John pushes off the wall and tries to get himself some breathing space, to move a little further away from both Ianto and the two natives.
"Sounds perfect!" he answers, and he's at least selling it tone-wise even if his body language has lost pretty much all he comfort it had with how close they were for a few moments there. Instead, John's shoulders are just raised enough to show tension -- his grip on Ianto's hand is deliberate rather than casual. To someone who knows him, he looks more like he's preparing to bolt than shut himself in a room for a romantic evening.
On the bright side, the natives may look uneasy but so long as they are leaving they seem to be accepting this answer.
Ianto can feel John's tension rise almost immediately and he can't help but wonder whether he did this. Whether it was something in the way he had responded -- love? -- that has him looking as though he'd be heading for the hills if not for his grip on John's hand and their still-present audience.
He tightens his grip on John's hand, squeezing his fingers before taking pity on the other man and ducking to pick up their bags. Shouldering his as he passes John's over in turn.
"Better get a move on, then," he says. Making certain to flash the other man a smile in what he hopes is a reassuring way as he steps forward to tug him away from the blessedly dark console and their audience of two.
"Yeah," John adds as he grabs up his bag and swings it onto his shoulder. "We'll get out of your hair."
It was a stupid idea. On reflection, John doesn't even know why he ever thought it would work. Or well, he does. He was thinking about teasing Ianto, about seeing him smile, about how Ianto said he was a secret agent. He was thinking about how Ianto wanted more from him, and how he should try. He didn't think about what he'd do if they were approached, if he had to sell it someone. He didn't think about what he'd do if he had to accept that people were, in fact, watching them.
Which are they still, now.
"Don't worry," he adds lightly, "we know the way." He flashes his best attempt at a smile, but it's strained around the edges.
John can feel his breaths coming a little short as he lets Ianto tug him along, feels as if the eyes of the entire place might be on him. They're probably not, but the crawling sensation of being watched is still there. He lets go of Ianto as they reach the exit, tugs out his sunglasses to ward off the glare of the snow and tries to ignore how his hands aren't quite as steady as he'd like.
Deep breaths, slow not short. Don't be stupid. Right. He shoves up his sunglasses again reflexively and shoulders his way out into the cold.
"Anyway," he begins, "so the logs on that thing go back about a hundred and fifty years."
Let's talk about logs, Ianto, rather than anything else.
Ianto lets John release his hand. Lets him take the lead as they make their way back out into the cold. He lets him take that step away, because he sees the way he's struggling, and even if he doesn't understand it, he understands that this is what he needs.
A little frown forms between Ianto's eyebrows as John speaks up -- about the logs. He does want to know more about them. He wants answers just as much as anything. But he wants answers from John even more.
"Did they say anything of note?" he forces himself to ask, reaching down to zip his jacket back up again now that they've stepped back outside. Not so much letting the rest of it go as setting it aside for the moment to allow himself to plan and regroup.
"Not as far as I got. I was skimming a little until we were interrupted. All mostly sounded pretty routine."
He zips up his own jacket again, adjusts his bag as he begins to move through the snow. Moving on and away from all the awkwardness, like maybe he can just pretend it didn't happen.
"But, I heard there's another ship here. An older one, further out."
Maybe that might hold more information? At least, more than Central did if it hasn't been wiped.
"We should probably check it out. Might be less busy, too, means we can dig without interruption."
"If it's older, it might have more on Magda in its logs," Ianto reasons aloud. "It's worth looking into, if it's still in any shape to have any data stored." If the Central was a hundred and fifty years old, then how old must this other ship be, after all? How long did such technology keep that kind of information stored? It's not like computers had been around for a hundred years for Ianto to be able to reference how it worked back on Earth, after all.
He falls silent, adjusting his pack and following after John for a few moments. It's about as long as he lasts before he realizes that if he doesn't say something, John's not going to himself either.
