23.12.61
Jack sips his whisky and watches the good-natured banter between Diana and Martin King, the Medical Director in Cardiff. He likes all of the officers at Torchwood, which doesn't surprise him now he knows that Ianto hand-picked them all from the ranks. They've moved from the main dining hall, where the party is still going on, to the smaller sitting room where he and Ianto and the heads of UNIT used to entertain heads of state at conferences. It hasn't changed much since they were there together last, drinking with the Prime Minister, Brigadier Sanderson and Prince Harry to another successful conference. Even their wedding photo is still there on the bookshelf, surrounded by others that should have supplanted it.
Down the hall he hears the music change to a softer, waltzing piece, and he drains the last of his whisky and stands to offer Ianto his hand. "Mr Jones." Ianto looks curious, and places his hand into Jack's with hesitance. "May I have this dance?"
His hearing is good, and so he's aware of their colleagues' happiness for them and frustration at them once they think that they're out of hearing distance. If Ianto is aware of it he doesn't show it, but he lets Jack lead him back into main hall, where murmurs from the crowd bring them to a stop at the edge of the dance floor. The room is decorated in lush reds and golds, with a sprinkling of silver calling to mind the frost that had clung to the hedges all day whilst they drove down there. Jack pulls Ianto around and into an intimate ballroom hold, with one hand between Ianto's shoulders pressing him close and the other holding Ianto's hand to his chest. When they've settled into the rhythm, swaying from side to side and shifting their feet in time with the music, Ianto's free hand curls around the back of Jack's neck, and Jack rests their cheeks together and closes his eyes.
It feels so perfect having Ianto in his arms again; after all, it's been less than a month for him since he last lay awake with Ianto sprawled across his chest in an ungainly, snoring heap and woke him in such a pleasant way that they'd nearly been late for their flight to Edinburgh. It's been so much longer for Ianto, and although he hopes that someone has held him like this in the years between them, he knows that Ianto hasn't let anyone that close. He had Steven and David, and now he has Steven and Jack.
All too soon the song ends and a faster one starts up and, rather than let Jack pull him into that one as well, Ianto pulls away and tugs on Jack's hands. "We need to talk," he says in answer to Jack's unspoken question, and it's both the most promising and most frightening thing he's heard since his return.
They call in to the sitting room to say goodnight and then make their way up the stairs towards the suite they're sharing. No one seemed to know how to deal with them, most of all Jack, so they gave them the only two bedroom suite in the whole building and let them sort it out themselves. Each floor is divided into suites clustered around a central living room, but most of them have five or six bedrooms for branches or groups to share together. This suite is on the topmost floor, where the space is the most limited, and the climb gives Jack the opportunity to really worry about what Ianto has to say.
When they reach the top of the staircase Ianto swipes them in and leads the way into the sitting room. It's a cosy room, triangular and lit from sconces on the walls and a small window in the apex of the roof, and warm despite being right under the eaves. A thick rug covers the polished oak floorboards, and two armchairs sit catty-corner to each other, facing the entrance. Behind them there is a door in each wall, leading to the two bedrooms, each of which has an en-suite bathrooom.
Ianto looks around the room and rubs the back of his neck. "You, um... Wait here a moment. I'll be back in a second." He leaves Jack standing in the middle of the room and goes into his own bedroom and, for something to do with his hands, Jack finds a box of matches and starts lighting the candles in the coloured lanterns on the bookshelves.
When Ianto returns, Jack has all the candles lit and has his tablet plugged in to the wall so that it can play music for longer. He chooses the Heeley-Hutchinson Carol Symphony before he turns back to face Ianto. "Christmas," he says, holding his arms out to indicate the room. "All we need is a fireplace."
"All I needed was you."
He drops his arms and turns away. "I'm sorry."
"Why?" Ianto approaches him and rubs his shoulder. "You didn't leave me."
"I never would." He turns back to Ianto and takes his hand, the one that isn't hidden in his pocket. "If I'd been able to, I would have fought my way back to you to be there at your side when you needed me."
Ianto looks down at Jack's hand and rubs his thumb across his bare finger, where his ring should be. The silence draws out whilst they both search for something to say, until Ianto raises his head and draws a box from his pocket. "It took me time to track them down again, and then it wasn't a quick job to do but... I got it back earlier this week." He opens the box and Jack catches a glimpse of gold and silver. "I had to keep them together, until I could give it back."
