sam_storyteller (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
sam_storyteller) wrote2005-07-17 09:05 am
sam_storyteller) wrote2005-07-17 09:05 am
Entry tags:
The Doctor And Mr. Jones; Torchwood/Who, R, 2/5
Title: The Doctor And Mr. Jones (Torchwood/Who crossover)
Rating: R for some Jack/Ianto naughtiness, but not much.
Summary: The Doctor thought he was alone in the universe -- but Torchwood is about to prove him wrong.
Characters/Pairing: Jack/Ianto; otherwise, gen.
Spoilers: Through 2008 Christmas Special (Dr. Who), 2.03 "To The Last Man" (Torchwood).
Normally, in such cases, Ianto would produce food and coffee and even place settings without the others thinking about it. That was the way things worked. He'd reached the point where it was hardly a conscious thought even for him, which was why it was deeply upsetting for him to see Gwen ransacking the cupboards for paper plates and Owen messing about with his coffee machine and Tosh setting out a package of sugar instead of the sugar-bowl. When the coffee was set in front of him in the meeting room he added an extra spoonful of sugar, and smiled a little to himself when the others tried theirs and grimaced.
Jack did not serve; Jack sat in the seat next to him and held onto his hand under the table. Experience told Ianto that this was quite normal for Jack but a twentieth-century upbringing told him that he was being an enormous girl. Still, he didn't let go.
"What happened?" Jack asked softly, while the others sipped their coffee. Ianto smelled some toast burning in the other room, but he didn't have the energy to bother with telling them.
"I don't know," he said. When he drank his coffee he could taste the chemical composition of it, the acids and bases at work, which was distracting -- but not as distracting as things had been a few hours before. He was slotting things into their proper places almost as soon as he noticed them now, so the entire history of the carafe on the table (including the company that made it) slid into a little cubbyhole in his brain as it appeared. Tosh's mum's telephone number, chance-seen once when helping her with her tax, vanished away just after he looked at her. He glanced down at Owen's watch, now strapped to his wrist. "Sorry," he added, disctracted. "What?"
"How much do you remember?" Jack said. "Start with this morning."
Ianto felt that he ought to blush, but his cheeks stayed cool. Every single intimate detail of waking up -- sliding out from under Jack's arm, peculiar shyness about being naked in his room, the outline of Jack's body under the blankets and the desire he never concieved of feeling for another man -- all of it cropped up in his mind and then faded away.
"I made breakfast," he said haltingly. "Owen ate all the toast."
"Bugger, the toast," Owen said, as the others apparently began to notice the smell. He ran to the toaster just outside the room and popped it up, disgustedly dropping two charred slices of bread in the trash.
"We were almost out, and we needed transistors and a new doorknob for the coat closet and -- " he paused. He'd thought Jack might like some oranges, and he'd wanted to please Jack and show him that he was glad for last night. "Some food and fruit and things. I got some money from petty cash and went out. Didn't bother with the car."
Nine-twenty-two, bought doorknob at hardware store. Nine forty-five, bought oranges for lover. The hilarity was just now hitting him.
"I was coming back to Torchwood," he continued, trying not to laugh. "Had a bag in each hand. I think the light changed and I just...I was thinking about something else and didn't notice and there was this noise." It wasn't quite so funny now, really. "Stupid. You don't think it's going to go like that."
"That's what I said," Owen put in. Gwen kicked him under the table.
"My head hurt." Ianto looked at Jack and saw an almost physical grief, something that seemed to blur the edges of his body. So much grief, pent up but near to overflowing. Surely it wasn't all for him, and even as he thought it he saw other faces, heard other names, people he didn't know but Jack must have. It was nearly unbearable, all the loss and sadness, and it was his fault for triggering it all.
Jack looked away. The names faded. "What then?" he asked, and Ianto saw that this was another test.
"I ended up on the pavement. My stopwatch -- " he paused. "I could see it, it fell out of my pocket."
He could see it, lying next to a broken bag of bread, the white insides of the bread spilling out like guts. An orange rolling past down the incline of the street.
"Where is it?" he asked, abruptly. "I asked for it. I had it. Do you know where it is?"
The others looked at Jack guiltily.
"It broke," Jack said. Tosh rose and picked up a small plastic bag in the corner, offering it to him. Inside were a few twisted bits of metal, a lot of glass, and about half of a remaining stopwatch. The back had popped open.
"Then nothing until I woke up. Ran away from the hospital and came ho -- here," Ianto corrected himself. "I thought Owen could help me. The idiots at the hospital didn't even know I was still alive."
