1
Behind the fog we hear the sounds of a bathroom. After a long moment, a hand wipes the condensation from the glass to reveal the face of IANTO JONES. He wears a sleeveless Hanes undershirt and blue-stripe pyjama bottoms, behind him a white glazed tiled bathroom wall. It is immediately apparent that we are viewing him through a two-way mirror.
Ianto, expressionless, studies his reflection in the mirror. For a long moment, he does nothing. He continues to look impassively into the mirror for what becomes an uncomfortably long time. Still nothing. Finally he speaks, talking to himself in the mirror as if participating in a TV interview.
"...personally I think the unconquered south face is the only one worth scaling...of course it's a 20,000 foot sheer wall of ice but then when did that ever stop me before?...Naturally, I intend to make the ascent without the benefit of oxygen but also without crampons or even an ice pick... risks?... (smug, TV smiles) ...sure I'm aware of the risks-why else do you think I would spend seven years as an adjuster in a life insurance company...?"
"Ianto, you're gonna be late!"
Ianto resignedly opens the door of the cabinet and replaces his shaving tackle. It partially obscures the lens of the hidden camera. He closes the door and exits.
.
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KITCHEN. MORNING.
Lisa, wearing a stylish robe, sits at the kitchen table sipping coffee. On the table in front of her lies a parcel. Her crossed legs reveal perfectly waxed perfection. Ianto enters and glances at the gift. "What's that?"
"It's a surprise."
Ianto unwraps the parcel - an expensive-looking set of exercise sweats. Lisa is eager for his response "Well, what do you think?"
"They're..." he gives the merest hesitation "perfect. Thank you."
Ianto returns Lisa's kiss.
Handing him the sweat top she gushes "Try it on."
Ianto pulls the top over his head. As he does so, a closer shot focuses on the manufacturer's name.
"I thought you could wear them when you do your exercises." Like an afterthought she adds "Pre-shrunk. And they breathe."
.
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Wearing a business suit, briefcase in hand, Ianto emerges from his pleasant, Victorian-inspired, picket-fenced house into an idyllic suburban street of similarly picturesque homes. A neighbour, Hew, is taking in trashcans, whistling a tune. Hew breaks off abruptly as Ianto approaches his car. His license plate reads, "Torchwood – A A Nice Place To Live".
"Morning, Ianto."
"Morning, Hew. And in case I don't see you, good afternoon, good evening and good night." Hew's dog, Pluto, bounds happily over to Ianto. petting the dog, he croons "Hey, Pluto. Wish I had a doggie like you but Lisa is still allergic."
Ianto exchanges a polite nod with the Washingtons, an African-American family across the street. MR. Washington is farewelled by his Wife and Child. Ianto smiles as he is reminded of the diversity around him since Lisa came into his life. The lovely Jewish family and let's not forget the Hindis. Interesting times.
Ianto is about to climb into his car when he is distracted by a high-pitched whistling sound. Suddenly, a large spherical glass object falls from the sky and lands with a deafening crash on the street, several yards from his car.
The startled Ianto looks to Hew but he has abruptly disappeared inside his house with Pluto. Mrs. Washington and Washington Junior have also made themselves scarce.
Ianto investigates. Amidst a sea of shattered glass are the remains of a light mechanism.
He looks around him but the street is deserted. He checks that all the surrounding street lights are accounted for, even though the fallen fixture is far larger. He looks up into the sky but there is no plane in sight. With some effort, Ianto picks up what's left of the crumpled light and loads it into the trunk. A label on the light fixture reads, "SIRIUS (9 Canis Major)". As he drives away, we hear the sound of his car radio.
"Another glorious morning in Torchwood, folks."
.
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Ianto makes his way along the streets of Torchwood past a series of quaint, pastel-shaded cottages.
A high-angle reveals an anonymous mid-sized town built around a small, pretty bay. A cluster of high-rise buildings stand at the water's edge overlooking a marina. Surrounding the commercial centre lie neatly arranged suburbs.
Pausing at a traffic light along a seaside road, Ianto looks through a curious wooden arch to the beach and ocean beyond. The sight triggers a memory in his head.
.
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Unlike a conventional flashback, the scene in his memory appears to be playing on a television screen.
Four year old Ianto runs towards a bluff on the beach.
The boy's father, Ifan, late-thirties, beer bottle in hand, flirts with two teenage girls at the shoreline. Suddenly, the father remembers his son. He looks anxiously around. The sight of the boy at the far end of the beach causes him to drop his bottle in the sand and run to Ianto.
The boy is near the top of the cliff before his agitated father comes within earshot. Out of breath, clutching his side he roars "Ianto! Ianto! Stop!"
Ianto turns from his perch and waves happily down to his father. But the smile quickly vanishes when he registers the anger and distress on his father's face.
"Come down now!"
His father's unnatural anxiety makes the next bay even more tantalizing. The boy considers defying his father. He puts his hand on the rock above him to stretch up and sneak a peek at the other side. One good stretch would do it. Reading Ianto's mind, enraged the father yells "No!"
