John hasn't much of a better idea himself. He's holstering his gun and slowly picking up a few more photos, carefully gathering them into a small stack. The one on top seems to be a group of soldiers in desert uniform, and on closer inspection two of them are familiar -- one is John, head ducked to try and suppress a smile, and one is Holland. It's a photo that radiates camaraderie, Holland laughing brightly at something and one of the other two men slinging an arm around John. He picks up another photo, but -- this one isn't his? Which is almost a relief. He holds it out to Ianto slowly and takes a steadying breath.

"This is weird."

Photos of your past being rained on you feels like an uncomfortable invasion of privacy.