"John..." he starts, hesitantly, which probably alerts the other man to their change of topic even before the rest is out of his mouth. "Are you. Is everything okay?" It's a stupid question, as much because he knows it isn't as because he knows that the other man really isn't going to answer it, but he's got to start somewhere.
Or does Ianto want a longer break, or another drink first? John's fine with either, so long as the topic continues to neatly be anything but what Ianto wants to talk about.
Ianto lets out a soft sigh. Of course it wouldn't be that easy to talk to John. It never is, with anything like this. At least there aren't as many people here to listen in as there were to watch before.
"I'm fine," Ianto replies, throwing the other man's words right back at him. Reaching up to run a hand over his face and through his hair, trying to gather his thoughts.
"Look, I. Can see something bothered you back there, and I just want to know if it was something I said or did, that's all," he pushes gently. "Because it was pretty much the whole point of your idea to play along and you know. Act the part, especially if we were caught, so I. Think that actually went rather well, all things considered."
Oh look, it's the topic he doesn't want to talk about. He shoots Ianto an uneasy sideways glance.
"Don't worry about it. I just..." he hesitates, stumbles over a few thoughts and comes up short. He just what? "Guess they just caught me off guard. But! It did go well, so I'd say we call it a success and move on to the next part of the plan."
The bit where they stop talking about this and carry on walking to the other Natha ship here.
Guess they just caught me off guard. Somehow Ianto doesn't think that that's it. They'd gone into the whole endeavor expecting to get caught, after all. And John hadn't really hesitated leading into the kiss. Except to point out --
"You'd said you'd never done that with an audience before," Ianto hazards, throwing John a sideways glance in return. "Because of the Air Force." It's slow, but he's doing his best to puzzle the pieces back together. "Never... Kissed another man, you mean?"
Ianto's forehead furrows slightly and he turns his gaze to the walkway ahead of them. "Not with an audience," he starts cautiously, "but. How about without one? Tell me that wasn't..."
If you think I'm going to take you under my wing and show you the ways of the world, you are sadly mistaken. John had said it himself, but that hadn't meant. John has some experience with other men. Doesn't he?
Great, they're talking about this. John stops walking and shoots Ianto a wary look, half hidden by sunglasses.
"No," he manages, and he thinks of a hundred other things he could add but he doesn't even know where to begin. He doesn't want Ianto examining him like a puzzle to be solved but at the same time, he wants him to understand. He wants him to know this isn't -- personal. This isn't anything Ianto is doing wrong.
He also isn't sure he wants to have this conversation without a drink or, maybe three. It's too much. He can already feel his pulse beginning to spike again just from this much.
Ianto pulls up to a halt alongside the other man and meets his wary gaze.
"No?" he echoes, a little confused at the response and waiting for a clarification that never comes. "No, you haven't, or...?"
He understands that he's probably always going to need to push a little with John. He's pretty private, and he seems to be the sort of man who would rather not talk about any of this, if it could be helped. Be patient with him, John had asked, and Ianto is trying, he really is. He just can't-- He needs to know what he's up against. He needs to know where to draw the line himself, he supposes. If John won't lay it down on his own.
"No you're not the first guy I've kissed, Ianto, it's just never --"
Never been more than a hurried encounter. Never meant anything. Never been something he's committed to, especially not with people watching. He squares his shoulders a little, as if bracing himself for some kind of fight, and tries to draw on whatever reserve of calm he can find. Slower breaths, deeper breaths, push down on the panic.
"Listen, I don't know about you but it's a little early in the day to start all this for me."
To start all this. Ianto glances away, the words biting a little harder than maybe John had intended them to. Or maybe he had. He's the one 'starting' it, after all. He's the one who can't seem to leave it well enough alone, the way that John would hope.
"Yeah, alright," he replies. Point taken. He's not really looking to stand there dragging this out or clawing the information out of him to get his answers. That just seems to be how it works.
He slips the other strap of his bag across his shoulder and hooks his fingers into it. Not quite meeting the other man's eyes as he continues, "Do you know where this other ship is, then?" This is the neutral ground that John had wanted after all, isn't it?
