better memory than me.

It's been a while since I've been on a date like this, but I felt so relaxed with him that I didn't even think about it. It's been a long time since I've felt that relaxed meeting someone.

We continued the date with a walk, then I took him to Cafe Grand for a late-night coffee. He'd never been there before, but then again, he used to work at Matilda's, which has even better coffee. I didn't suggest going there, since that would probably make him nervous.

Almost as soon as we were seated with our coffee, he asked where things were going with us. I decided that I wanted to be honest with him. He deserves that kind of care and reality. So I told him, perhaps a little more bluntly than I should have, that I wanted to sleep with him again.

He's nervous about dating a guy, he said, but he wants to have sex with me. A fuck-buddy kind of thing. Suits me just fine. And, man, is he enthusiastic!

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Ianto felt his cheeks heating as he read James's graphic descriptions of the rest of the weekend and all the kinds of sexual things they'd done together. Not that he should have expected anything else from the man, but it really was graphic

And yet, respectful.

It was hard to figure out how James could be respectful describing the intimate details of their sex life, but he was. Maybe it was about word choice, that he didn't use anything particularly vulgar? Maybe it was about the care in talking about Ianto's hesitations and questions and describing how he'd explained things?

Ianto couldn't help the erection, and couldn't will it away, but when he tried to take care of it, he burst into tears. It was so painful to think of James and touch himself, reliving their first weekend together, when he knew that the reason he was thinking about it was because James had died.

He felt a compulsion to keep reading, though. He needed to know what James thought of him, what he felt. He couldn't get the conversation out of his head where the guys said that James loved him. Did he? Was it just their imagination?

If he did, it was a bittersweet revelation. Good to know that James felt so strongly, bad that Ianto hadn't known or noticed. Bad that he'd ignored James's feelings as much as he'd ignored his own. He'd just been too frightened.

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tbc in chapter 51: James's Diary, part 2