It's all AU.

Ianto chewed his left thumbnail nervously, absently. He was reading in the library, on a couch, chin balanced on his knee and the arm not holding the book wrapped around his leg.

Ianto stretched out in the park on a blanket, looking skyward, "The sky does look different here, doesn't it?"

Ianto stuck his hands in the back pocket of his jeans, wandering around the hotel lobby casually, curious about the place. He peered at an Mayan vase done in an ancient style but looked brand new, asking, "Do you think it's real?"

Ianto wandered out into the sun, wincing a bit at the brightness, then rubbing his arms, "Can we turn that off, please?" he asked, not seeing anything because, well, he was rubbing his eyes. He was still casual, trainers and jeans and looked more like a teenager with ruffled hair then a grown man who was just slightly lost.

Ianto showered, put on trainers and jeans and wandered out again. He was trying not to find this place creepy; or at least not to show it, keeping his muscles loose, and looking curious more than anything else, hands in his pockets. He wished he had a gun. No such luck.

He headed towards the coffee machine, grabbing a cup and trying to to be freaked that it tasted like his. "Tell me I'm projecting," he said out loud, absently.

Ianto wandered out of the archives of Torchwood Three. It was still disorganized, still mildewy and old, papers unorganized and not put into the computer files yet. He had a file folder with the field report of a 1903 agent open in his hands, so he could read the scratchy scrawl on the yellowed paper as he walked, head bobbing with his ipod. It was a Saturday so he was in jeans and a polo shirt; he didn't expect anyone else to be in, so he was more casual than his usual wont.

He only made it four steps off the concrete floor of the archives and onto the tiled floor of the hotel lobby before he felt the difference on his feet. He looked up from the file folder and took his head phones out of his ears. "...Again?"