John takes a deep breath and tries to press down on the bubbling unease, turns back toward the path and begins to walk.
The crashed Natha ship is definitely both older and in worse condition than Central. It's barely functioning at all, although John is fairly certain he can coax something out of it with enough effort. He crawls around under panels and murmurs to the ship, come on baby, wake up for me. A touch here and there, panels flicker and light up then dim. It's equal parts scavenging and John haphazardly patching bits of ship together, claiming he knows what he's doing. How much he does and how much he's just winging it is debatable, but with Ianto's assistance and sharp eyes they get everything running long enough for him to comb the logs. The fact that it came down in a meteor shower is interesting, but not especially exciting as a revelation. It's good to know Darma didn't shoot them down, or anyone else for that matter, and it's useful to know that they all survived.
Still, John feels frustrated once they finally give up and head back into the cold. It's a lingering frustration from the morning which is only amplified by the sense of having achieved so little.
"Why did Darma even send us down with so little information?"
John is zipped back up against the cold, sunglasses pushed up and hands shoved irritably into his pockets.
"I mean surely she wants us on side, right? So why not at least give us her side of the story! She knew Magda would tell us his, and that he doesn't like her. It doesn't make any sense! I mean I get that they don't want to interfere, but they already have with --"
There's a sudden, blinding flash and John is reaching for his gun even as he tries to get his eyes to focus again. When they do, scraps of what seems like paper are fluttering to the ground around both of them. He lowers the weapon slowly, crouches down to pick up one of the bits of paper and stares.
Ianto's still feeling sensitive about John's comment, and so directs his attention solely on the task at hand for the time being. It's the first time he's ever seen quite so much of John's ability before, and so he takes the time to quietly observe the way he works as he helps as well. How fluid it is, the way that everything reacts to John. Literally responding to his touch.
Of course, it would have been better if they could have found out more from the ship. More information about the Natha or Magda himself or something. He supposes it's to be expected, from something of this age, that some of the information should be damaged or missing, but it's still disappointing nonetheless. He can understand John's frustration. Hell, he's frustrated himself. He's been frustrated since the minute the Natha sent them down this way, with little to no explanation and the expectation that they do their work for them regardless.
The sudden flash of light is enough to have Ianto nearly jumping out of his skin, and while he doesn't have a gun or a holster, he's instantly on edge himself. What's going on? A flash bomb? He waits for the sound of an explosion to follow but it never comes. All he hears is the sound of his own heartbeat thundering in his chest and through his ears, and John moving in the snow beside him.
"Jesus," Ianto exclaims, finally remembering how to breathe and see beyond the sparks in his vision. Blinking as he watches a little robot flitting away into the distance. "What was that?" Glancing down he catches sight of John collecting -- photographs? One in particular catches his eye and he drops to his knees beside the other man to pluck it up in turn. Staring at it for a moment before turning his eyes to John. "What...?"
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.
Ianto glances up from the photo he has clutched in his hands -- a tent on a beach, Ianto running after a dog in the distance while Lisa sits laughing at him in the foreground. It's barely light enough to be able to make the scene out in the pre-dawn light, but he remembers the moment clearly.
He reaches to take this second photograph from John as he holds it out to him. Recognizing the scene in the image as well, if not the moment itself. Himself and Yvonne, in her office at Torchwood Tower. He looks -- young, so young, dark suit, white shirt, red tie, clipboard in hand. Working something out with her as Yvonne clutches a coffee he's brought her in one immaculately manicured hand as she no doubt quips something at him in return. She looks perfect, in her skirt suit, not a hair out of line.
And there are more photographs of his past there on the ground in front of them. Their camp in the Beacons, with the whole team sitting around the fire they never actually managed to light. Jack laughing at his own stupid joke, everyone else cringing, and Ianto mostly just looking uncomfortable. And another, of himself and Jack standing together in cold storage over a body. Jack leaning back against the drawers behind him. Ianto remembers this moment too. Some day we're gonna run out of room. And one more photo, this one of Ianto down in the cells while in the background a creature crouches and snarls at him in return.