"You weren't," Gwen said. "We identified your body. Earlier today. Tosh did every test she could think of."
Ianto looked down at the watch. He let a full minute pass while he collected himself.
"But I'm here," he said. "And I look...different. So...what's happened?"
Jack gripped his hand so tightly it hurt, then let it go.
"We'll find out," he said. "For now, you stay here. Owen?"
"Tests," Owen said, turning to Ianto. "Come on."
"Tosh, check out the hospital. Gwen, crime scene, have a look around, find the car. I'll talk to the driver."
Ianto wanted to feel nothing but gratitude and love for Jack for protecting him, for implicitly making him feel safe and there and Ianto, but the impulse disappeared in the wash of memory -- every time Jack had ever given orders in that way, sending them all about the business of setting things right. Every single time he'd done it, all of them passed through his consciousness at high speed, and he found that without wanting to he had analysed them and judged Jack a good leader. The gratitude was there somewhere, but it was buried under the knowledge that Jack was a smart man doing the best he could and would probably solve this, though not without some margin of error. Ten percent, on average. Pretty good odds actually.
Ianto was not happy with himself. Not with his new stupid floppy hair or the face he didn't recognise or the way his mind now worked. It was a relief to follow Owen and submit to his tests and only have to concentrate on the needles in his skin and the swab under his tongue.
***
Time Lords were not by and large entirely telepathic; when he was a child (so long ago now) there had been an order of religious women on Gallifrey who honed their telepathy and built no mental walls, which drove them ritually mad and was not bad entertainment of an afternoon, at least according to some. He'd seen them once, and once was all he ever needed.
Still, all of them possessed some little degree of connection, and the Doctor knew that he had stumbled over another Time Lord, winking into existence. How, he didn't know; perhaps a rift from Arcadia. He'd always theorised that it could have happened, but it never had, so the point was moot.
He made the leap from 6950 to 2008 mid-journey, tapping some solar radiation to slingshot himself back a little more quickly. It wouldn't be as precise, but it would halve the time he had to wait and he'd only be off by a week or month at most. This close he could feel the other man, and it was a man, feeling mainly pain and confusion. The Doctor wondered how much the other could feel his thoughts.
He didn't think properly like a Time Lord, this one. More like a small child, an infant almost. The Doctor remembered his eldest son, the way he'd been afraid to touch the infant's mind when he was born and how he'd had to be shown how to soothe the confused little head into peace. Hours he had spent, holding a child that he could hardly believe was his, gently straightening out the thoughts one by one until the boy would sleep.
He hadn't thought about that in a long time. His eldest had been somewhere around two hundred when he fought at Arcadia, in the same division as the Doctor's sister and brothers. His daughters had fallen to Daleks long before, and his granddaughter was probably on Gallifrey when it burned.
He shut the thoughts away. That was done now, cinders and space-debris.
The closer he got, the easier it was to lock into the location of the Other. He hadn't expected Great Britain, precisely, but he wasn't surprised when he was able to narrow it to the little island. Nor was he shocked when he set coordinates for Cardiff.
It would be good to see Jack again, and he could use the help of local collaborators. Especially since the TARDIS was beginning to show other ships closing on Earth. The energy expended from a regeneration was tremendous; even the rumours that Earth was under the Doctor's protection could not frighten away the hungrier jackals of the skies.
"I'm coming," he said quietly, wondering if he'd be heard. "Sit tight, lad. I'm coming."
***
Night had been falling when Ianto returned to Torchwood, and by Owen's watch the sun should have set before the team even went out. Outside it was dark. You couldn't even see many stars, until you got a few miles outside of Cardiff.
Unbidden, images of the stars filled his vision -- familiar constellations and strange ones too. To dispel them he looked down again at Owen's watch. He ought to give it back to him, but he'd no idea where his had gone.
"Sorry I've stolen your watch," he said from the exam chair, while Owen piped chemicals into various tubes.
"It's cheap and crap. Keep it if you want," Owen said, not looking up.
"You believe it's me, don't you?" he asked.
"I -- believe you think you're Ianto," Owen answered. "People aren't always who they think they are."
"I know that."
"So, do you believe you are?" Owen asked.
"Yes."
"Well, that's nice," Owen said absently, shaking one of the tubes. "Whoever you are, you aren't human."
"Is that why it's so hard to breathe?" Ianto asked. Owen tilted his head.
"Can't get enough, or can't inhale?" he asked. "Is there any pain?"