Jack accepts the box from him and gazes at the rings inside. One is black tungsten with a silver titanium band running through it and a high shine mirror polish – the one he chose for Ianto. The other is Ianto's choice for him; two bands, one Welsh gold and titanium and one silver titanium, run side by side and cross over twice. He runs his thumb over it and clears his throat with difficulty. "I thought I lost it," he whispers. "When I woke up and it was gone... It was the last bit of you I had." Losing it had broken his heart somewhere in the fog of drugs on that first day, but it had been tempered by getting Ianto back.
He returns the box to Ianto and holds his breath whilst Ianto extracts the rings carefully. "They had to... to cut it off," he explains, voice as shaky as Jack feels. "To get it off your finger. I wanted to be the one to get it repaired and give it back to you."
"I'm glad." Jack holds his hand still and spreads his fingers so that Ianto can slide the ring back into place, where it belongs. It feels right, and he catches Ianto's hand to take the other ring from him. "Ianto Jones, will you?"
"I will." He relaxes his fingers and lets Jack replace the ring, then catches Jack's hand and raises it to his chest. "Jack, I want... Will you stay with me tonight?"
Jack brushes the backs of his fingers against Ianto's cheek, traces his jaw with fingertips and strokes his lower lip with his thumb. "Haven't you remembered yet? There's nowhere else I'd rather be."
31.12.29
The Hub under Cardiff Bay was filled with echoes, and the rippling reflections from the water in the pool at the base of the tower cast an eerie pallor over the whole room. A make-up artist fluttered around him, arguing with the director and lighting director. "His complexion needs a warmer light; sorry, dear." She smiled at him and brushed more powder across his cheeks, somehow managing to glare at the directors at the same time. "Talking about you like you're not here. At least put a pink on him, bring him out of the darkness."
"She's right," the director decided. "Put a rose filter on the spots. Do you have anything red, Director?"
"I don't wear red." He breathed a sigh of relief when the make-up artist moved away. "Can we start?"
"Yes, yes." The director gestured him into the middle of the room and hurried across to the cameras. "Now, can you start by talking us through the history whilst we wait for Matt?"
"Of course." He looked over to the autopsy bay, which was screened off and being used as the changing rooms, and waited to be told they were ready. When they were he looked around and remembered the space as it used to be. "When Torchwood first established a permanent Hub here," he began, "it was smaller than it is now. This space is the footprint of Cardiff's first stone-built dock, which was deep enough for ocean-going coal ships. The Marquess of Bute had a hollow space created below it, although no one knows what he intended to do with it, and in eighteen ninety it was purchased by the Torchwood Institute as a secure, concealed location for their Cardiff operations. Over the next ten years the base was expanded, first with the lower levels and the underground railway which connected it to the London and Glasgow offices, and then with the archive tunnels and the passages which allowed covert access to large areas of Cardiff.
"The final stage of development came in the nineteen eighties, when Bute Dock was closed and Tiger Bay was redeveloped into a tourism and leisure destination. The closure of the dock allowed space for upward expansion, and there was already discussion of Torchwood becoming a public entity, so plans were drawn up to develop the dock space, and the Hub was connected to the new developments around the Bay, particularly the Welsh Assembly building. Nothing came of it, though, and funding was diverted to the Canary Wharf development." He shrugged and looked up at the cavernous space above him. "The Hub was left undeveloped, and the temporary ceiling that had been installed collapsed during the Cardiff Earthquake, destroying most of the technology in the main Hub. We reorganised a few times after that, until the final layout that you see here, which is what we left behind when we moved to our current Cardiff Hub in twenty ten."
The director called a cut, and the make-up artist came to touch him up. "I like it, but less like you're presenting a documentary, if possible?" the director asked. Matt Baker finally emerged from the autopsy bay, and the director swept him towards Ianto. "I assume you know of Matt, at least?"
They shook hands and Ianto grinned. "Am I allowed to say that I watched you on Blue Peter?"
"You can say what you like, but I might not believe you," Matt teased, clapping him on the shoulder. He'd certainly mellowed, but his accent and eager enthusiasm hadn't. "Thanks for doing this with us; it'll be really good to get the true story of Torchwood."
"It needs telling," Ianto agreed. The director came to locate them in the right place and Ianto shifted uncomfortably. "How do you get used to this?"