He splays the photographs out in front of him, taking a moment to process it all, before he replies, "It's bloody bizarre is what it is. How did they get these photos? I know for a fact there weren't any cameras there at the time of some of these shots."
Edited (image links... maybe this is finally right now... if not gives up and goes to bed...) 2018-08-06 02:28 (UTC)
John could say the same thing. He carefully tucks the stack of his own photos out of the way inside his jacket for a moment, focuses his attention on the ones Ianto has spread out on the snow.
"Cute smile," he says, and gestures idly to the creature in the cells with Ianto. "Had some good dental work done there."
It's the first thing John picks up on, largely, because it's the most unusual thing in the range of photos -- and the least obviously personal. Anything else Ianto wants to talk about, that's his call. John has learnt a degree of caution in pushing him too much.
Ianto glances aside at the other man at the comment, offering him a light-hearted rolling of his eyes in return. Trust John to make a comment like that. He and Jack really would get along. Or hate each other in that way that truly similar people seem to do.
"That," Ianto says, gesturing to the alien in the photograph, "is a Weevil. Or that's what we called them, anyway. One of several we've got in the cells at the Hub. Jack likes to call her Janet. God only knows why." He shakes his head at the photograph, looking a little exasperated even with the memory as he repeats, "He always said it was because Barbara just never seemed right."
"No, she's definitely a Janet. He's right about that. Looks kind of cranky, though. She an unfriendly sort, or just got one of those faces?"
You know, stuck in a smile but actually a sweetheart underneath it all? The fact that she's in a cell implies otherwise but -- well, you never know. Todd was technically an unfriendly, creepy looking sort who they often held in a cell but he wasn't all bad.
"Oh, she would definitely rip your throat out if given half the chance," Ianto replies easily. "That's why she's in the cells, she was one of the first to go rogue. There's a whole colony of then under the streets of Cardiff, in the sewers. They eat -- well pretty much anything you can imagine you might find in a sewer, really." He glances aside at the other man. "It's the ones who venture out and develop a taste for human flesh that we had to keep on the watch for."
He studies the photograph for a moment, before continuing, "You know, they're actually quite intelligent. And telepathic, near as we can figure. And empathic. They can..." He hesitates, debating how much to explain about this moment in time, before deciding, "They know when another of their kind is suffering. So we try to keep them as comfortable as possible in the cells, once they become a danger to the public as a whole." He shrugs. "I suppose they understand that it's better than the sewers, anyway."
"I've had bad experiences involving intelligent creatures with bad teeth that get in your head. Only ours are a lot paler and more 90's goth."
Black trench-coats, evil villain speeches, creepy screams. You know. Generally, going full ham on the villain of the week vibe. They also do somewhat less literal eating of people, more... life-sucking. Which begs the question, what do they actually use their teeth for? John isn't sure he wants to know the answer, honestly. Probably creepy.
"90's goth?" Ianto raises his eyebrows a little at the image it creates, immediately trying to imagine a Weevil in much the same attire, but he just can't picture it in the end.
"Weevils seem to take to these boiler room jumpsuit sort of affairs," he explains, gesturing to what Janet is wearing in the photograph. "Like a janitor from hell, I suppose. They're not all that communicative, which is probably for the best in the end. God only knows what they think of us. We hear enough about all the problems with humanity from the other species from around the city as it is."
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Plans?
John pushes off the wall and tries to get himself some breathing space, to move a little further away from both Ianto and the two natives.
"Sounds perfect!" he answers, and he's at least selling it tone-wise even if his body language has lost pretty much all he comfort it had with how close they were for a few moments there. Instead, John's shoulders are just raised enough to show tension -- his grip on Ianto's hand is deliberate rather than casual. To someone who knows him, he looks more like he's preparing to bolt than shut himself in a room for a romantic evening.
On the bright side, the natives may look uneasy but so long as they are leaving they seem to be accepting this answer.
