Chapter 8
Ianto and Jack had had a major screaming match in the middle of the street. Ianto had screamed the loudest, exuding anger and resentment in a most impressive style and manner. They had both carried this on a safe stage, the bicycle rental area of the Plaza. It was pouring rain outside, so no one was renting on that day. Neither wanted to hurt civilians.
Jack hit first. Ianto took a defensive stance, avoided the first blow, counterattacked. Jack was still stronger so they fought for real; no hold barred for the two Torchwood operatives.
As Jack was about to put Ianto down for the count, Ianto pulled his gun out. Jack stopped dead on his tracks.
"Enough of your bullshit; you can't play with people like that", Ianto screamed.
He then pulled the trigger, once, twice. Lungs were hurt, Jack fell to his knees. Ianto kept shooting. He emptied the gun into Jack's chest; blood was pouring everywhere, Jack had long stop breathing and Ianto glared at him. He replaced his cartridge, and pulled the trigger once more, straight into the brain this time.
Sirens. Alarms.
Ianto started to run away. And running he did.
He had been on the run ever since.
He hardly had any money on him; it wouldn't have done for him to look prepared. It was likely the Front knew about Jack's immortality, so the point was not the shooting, but the impromptu shooting, the quitting, and the running away.
Ianto was a good operative; he knew how to hide, how to fend for himself; still he acted very much as if the wrath of Captain Harkness was hovering.
He spoke to no one, stayed clear of well lit area, managed to beg for money and steal bits of fruits out of small stores.
He slept out door, underneath staircases, staying as close as possible to drifting and homeless men.
After the first day, he was getting very dirty and Ianto hated being dirty.
When a short man, slightly pudgy, accosted him on the second day, when he was begging car drivers for changes, he remained on his guard. The man was on the other side of bald, wore a cheap suit, but spoke with a very calm and soothing voice.
"Jones, I can help you." A pause. "If you let me, of course"
He then handed Ianto a piece of paper and left.
Contact had been made. Ianto was very impressed; they had managed to find him that quickly.
Ianto had stuffed the piece of papers in the pockets of his pants, of his filthy pants. Thinking that Jack ought him a new suit as well as a meal, he went back to begging for money.
When he had enough for a sandwich, he went to this little bistro out of the way, where his appearances didn't bother other customers, or the owners for that matter, and he read the note.
Jones, meet us tonight, 9 pm, at the Red Dragon Inn, ask for Porter; we have something in common. Getting rid of Harkness.
Ianto proceeded to clean himself a little in the bathroom; had a second cup of badly brew coffee and went into this secluded building, restricted, for it would be destructed shortly. He then activated the signal. The device was under his armpit; he didn't even feel it. But Jack and him had worked it out, and their system was reliable. He was telling them that contact had been made.
Taking sleep when sleep was available was also part of a good Torchwood operative. After signaling Tosh and Jack, he made a nest in what could pass as a safe zone in that derelict building and napped for nearly 90 minutes.