Disclaimer: Not mine, belongs to RTD and BBC. I just like to play with them.
Notes/spoilers: Story is set between "Cyberwoman" and "Small worlds".
After having written the first chapter I got seriously stuck. But I got some good help from my friend Kefirah to get unstuck. This chapter is her writing (apart from a couple of details).
Summary: Ianto is struggling with the loss of his girlfriend.
Beta: Many thanks to the fantastic help of veritas6_5
Word count: 1109
The next morning Ianto woke up with the worst hangover in the universe. His mouth felt like a carpet and his eyes were dry and crusty. He remembered drinking and Jack coming over, but most of the rest was a blur. Getting up off the couch was an effort that took him two tries.
He stumbled into the bathroom, using the wall to hold himself up as he pissed. As he washed his hands, he checked himself out in the mirror. He looked almost as bad as he felt.
Shambling back into the living room, he found Jack’s note, read it, and crumpled the paper, tossing it into the corner of the room.
That was Jack, always leaving. Never sticking around for the hard work, always on the outskirts. Ianto remembered the image of Jack being the first to turn away as he fell to his knees at the dying body of that pizza girl. Pumping bullets into her, then turning away, leaving.
“After all I’ve done for him. The butler, the coffee-boy, the perfect servant and butt-boy! All right then, Jack!” Ianto said out loud to the empty room. “You’re not the only one who can walk away.”
He rummaged through the sofa cushions and found his mobile. It took only a few moments to punch in the message: Thanks for the advice. I’m letting go.
He shut his phone off after he pressed the send button.
“Time to get my shit together,” he said to himself.
First things first, a shower. Tossing his grubby clothes in the hamper, he turned the water on. He alternated between hot and cold to wake himself up and clear out the cobwebs. Fifteen minutes later it seemed to have worked. The face in the mirror was less cadaverous looking. He shaved and dressed in a clean suit.
After a quick pass around the living room, bagging up the empty bottles and making some coffee, he sat down in front of his computer. He worded a polite but emphatic resignation letter and sent it off to the Crown. He knew if he sent it to Jack, it would be dismissed.
The next step would rely on his experience and reputation. He needed a new job and although he wasn’t sure there was an actual opening, he knew just the place to apply. Giving himself a last check in the mirror, he headed off to the Cardiff Bay Heddlu Station.
Although he didn’t have an appointment, a short wait brought him to the head of personnel, a Ms. Harriet Evans. She was a short, well-dressed woman with blonde hair tied back in a tight bun. She gave Ianto an appraising look, but said nothing until he was seated in the chair across from her immaculate desk.
“Well, Mr. Jones, what brings you here?”
“I’m looking for a job.”
Her eyebrows went up slightly, but then she smiled. “As I’m the Director of Personnel, I assumed that is why you asked to see me. What I meant was, what makes you think there’s a job waiting for you?”
“I don’t, but I’m hoping my skills can be useful. I am an adept researcher...”
“I do know your qualifications, Mr. Jones,” she interrupted. “I’m well aware of your employment at Torchwood One and Three.”
Something in her tone made Ianto wonder if she had heard of his latest... faux pas. But she went on.
“Research, filing systems management, library systems, all the latest computer database programs... I know what you do best, Mr. Jones. What makes you think you’re needed here?”
“You have an Evidence Storing system. I have heard, through certain sources, that it is woefully inadequate.”
Ms. Evans leaned back in her comfortable chair. Ianto tried not to squirm in his hard seat. “Ah, yes, our former PC Cooper was probably your source.”
He didn’t blink and she nodded, thinking she had found him out. In actuality it was PC Andy Davidson who had phoned Ianto a few weeks back looking for some tips on how to find a box of evidence that had been mislabeled.
“I was under the impression you were still employed with Torchwood Three.”
“As of,” he checked his watch, “two hours ago, I am not.” His email would be date and time stamped. When he would get a reply was immaterial.
Contemplating her steepled fingertips for a moment, Ms. Evans finally stood up. “All right, Mr. Jones. I would be a fool to let you slip out of our hands. Report to my secretary tomorrow morning at 8 am for processing and security clearance.”
He started to say something but she waved her hand. “A mere formality. Issuing of security pass and such. Good day, Mr. Jones.”
He stood and smiled briefly. “Good day, Ms. Evans.” He didn’t thank her.
“What do you mean he’s not there?” Jack’s voice could be heard throughout the entire main Hub, even though he was leaning against his desk in his office. Toshiko, on the other end of the phone, shifted her Bluetooth earpiece to alleviate some of the volume.
“He’s not here, Jack. The flat is cleaned up, shower is still wet. There are traces of stubble in the sink; the clothes he was wearing the last few days are in the hamper. I think he’s come to his senses.”
“And done what?” Jack sighed heavily. “Okay, come back and let’s go through the CCTV, and see if we can find where he’s gone.”
Gwen caught that last bit and grimaced as she stood in the doorway of Jack’s office. “We don’t know that he’s done or doing anything illegal, Jack. Using the CCTV just to spy on him is not good form.”
“Thank you for that piece of unsolicited advice, Gwen. Get back to work.”
He was halted on his way to Toshiko’s computer by another phone call. He checked the incoming ID, and his eyebrows shot up as he answered it.
Gwen and Owen glanced back and forth, curiously. Jack was standing as close to “attention” as he ever got. The entire end of his conversation consisted of “Yes, Ma’am,” “No, Ma’am.” “I understand, Ma’am,” and “Thank you, Ma’am.”
He stood silently for a few moments after he clicked the phone off, took a deep breath, then another. Owen saw the flush rising on the captain’s face, and knew what was coming.
“Could someone,” Jack started off quietly, but his voice proceeded to get louder with every phrase, “please tell me, how in the fucking universe, Ianto Jones went from drunken MESS, less than twelve hours ago, to COHERENT ENOUGH TO RESIGN, DIRECTLY TO HER MAJESTY?”