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He tightens his grip on John's hand, squeezing his fingers before taking pity on the other man and ducking to pick up their bags. Shouldering his as he passes John's over in turn.
"Better get a move on, then," he says. Making certain to flash the other man a smile in what he hopes is a reassuring way as he steps forward to tug him away from the blessedly dark console and their audience of two.
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It was a stupid idea. On reflection, John doesn't even know why he ever thought it would work. Or well, he does. He was thinking about teasing Ianto, about seeing him smile, about how Ianto said he was a secret agent. He was thinking about how Ianto wanted more from him, and how he should try. He didn't think about what he'd do if they were approached, if he had to sell it someone. He didn't think about what he'd do if he had to accept that people were, in fact, watching them.
Which are they still, now.
"Don't worry," he adds lightly, "we know the way." He flashes his best attempt at a smile, but it's strained around the edges.
John can feel his breaths coming a little short as he lets Ianto tug him along, feels as if the eyes of the entire place might be on him. They're probably not, but the crawling sensation of being watched is still there. He lets go of Ianto as they reach the exit, tugs out his sunglasses to ward off the glare of the snow and tries to ignore how his hands aren't quite as steady as he'd like.
Deep breaths, slow not short. Don't be stupid. Right. He shoves up his sunglasses again reflexively and shoulders his way out into the cold.
"Anyway," he begins, "so the logs on that thing go back about a hundred and fifty years."
Let's talk about logs, Ianto, rather than anything else.
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A little frown forms between Ianto's eyebrows as John speaks up -- about the logs. He does want to know more about them. He wants answers just as much as anything. But he wants answers from John even more.
"Did they say anything of note?" he forces himself to ask, reaching down to zip his jacket back up again now that they've stepped back outside. Not so much letting the rest of it go as setting it aside for the moment to allow himself to plan and regroup.
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He zips up his own jacket again, adjusts his bag as he begins to move through the snow. Moving on and away from all the awkwardness, like maybe he can just pretend it didn't happen.
"But, I heard there's another ship here. An older one, further out."
Maybe that might hold more information? At least, more than Central did if it hasn't been wiped.
"We should probably check it out. Might be less busy, too, means we can dig without interruption."
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He falls silent, adjusting his pack and following after John for a few moments. It's about as long as he lasts before he realizes that if he doesn't say something, John's not going to himself either.
"John..." he starts, hesitantly, which probably alerts the other man to their change of topic even before the rest is out of his mouth. "Are you. Is everything okay?" It's a stupid question, as much because he knows it isn't as because he knows that the other man really isn't going to answer it, but he's got to start somewhere.
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The older Natha ship, that is.
"You warmed up enough to walk out now?"
Or does Ianto want a longer break, or another drink first? John's fine with either, so long as the topic continues to neatly be anything but what Ianto wants to talk about.
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"I'm fine," Ianto replies, throwing the other man's words right back at him. Reaching up to run a hand over his face and through his hair, trying to gather his thoughts.
"Look, I. Can see something bothered you back there, and I just want to know if it was something I said or did, that's all," he pushes gently. "Because it was pretty much the whole point of your idea to play along and you know. Act the part, especially if we were caught, so I. Think that actually went rather well, all things considered."
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"Don't worry about it. I just..." he hesitates, stumbles over a few thoughts and comes up short. He just what? "Guess they just caught me off guard. But! It did go well, so I'd say we call it a success and move on to the next part of the plan."
The bit where they stop talking about this and carry on walking to the other Natha ship here.
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"You'd said you'd never done that with an audience before," Ianto hazards, throwing John a sideways glance in return. "Because of the Air Force." It's slow, but he's doing his best to puzzle the pieces back together. "Never... Kissed another man, you mean?"
Ianto's forehead furrows slightly and he turns his gaze to the walkway ahead of them. "Not with an audience," he starts cautiously, "but. How about without one? Tell me that wasn't..."
