Work Text:
London was hardly far side of the world, it was only just over a hundred and fifty miles from Newport, the town he still thought of as home, but he’d left his family, such as it was, far behind. His sister, her husband, and their kid were still living on the council estate where they’d all grown up, and his mam was now the sole occupant of the pokey flat they’d moved to after his tad died.
He'd been glad to get out and leave it all behind. There’d been times growing up when he’d thought he’d never escape, that he was doomed like his mates to a life of mediocrity and dead-end jobs. Then one day he’d simply decided he’d had enough, that there had to be something better out there somewhere. Less than a week later, there he’d been, barely eighteen, all by himself in England’s capital.
He might as well have been on the moon, because he’d made up his mind when he left home that he was never going back. He’d come to London seeking his fortune, determined to make something of himself and prove his tad wrong, sure that he was meant for more than slaving his life away in a factory or a shop, but those first few weeks had been harder than he’d anticipated and only his stubborn refusal to abandon his dreams had kept him from giving up.
He’d arrived in the city on the coach, that being so much cheaper than taking the train, and he’d conserved his meagre funds by living in squats, working shifts in a coffee shop while looking for a job that paid better. He’d considered taking evening classes, maybe even enrolling in college to improve his prospects, but that took more money than he had, so he’d resigned himself to doing things the hard way.
Then, somehow, a few weeks after his nineteenth birthday he’d come to the attention of the Torchwood Institute. He wasn’t entirely sure how, his memory of the details was a bit hazy, but he thought maybe he’d seen something he shouldn’t have… It didn’t matter, because from the moment he’d been invited to interview for a job out at Canary Wharf, his life had started looking up.
At the interview, he’d been asked if he could drive; he’d smiled and said he could a bit, but he didn’t have his licence yet, had never got around to taking his test. The interviewer had told him it wasn’t a problem, a minor detail that could easily be fixed. They’d assess him, arrange for lessons if necessary, have him take the test as soon as he was ready, all paid for by the Institute. This was London, so he probably wouldn’t need to drive much, but it was as well to be prepared.
Next thing he’d known, he was filling out paperwork, being issued a security pass, then shown to where he’d be working, and informed that’d he was scheduled for his driving assessment the following Friday.
Knowing that was looming on the horizon brought back memories of his mam taking him out in the family car one Sunday afternoon, just before he turned seventeen, explaining that he was old enough to apply for his provisional licence, and in a few weeks, he could start taking driving lessons. She’d explained all the controls to him, pointed out street signs, making sure he understood what they meant.
Always stop at a Stop sign, slow down for a Give Way sign, keep an eye on your speed and stay below the limit, watch out for pedestrians, cyclists, dogs, and children, look both ways at every intersection, even if it’s a one-way street, because there are a lot of idiots on the road… The advice had gone on and on, and he couldn’t tell her he already knew it all, having been joyriding with his friends since he was thirteen. He probably knew more about cars and driving than she did, since they only had the one car, and his tad was usually the one driving it.
Still, he’d appreciated her efforts, had sent off for his provisional licence, but then his tad’s health had gone downhill, he hadn’t been able to work, and any hope of driving lessons had gone out the window; there hadn’t been any money available to pay for them, no money for anything but the bare essentials. He’d shoplifted to help make ends meet, until he was caught. His tad had been so mad at him, and his mam so disappointed, it hadn’t seemed fair when he’d only been doing it for them. Well, mostly. He’d nicked a few things for himself as well, but who didn’t?
Then his tad had died, Ianto and his mam had been forced to move somewhere smaller, and they’d barely settled into the flat before he’d started planning his escape. Now here he was in London, with a job at Torchwood Tower that paid better than he would have believed, a small bedsit which would do him until he’d saved up enough for a deposit on somewhere better, and once he passed his driving test, he could maybe think about getting a second-hand car. That way he’d be able to drive back to Newport and visit his mam, maybe look up his old mates and lord it over them a bit, show them how far he’d come in life just by getting away from the estate. If he could do it, so could they; all it took was the courage to leave behind everything that was familiar, the conviction that they deserved better than the life they’d been born into, and the willpower to keep trying until they made it. He was living proof of what was possible.
All of that could wait though, because he was busy adjusting to his new job, taking several classes arranged by the Institute, including computing and data retrieval, and hanging out with some of his colleagues after work.
Life in the city was exciting, there was so much to see and do, more than enough to fill his evenings and days off, and there was a girl who worked in records who’d caught his eye. He was thinking he’d maybe ask her out soon, perhaps on Friday, after his driving assessment. He should probably get that out of the way first, because he didn’t want to mess it up through being distracted; he might not get a second chance.
If only his tad could see him now…
All in all, life was looking pretty good.
The End