milliways_bar | (no subject)

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As usual, Ianto is sitting at the bar with a cup of coffee and his diary.

If one were to peek over his shoulder, one would see the words, "Today is my birthday" written at the top of today's page.

But one wouldn't do that, would one? It's terribly bad manners.

[tags of smallness: Maj. Evan Lorne, Billy Kaplan.]

[ooc: ~~Work-relate slowtime in effect.~~]

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"I've heard that," Ianto mutters a bit darkly. "I think the more amazing part, really, is that you were able to come back."

Lorne's eyebrow is not of DOOM. It is of Friendly Concern.

"Yeah, I'm not sure how that works actually. Apparently there was some question as to whether or not I would." He smiles mischievously. "Jack was pretty happy to see me at any rate."

"I bet he was," Ianto says, amused at how many people here are named Jack.

And then it hits him.

"This . . . wouldn't happen to be Jack Harkness, would it?"

"That's the one," Lorne says, face lighting up a little. "You know him?"

"No, actually," Ianto says, "but I know his namesake.

"I don't know if meeting him would be a good idea. Time and causality and things."

Lorne's eyebrows shoot up. "His namesake?"

And then after a short pause. "Wait? Causality?"

He'd say his life was less confusing before Milliways, but he knows that's not true.

Ianto points to the tab board, where there are two listings for Jack Harkness.

"One is yours, one is mine. Mine hasn't been in the bar for a very long time. He might be yours's son."

"Ah," Lorne says, glancing at the tab board. "I think I knew that actually."

He shakes his head. "He can't be Jack's son. Jack didn't have any kids."

"Interesting," Ianto says, brows furrowing. "Harkness isn't the most common name . . . not rare, exactly, either . . ."

"No. Not really." Lorne thinks for a moment. "Is your Jack American though?"

"Yes, he is. Blue eyes, dark hair, tall . . ."

He refrains from saying "gorgeous" and "perfect teeth." With effort.

"Sounds familiar," Lorne says. "Except mine's got hazel eyes. Beautiful, hazel eyes." He stops himself before he starts getting sentimental, wishing he had something to occupy his hands with.

Ianto smiles with sympathy. "You're quite smitten, aren't you," he says gently.

Lorne gives him a sheepish and somewhat self-deprecating smile. "Yeah, I think I am."

"I think it's wonderful," Ianto says simply. "I think love is never a bad thing."

"I think you might be right," Lorne says, smiling.

"I've heard about your Jack, you see," Ianto says, going back to the original subject. "From a mutal friend, who couldn't quite comprehend how there could be two men of the same name and such different personalities. My Jack is something of a flirt."

To put it mildly.

Lorne laughs. "That's definitely not my Jack. Though he can be flirty when he wants to be."

"And that he was a pilot in World War II," Ianto says. "While my Jack just likes to dress the part. Though if he's actually flown a plane is anybody's guess."

"Your Jack likes to dress like a World War II pilot?" He's heard stranger things, he supposes.

"Not in a uniform," Ianto says. "Just in a uniform-like . . . style.

"Mostly it's the coat."

"Ah," Lorne says, much less confused now. "Well, that makes sense, I guess. Like people who still wear old-style bomber jackets."

"No, it's a big grey greatcoat. It's a really great coat."

"Right," Lorne says. "Like the bomber jackets but not."

His face scrunches up a little in confusion. "He wears a World War II greatcoat around twenty-first century Cardiff?"

"Like an overcoat. It is an overcoat."

He sighs. "Yes. It's cold in Wales."