If you think I'm going to take you under my wing and show you the ways of the world, you are sadly mistaken. John had said it himself, but that hadn't meant. John has some experience with other men. Doesn't he?
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"No," he manages, and he thinks of a hundred other things he could add but he doesn't even know where to begin. He doesn't want Ianto examining him like a puzzle to be solved but at the same time, he wants him to understand. He wants him to know this isn't -- personal. This isn't anything Ianto is doing wrong.
He also isn't sure he wants to have this conversation without a drink or, maybe three. It's too much. He can already feel his pulse beginning to spike again just from this much.
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"No?" he echoes, a little confused at the response and waiting for a clarification that never comes. "No, you haven't, or...?"
He understands that he's probably always going to need to push a little with John. He's pretty private, and he seems to be the sort of man who would rather not talk about any of this, if it could be helped. Be patient with him, John had asked, and Ianto is trying, he really is. He just can't-- He needs to know what he's up against. He needs to know where to draw the line himself, he supposes. If John won't lay it down on his own.
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Never been more than a hurried encounter. Never meant anything. Never been something he's committed to, especially not with people watching. He squares his shoulders a little, as if bracing himself for some kind of fight, and tries to draw on whatever reserve of calm he can find. Slower breaths, deeper breaths, push down on the panic.
"Listen, I don't know about you but it's a little early in the day to start all this for me."
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"Yeah, alright," he replies. Point taken. He's not really looking to stand there dragging this out or clawing the information out of him to get his answers. That just seems to be how it works.
He slips the other strap of his bag across his shoulder and hooks his fingers into it. Not quite meeting the other man's eyes as he continues, "Do you know where this other ship is, then?" This is the neutral ground that John had wanted after all, isn't it?
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John takes a deep breath and tries to press down on the bubbling unease, turns back toward the path and begins to walk.
The crashed Natha ship is definitely both older and in worse condition than Central. It's barely functioning at all, although John is fairly certain he can coax something out of it with enough effort. He crawls around under panels and murmurs to the ship, come on baby, wake up for me. A touch here and there, panels flicker and light up then dim. It's equal parts scavenging and John haphazardly patching bits of ship together, claiming he knows what he's doing. How much he does and how much he's just winging it is debatable, but with Ianto's assistance and sharp eyes they get everything running long enough for him to comb the logs. The fact that it came down in a meteor shower is interesting, but not especially exciting as a revelation. It's good to know Darma didn't shoot them down, or anyone else for that matter, and it's useful to know that they all survived.
Still, John feels frustrated once they finally give up and head back into the cold. It's a lingering frustration from the morning which is only amplified by the sense of having achieved so little.
"Why did Darma even send us down with so little information?"
John is zipped back up against the cold, sunglasses pushed up and hands shoved irritably into his pockets.
"I mean surely she wants us on side, right? So why not at least give us her side of the story! She knew Magda would tell us his, and that he doesn't like her. It doesn't make any sense! I mean I get that they don't want to interfere, but they already have with --"
There's a sudden, blinding flash and John is reaching for his gun even as he tries to get his eyes to focus again. When they do, scraps of what seems like paper are fluttering to the ground around both of them. He lowers the weapon slowly, crouches down to pick up one of the bits of paper and stares.
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Of course, it would have been better if they could have found out more from the ship. More information about the Natha or Magda himself or something. He supposes it's to be expected, from something of this age, that some of the information should be damaged or missing, but it's still disappointing nonetheless. He can understand John's frustration. Hell, he's frustrated himself. He's been frustrated since the minute the Natha sent them down this way, with little to no explanation and the expectation that they do their work for them regardless.
The sudden flash of light is enough to have Ianto nearly jumping out of his skin, and while he doesn't have a gun or a holster, he's instantly on edge himself. What's going on? A flash bomb? He waits for the sound of an explosion to follow but it never comes. All he hears is the sound of his own heartbeat thundering in his chest and through his ears, and John moving in the snow beside him.