"Practice." Matt grew more serious and looked over the list of interview questions. "You've seen and gone over the questions, I take it? Removed any you don't want to answer and all that."
"I didn't remove any, but yes, I've seen them." He glanced over them and shrugged again. "They all need answering, and I'd rather I did it."
"Alright then." Matt turned to the director and handed his interview sheets over. "Let's get started then, shall we?" The film crew had set a pair of chairs up in what had been Jack's office, and they settled down in there to talk. Ianto smoothed his hands over his trousers and smiled at Matt, who settled back in his chair and greeted him, "Director Jones, thanks for joining us."
"It's my pleasure," he assured him. "I'm just glad to be able to tell the story at last."
"And what a story it is, dating back one hundred and fifty years to the day when Queen Victoria encountered the Doctor for the very first time. Torchwood, of course, developed during the height of the original British Empire, and it's been instrumental in re-establishing an empire that's now looking to the stars, and closer to reaching them than any other country. People are calling it Britain's Golden Age, and, in fact, calling you the architect of Britain's Golden Age. Do you think that's fair?"
Ianto gave the question some thought, as if he hadn't given it plenty of thought since the first time he heard it mentioned on Question Time one night. "It's impossible to deny that Britain is in a period of expansion, development and economic well-being like we haven't seen since the height of the British Empire," he said at last, "and I think that Torchwood has played a huge part in that, no doubt. Whether that's down to me, though, I'm not so sure. If I've helped in establishing the capacity for development, and doing that in a way which holds true to my principals and have therefore helped to create an empire based not on slavery and hardship but on equality and justice, then I can be very proud of that. But I would always look to Jack as the architect; even though he's been missing for seventeen years, he spent so long working for Torchwood and guiding it, trying to build it into an organisation we could all be proud of, and all I've done is tried to carry on that work in his place."
"You must miss him terribly," Matt commented with unexpected gentleness.
He swallowed hard and nodded. "All the time. He is my leader, my husband and my best friend, and he means the world to me."
"And do you think he'll be proud of what you've achieved?"
"Yes." He looked up at the ceiling and smiled. "Yes, I think he will."
04.02.19
"I'm as certain as I can be without having someone kill me and see if I get up again," Ianto confirmed, cradling his tea cup carefully. The white drawing room at Buckingham Palace, which he'd always secretly called the buttercup drawing room, was bright and cheerful despite the leaden skies and the rain hammering at the windows. It was far too big for them (and the bodyguards), and looked like he felt: maniacally cheerful in the face of adversity, although he was fairly certain that he didn't have a matching tea service. He sipped at the tea and raised an eyebrow at their worried expressions. "The Doctor is loudly emphatic that I'm a fixed point, so the chances are good that I'm not going to drop dead right here."
"I'm glad to hear it," the king told him, with a twinkle in his eyes. "It would cause a terrible furore."
"That would be the last thing we need," he laughed. "And I'd hate to make a mess of the carpet."
"Ianto, you could never die untidily." Harry set his own teacup aside and became serious. "What does this mean for Torchwood? Is anything going to change?"
He smiled and ducked his head to think. "I can't go back into the field. Just because I'll bounce back doesn't mean that a heart attack won't kill me. It's too big a risk for any team with me." He glanced at Harry, who nodded his understanding. "So I'm stuck behind a desk forever."
"Behind a desk and telling people what to do, like you do best." Harry leaned back on the sofa and grinned. "You can keep working through your plans... forever."
"And if that's not a terrifying prospect, I don't know what is," Charles chuckled. "And yet a thrilling one."
"There's a lot of work still to do," he mused, "and there probably always will be. Maybe one day, when we're part of an intergalactic empire and new institutions have moved in, Torchwood will become obsolete."
"I dare say that there will always be a place for Torchwood, as there always has been." King Charles set his teacup aside and sat up straighter. "Now, dear boy, what are we to do about Torchwood?"
Prince Harry held up a hand to stop them. "I would like to continue as we have been doing, building a lasting foundation on which to base the security and future of the country. We are in a unique position, even more so now that your... longevity will allow you to guide our progress throughout. No difficult periods when a leader dies unexpectedly."
"That really is worrying," Ianto commented.
"Terrifying," Prince Harry agreed. "Which is why I recommend that we elect you to the position of Director General of the Institute, with a Governor General to represent the people of the Commonwealth and keep an eye on you."