"It's just -- like I'm off-rhythm," Ianto stammered.
"Well, that might be because you have two hearts," Owen said unsympathetically.
"What?"
"And your blood is not type A, B, AB, or O," Owen added. "Wholly new type. Computer can't even identify it. Congratulations. You have type I blood."
"For Ianto," Ianto smiled slightly.
"No, for idiot. You walked in front of a car, you berk," Owen said, tossing his pen down on the counter.
"I didn't do it to annoy you," Ianto said, stung.
"No, you just didn't not do it."
Ianto's initial reaction was to stammer an apology, but a certain clarity of thought he'd never felt before shoved different words out of his mouth.
"So it's my fault, getting smashed up by a car?"
"Yes! Maybe! You know what is your fault, Jones? Jack. Do you know what it's like to take Jack to the hospital and watch him identify a body? Ever have to do that when you were Mr. Torchwood back before Canary Wharf? Jesus, doesn't anyone ever stay dead around here! I had to drive them because Jack wouldn't talk and Gwen was a wreck and after all that you show up here -- "
"You've a little brother, haven't you."
Owen's head snapped up. "What the hell does that have to do -- "
"You sound like a brother. Like you think little brother Ianto can't look after himself."
Owen's face crumpled, which Ianto had been aiming for but hadn't thought would be quite so easy to achieve. It felt as if he knew where all the levers were...
"Sorry, Owen," he said, ducking his head.
"Yeah, well. What'm I supposed to do, right? I could care less about you, but the others've gotten attached."
"Oh, have they," Ianto asked, amused.
"Bugger off. I have work to do."
Ianto climbed out of the chair, shooting a sidelong glance at Owen to make sure he was all right before he left. And, because nobody had said anything about him being fired even if he was dead, he tidied the meeting room, poured out the cold coffee, rinsed the carafe, and sat down at his computer.
It helped to do the little tasks.
***
The Torchwood team began to reassemble slowly, late at night but in good spirits -- or at least better spirits than they had been in. This was what they lived for, the chase, the discovery, and even if they had discovered nothing yet...
Jack had struck out with the driver of the car, a pretty young man who was traumatised by the accident and terrified that Jack had come to arrest him. He'd spent more time reassuring him than he had questioning him, and anyway the kid didn't know anything. Tosh had helpfully straightened out some paperwork at the hospital regarding the demise (or lack thereof) of Ianto Jones, and Gwen turned up blank at the accident scene. Owen had plenty to say, but most of it was a knot of confusing test results and alien physiology.
Poor Ianto had tidied while they were gone, found a spare suit, and answered all his emails. As they gave their reports he sat at one end of the table and didn't say much. His right hand rubbed the watch on his wrist more or less constantly. If he wasn't Ianto he was doing a damn good job of impersonating him.
"All right. We've covered our bases. Let's reconvene tomorrow and we'll do some research in the archives. I have one or two starting points," Jack said. "Go home, get some rest."
They filed out, Gwen stopping to touch Ianto's shoulder -- half-reassurance, half probably to see if he was real.
"Means you too," Jack said, when they were gone. "You look tired. Resurrection hurts. Trust me, I know."
Ianto nodded. A lock of hair fell in his eyes and he brushed it away, annoyed.
"Unless you want to stay here tonight," Jack suggested. Ianto looked up at him. "Just -- to sleep, I mean. Nothing else. Except if you want..." he trailed off, grinning. "That sounds awkward, huh."
"Stay with you?" Ianto asked. Jack didn't know how to read him anymore; he'd just begun properly understanding the old Ianto.
"Yes."
Ianto stood up and faced him, lifting a hand and then letting it fall without actually touching him.
"You can't know I'm safe," he said.
"Yeah, but I can't be killed, either. If you're dangerous I'm the best person to keep an eye on you. And if you're not, you could use the company."
He nodded. "Yes. All right. But -- can I ask?"
"Ask what?" Jack turned his head slightly. Ianto's feet were bare below the cuffs of his suit trousers.
"You thought I was the Doctor," Ianto said softly. "Only we don't know who he is, except that you were looking for him. But I looked in the archives after you left, and on the internet. If you know where to look you can find out a lot. Like how Torchwood was founded. There was a doctor -- "
"I wouldn't know about that," Jack said.
"And there's a time-traveler, supposedly..." Ianto said. He reached out again and did touch him this time. He rested his hand on Jack's chest.
"Just one heart," he said lightly. "Got you beat, sir."
Jack snorted. "Are you coming along or not?"
"Yes, sir."