"Why? What's there?" the little boy asks.
Unconvincingly with a trace of desperation Ifan answers "Nothing. It's...it's dangerous. Come down, now! Please!"
Ianto is suddenly aware that the hundreds of other beachgoers have stopped their activities to stare at him.
Reluctantly, he starts to retrace his steps down the rocks. When he finally jumps to the sand, his father embraces him and leads him away. "I told you to stay close. Don't ever leave my sight again. You've got to know your limitations. You could've fallen."
.
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Through his car window, Ianto buys a cup of coffee from a street side Vendor.
"How are ya, Ianto?"
"Placing his fingers to his pulse, Ianto snarks "Vital signs are good."
He pulls into a parking space and sips on the coffee. As he drinks, he becomes aware of a school bell summoning children to class in the adjacent Elementary School. The image prompts another childhood memory.
.
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Once again, the flashback appears to be playing on a television screen.
Seven year old Ianto sits in the middle row of an Elementary School classroom surrounded by twenty-or-so other well-scrubbed, uniformed youngsters. Andy, the boy next to Ianto, is on his feet under the scrutiny of a kindly Norman Rockwell-style School Mistress.
"What do you want to do when you grow up, Andy?" she demands.
"I want to be an entrepreneur like my dad."
Impressed she asks "Tell the class what an 'entrepreneur' does, Andy."
"He makes a lot of money, Ma'am." Andy replies as some sniggering starts.
"A good one does, Andy." She agrees looking in her purse, hamming it up "Perhaps I'll be coming to you for a loan one of these days."
The class titters. Andy sits down and winks to Ianto.
"What about you, Ianto?"
Ianto rises to his feet, gathering his nerve. With reverence he tells her "I want to be an explorer... like Magellan."
The School Mistress smiles benevolently. She replies in a slightly condescending way "I'm afraid no one's going to pay you to do that, Ianto. You might have to find something a little more practical."
Glancing to a pull down wall map behind her head she ads "Besides, you're too late. There's really nothing left to explore."
The class roars with laughter as the crestfallen Ianto takes his seat.
.
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Ianto, briefcase in hand, crosses from the parking lot to the town square, surrounded by similarly suited, briefcase-toting Office Workers.
Ianto walks briskly down the bustling city street. A snarl of taxis, buses and commuter traffic. A street vendor thrusts a pretzel under Ianto's nose, a woman tries to catch his eye.
Ianto stops at a kiosk and buys a newspaper - "THE ISLAND TIMES".
"Is that all for you, Ianto?" the vendor asks.
"That's all. Thanks, Errol."
Other customers also purchase the morning paper. Tucking his copy under his arm, Ianto selects a glossy magazine from a rack, quickly flicking through the pages.
Glancing in the direction of the newspaper vendor and finding him busy with another customer, Ianto deftly tears a portion of the open page and pockets the cutting. He hastily replaces the magazine and departs.
As Ianto hurries away, the vendor exits the kiosk and picks up the magazine, instantly turning to the torn page. It is a cosmetics advertisement with the model's nose missing.
However, the vendor makes no effort to confront Ianto, almost as if he were expecting it.
.
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Ianto passes along a row of shops and offices, finally entering a building that proudly proclaims, "Torchwood Life & Accident Inc." above the entrance. He has evidently taken his teacher's advice.
In a cramped, cluttered cubicle, Ianto talks on the telephone."...okay, okay, let's call it what it is...I'm not going to lie to you...life insurance is death insurance...you've just got to ask yourself two questions... one, in the event of your death, will anyone experience financial loss?...and two, do you care?"
A clerk drops a large reference book on Ianto's desk. Ianto checks the spine - "MARITIME ACCIDENTS".
"Hold on, will you?" Ianto asks the caller, then says to the Clerk, referring to the book "This is no good. Lumps all maritime accidents together. I need drownings as a separate category."
The Clerk shrugs, returns the book to his cart and continues his rounds.
"...just think about what I've been saying and let me...hello?..." The person on the other end has hung up. With an apathetic shrug, Ianto replaces the receiver. He looks over his shoulder and places another call. Lowering his voice he asks "Can you connect me with directory inquiries in Fiji?"
A Co-Worker suddenly pokes his head over the neighbouring cubicle. "What do you know, Ianto?"
Embarrassed, mouthing the words 'Can't talk.' waving off his neighbour, pretending to be on a business call "I'm sorry, ma'am. If he's in a coma, he's probably uninsurable."
The Co-Worker disappears back into his own cubicle.
Lowering his voice again "Hello, operator...yes, Fiji...Do you have a listing for a Jack Harkness? ... nothing listed?... what about a Franklin
Harkness... "F" for Franklin... nothing? Okay, thanks..."
The disconsolate Ianto replaces the receiver. Other Insurance agents are heading to lunch. Ianto puts on his jacket and follows them to the elevators.
.