"And who, exactly, would you recommend to take on the role of Governor General?" the king asked.
"Me." He grinned at them and spread his hands, although he was earnest. "Torchwood has always been and will always be responsible to the Crown and the Commonwealth, not to the government. I want to be involved, to help to drive the country forwards into the twenty first century."
Ianto considered him and returned his smile. "We'd love to have you on board. Torchwood has been disconnected for too long; it's time we stood up to be counted at last."
1.6.19
Ianto found himself in a BBC studio in the centre of London, waiting to give an interview he hadn't been expecting. It had been a long and trying day, with questions coming from every direction whilst he tried to organise the ceremony, the security and the soiree, and still kept one eye on the reports coming in from a tense situation at the Australian base. He would rather have slept, but at some point he'd agree to appear on the ten o'clock news on the BBC. It could have been worse; Newsnight was definitely beyond him.
Fiona Bruce finished off a story about a fire that had closed the M62 for a few hours, which he was almost certain was nothing to do with Torchwood, and moved onto his piece. He swallowed hard, suddenly aware of the cameras pointed at him, just waiting to show him to the country again. "Today was the first day of the new command structure at Torchwood," she was saying, "after an investiture at the London Hub to create the roles of Director General and Governor General. I am joined tonight by the newly created the Right Honourable Baron Jones, formerly Director of Torchwood and now the Director General. Baron Jones, congratulations on your appointment."
"Thank you very much," he smiled at her rather than allow his bewilderment at his peerage to show. King Charles had surprised him with that one.
She leaned towards him and asked, "What does the new command structure mean for Torchwood, particularly for its everyday operations? Torchwood is still a little understood organisation, naturally, and the command structure has never been clear."
"Well, it will mean a lot more accountability," he explained to begin with. "For nine years I've been the director of the whole institute, with overall control over every branch, and as we've expanded that has become a lot more work. The time has come, came a few years ago actually, when I couldn't keep up with that quantity of work, and so direction delegated by region, leaving me to focus on the UK. Of course, this still wasn't ideal because we didn't have anyone at the top, so this is a real reorganisation with a more formal command structure organised by region, but, of course, with the fluidity of information and resource exchange between the regions that has been our biggest strength, after our people, over the last decade."
"Are you prepared to relinquish that immediate control that you've exercised over Torchwood, Baron Jones? You're a very familiar figure, here in the UK especially but right across the Commonwealth, and someone that people look to in a crisis. Is that going to continue, even if you're at a greater distance from the front line?"
"Of course it will." He paused to think about that instant declaration. "I've been working for Torchwood for a long time, longer than anyone else, and I've worked my way up from being an errand runner at Canary Wharf up to the directorship, and I did my time as a field agent when Torchwood was just five of us in Cardiff. Because of that, because I have that history and I've seen what can happen when we're too close to the wire, I always feel a huge responsibility when we have a crisis to deal with, and I will be there to help out. As long as the regional directors don't think I'm stepping on their toes, of course."
"Speaking of stepping on toes, your relationship with UNIT appears to be strained at the moment." She glanced down at her tablet, reading something he knew she didn't need to. "The Brigadier has been somewhat uncomplimentary of you recently."
"Torchwood is an organisation for empires, and UNIT is an organisation for a unified Earth. Until we have true unity, there are of course going to be crossed jurisdictions. Torchwood has been around longer, and we look after our own," he said firmly. "UNIT do a fantastic job, but Torchwood's strength is about looking after the local scale, about identifying those communities which are most at risk and setting up to protect them in the long term. Some battlefields come and go, and those are the ones where UNIT is strong, but when an ongoing Hub is needed, Torchwood are better."
Someone gave them a sign to wind it up and Fiona hurried on with her final question. "And how do you feel about the fact that some nations are requesting to become part of the Commonwealth or to return to the Commonwealth to gain Torchwood's protection?"
He hesitated over the question, and went for something tactful. "The issue of Commonwealth membership is one for the governments of the countries involved and the Commonwealth committee. When it comes to protection, if a government asked for Torchwood to help out with a specific incident then I wouldn't hesitate in sending that help. Our first priority is always to protect people, wherever they may be."
"Thank you, Baron Jones." She turned back to the main camera and he was able to escape from the hot seat whilst she finished off, "That was The Right Honourable Baron Jones, the Director General of Torchwood, discussing his appointment this afternoon. And now the weather with Simon."