"Jesus," Ianto exclaims, finally remembering how to breathe and see beyond the sparks in his vision. Blinking as he watches a little robot flitting away into the distance. "What was that?" Glancing down he catches sight of John collecting -- photographs? One in particular catches his eye and he drops to his knees beside the other man to pluck it up in turn. Staring at it for a moment before turning his eyes to John. "What...?"
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"This is weird."
Photos of your past being rained on you feels like an uncomfortable invasion of privacy.
i'm sorry for all the edits...
He reaches to take this second photograph from John as he holds it out to him. Recognizing the scene in the image as well, if not the moment itself. Himself and Yvonne, in her office at Torchwood Tower. He looks -- young, so young, dark suit, white shirt, red tie, clipboard in hand. Working something out with her as Yvonne clutches a coffee he's brought her in one immaculately manicured hand as she no doubt quips something at him in return. She looks perfect, in her skirt suit, not a hair out of line.
And there are more photographs of his past there on the ground in front of them. Their camp in the Beacons, with the whole team sitting around the fire they never actually managed to light. Jack laughing at his own stupid joke, everyone else cringing, and Ianto mostly just looking uncomfortable. And another, of himself and Jack standing together in cold storage over a body. Jack leaning back against the drawers behind him. Ianto remembers this moment too. Some day we're gonna run out of room. And one more photo, this one of Ianto down in the cells while in the background a creature crouches and snarls at him in return.
He splays the photographs out in front of him, taking a moment to process it all, before he replies, "It's bloody bizarre is what it is. How did they get these photos? I know for a fact there weren't any cameras there at the time of some of these shots."
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John could say the same thing. He carefully tucks the stack of his own photos out of the way inside his jacket for a moment, focuses his attention on the ones Ianto has spread out on the snow.
"Cute smile," he says, and gestures idly to the creature in the cells with Ianto. "Had some good dental work done there."
It's the first thing John picks up on, largely, because it's the most unusual thing in the range of photos -- and the least obviously personal. Anything else Ianto wants to talk about, that's his call. John has learnt a degree of caution in pushing him too much.
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"That," Ianto says, gesturing to the alien in the photograph, "is a Weevil. Or that's what we called them, anyway. One of several we've got in the cells at the Hub. Jack likes to call her Janet. God only knows why." He shakes his head at the photograph, looking a little exasperated even with the memory as he repeats, "He always said it was because Barbara just never seemed right."
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You know, stuck in a smile but actually a sweetheart underneath it all? The fact that she's in a cell implies otherwise but -- well, you never know. Todd was technically an unfriendly, creepy looking sort who they often held in a cell but he wasn't all bad.
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He studies the photograph for a moment, before continuing, "You know, they're actually quite intelligent. And telepathic, near as we can figure. And empathic. They can..." He hesitates, debating how much to explain about this moment in time, before deciding, "They know when another of their kind is suffering. So we try to keep them as comfortable as possible in the cells, once they become a danger to the public as a whole." He shrugs. "I suppose they understand that it's better than the sewers, anyway."
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"I've had bad experiences involving intelligent creatures with bad teeth that get in your head. Only ours are a lot paler and more 90's goth."
Black trench-coats, evil villain speeches, creepy screams. You know. Generally, going full ham on the villain of the week vibe. They also do somewhat less literal eating of people, more... life-sucking. Which begs the question, what do they actually use their teeth for? John isn't sure he wants to know the answer, honestly. Probably creepy.
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"Weevils seem to take to these boiler room jumpsuit sort of affairs," he explains, gesturing to what Janet is wearing in the photograph. "Like a janitor from hell, I suppose. They're not all that communicative, which is probably for the best in the end. God only knows what they think of us. We hear enough about all the problems with humanity from the other species from around the city as it is."
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"Well, remind me not to hire one next time I need a janitor. I could do without the stress."
You know, the stress of being uncertain if they're going to suddenly develop a taste for people. It seems like it's probably not worth the trouble.
"Keeping all those?"
The photos, that is. John doesn't know if they're all... good memories, after all.
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