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Behind a deli counter, Tyrone, fifties, is having his hair brushed by a young man. The man fusses one final time, then swiftly departs through a rear door just as Ianto enters the store. Tyrone has anticipated Ianto's order and has already begun preparing a meatball and mozzarella sandwich on an Italian roll. Ianto gazes at the sandwich skilfully under construction, pained by his own predictability.
Tyrone is nauseatingly cheerful "How's it going, Ianto?"
Ianto replies in a deadpan voice "Not bad. I just won the State Lottery."
Not listening to Ianto's reply Tyrone said "Good. Good."
"Tyrone, what if I said I didn't want meatball today?"
Not missing a beat, passing Ianto his wrapped sandwich he relied "I'd ask for identification."
Ianto forces a half-smile and exits.
"See you tomorrow, Ianto."
"You can count on it."
.
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Ianto eats lunch alone at a small, out-of-the-way park dominated by a gazebo. From his briefcase he pulls out an old, hard covered book, "To The Ends Of The Earth - The Age Of Exploration". He reads to himself, his sandwich uneaten beside him. Struck by a particular passage, he reads aloud. "With a mutiny but half-repressed and starvation imminent, he pressed southward, until he found the long-hoped-for, straits..."
Ianto is interrupted by a transient in a wheelchair. It is the man's sneakers Ianto notices first, over the top of his book - they are distinctively initialled, "I.S.". Still under the spell of the account of Magellan, he hands the grateful man his sandwich.
.
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A CONFERENCE ROOM SOMEWHERE.
A group of a dozen men and women of varying ages sit around a circular conference table in a sterile, windowless meeting room. All stare at a single telephone placed in the centre of the table, anticipating a call. On cue, the phone rings and one of the men, after waiting for the second ring, picks up. "Hello?... I'm sorry, I've got more than enough life insurance."
He hangs up. After a moment the phone rings again.
.
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Ianto sits at his desk, making a cold call. "...this isn't about insurance, this is about the great variable - when will death occur? Could be a week, a month, a year. Could happen today...A sunbather, minding his own business, gets stabbed in the heart by the tip of a runaway beach umbrella... No way you can guard against that kind of thing, no way at all..."
The prospect on the other end, unimpressed with Ianto's pitch, hangs up. Ianto's supervisor, Larry, younger than Ianto by several years, sharper suit, sharper haircut, appears around the corner of the cubicle. Handing Ianto some documentation he crows "Hey, Jones, I've got a prospect in Welles Park I need you to close."
Ianto's face falls. He stares out of his third floor window at the hazy skyline of a nearby island across the bay. Referring to the island he asks "Welles Park on Harbour Island?"
The sarcastic reply was "You know another one?"
"I can't do it." Ianto replied, searching for a plausible excuse "-I've got an appointment-er, dentist."
Larry was insistent the threat in his voice is unmistakable as he exits the cubicle and fires back "You'll lose a lot more than your teeth if you don't meet your quota, Jones. They're making cutbacks at the end of the month. You need this. Besides, a half hour across the bay… Sea air… Do you good."
Ianto sinks back into his seat and stares out at the distant skyline. The buildings appear very still. Ianto picks up a photo of his wife, Lisa, deposits it in his briefcase and exits.
.
.
Ianto's car heads out of the city on its way to the ferry.
Ianto exits his car. Mustering all his nerve, he marches into the Torchwood terminal and buys a token for the ferry.
Out of his hearing, two ferry workers observe Ianto's agitated behaviour "I got a feeling this is the day."
"No way. I say he makes it through the turnstiles but he never gets on."
The two men shake on the wager. Unaware of the scrutiny, Ianto passes through the turnstiles with a herd of tourists and commuters. He makes his way across the terminal, but abruptly pulls up at the gangway.
As the other passengers impatiently brush past him onto the boat, Ianto remains frozen to the spot, mesmerized by the scummy water rising and falling beneath the dock. It triggers a memory in his head.
.
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As always, the flashback appears to play on a television screen.
Seven year sold Ianto, wearing a lifejacket, sits alongside his father, Ifan, in a small sailing dinghy, sailing into a stiff breeze.
A second sail boat circles them. We observe the father and son from an angle atop the mast of the neighbouring vessel. Ianto is shouting above the wind "Let's go further, daddy! Let's go further!"
Ifan is shouting back "It's getting rough, Ianto."
Ianto is now entreating his father "Please!..."
Ifan shakes his head ruefully and indulges his son by heading towards the gathering storm clouds on the horizon.
.
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Ianto turns and begins to fight his way back against the tide of passengers boarding the ferry, emerging back onto the street, gasping for air. The Ferry Workers settle their wager.
Ianto stands at a payphone. By stretching the payphone's receiver cord as far as it will go, he is just able to reach his arm and leg into the driver's door of his car. He punctuates his conversation with blasts on the car's horn while revving the car's engine with his outstretched foot.
The few passing motorists and pedestrians regard Ianto curiously.
Ianto is shouting into the phone "I tell you the traffic's insane. (blasting his horn several times to imitate the sound of gridlock)... I'll never make the ferry in time. What can I do?-what?... Lawrence, I can't hear you!"
Ianto hangs up the phone.
Sorted.