"I'm warning you," Jack said over his shoulder, as he led Ianto through the office and down the ladder. "I'm still gonna sleep in the nude."
"I'm aware of that," Ianto replied. "I think I can restrain myself."
"Are you sure I can?" he inquired, turning and stepping backwards towards the bed. He was betting on an extremely attractive look of confusion, not to be lifted half-off the ground, pressed into the nearest wall, and kissed passionately with their heads six inches from a framed map of 19th century Wales. Not that he minded.
Jack clutched at Ianto's shoulders, pulling his body closer so that they were more on a level, tilting his head to take best advantage. Ianto's teeth closed for just a second on his lower lip and the whisper from earlier came back to him; spitfire, in a hoarse voice and hesitant, hoping for recognition.
Ianto leaned back, slightly. They were both breathing hard.
"I'm sure you'll do your best, sir," he said.
"Yes," Jack said, swallowing. "Okay."
Ianto eased the jacket off his shoulders and draped it carefully across the back of the chair, following with his tie. Jack stayed where he was, because the shirt came next, and the angle and set of Ianto's lovely shoulders hadn't changed. He came forward while Ianto was undoing the belt, and kissed the back of his neck.
"Is it strange?" Ianto asked. Jack slid his hands down Ianto's arms, helping him with the waistband of his trousers.
"What?" he asked, nipping one ear.
"Different body," Ianto shrugged against his chest. "And -- well you'd only just got used to the old one."
Jack chuckled. "I wasn't even started on the old one. Turn around."
Ianto twisted his body, taking only a single step. Jack took his shoulders again and evened him out.
"I don't have to live in it," he said. "You do. So -- what do you want, Ianto?"
The other man looked longingly at the bed. There were circles under his eyes. Jack smiled and shoved him towards it.
"You're not a rent-boy, you know," he said, as he undressed. Ianto was lying on his side, looking very young and unprotected, taking off Owen's watch and propping it on the table. "Neither am I. I don't take a fee for sleeping here."
Ianto nodded against the pillow, still watching the clock. Jack climbed into bed and curled up, his chin on Ianto's shoulder. He slid his hand along Ianto's hip and up, around his shoulder, to pin him in place. By degrees, the strange body with its familiar double-heartbeat relaxed.
Jack had felt the Doctor's heartbeat enough to recognise it, even if it was only a handful of times and never in bed; he could have wished, and bringing Rose along would have been fun, but a Time Lord was above all that. Or the Doctor was at any rate. The Doctor could change his appearance; the Doctor had two hearts, but he also had a razor wit and a brain that Jack would admit put his own to shame. And Ianto had never had a double-heartbeat before. Jack ought to know.
"I'm not him, whoever he is," Ianto said into the silence, and Jack remembered that Time Lords could read minds if they wanted.
"I hope not," Jack replied. "Bastard left me with a broken heart and a case of immortality."
"You can have one of mine," Ianto yawned. Jack curled his fingers against his skin.
"Keep them. Never know when you might need a spare," he murmured, as Ianto's breathing slowed and the ticking of Owen's cheap, crap watch filled the room.
Chapter One | Chapter Three
Rating: R for some Jack/Ianto naughtiness, but not much.
Summary: The Doctor thought he was alone in the universe -- but Torchwood is about to prove him wrong.
Characters/Pairing: Jack/Ianto; otherwise, gen.
Spoilers: Through 2008 Christmas Special (Dr. Who), 2.03 "To The Last Man" (Torchwood).
Salt fare, North Sea, weird stare
Further than the eye can see
He had a head like a toy shop
Bow-legged stance off
Must've been the rolling sea
Further than the eye can see
He had a head like a toy shop
Bow-legged stance off
Must've been the rolling sea
Normally, in such cases, Ianto would produce food and coffee and even place settings without the others thinking about it. That was the way things worked. He'd reached the point where it was hardly a conscious thought even for him, which was why it was deeply upsetting for him to see Gwen ransacking the cupboards for paper plates and Owen messing about with his coffee machine and Tosh setting out a package of sugar instead of the sugar-bowl. When the coffee was set in front of him in the meeting room he added an extra spoonful of sugar, and smiled a little to himself when the others tried theirs and grimaced.
Jack did not serve; Jack sat in the seat next to him and held onto his hand under the table. Experience told Ianto that this was quite normal for Jack but a twentieth-century upbringing told him that he was being an enormous girl. Still, he didn't let go.
"What happened?" Jack asked softly, while the others sipped their coffee. Ianto smelled some toast burning in the other room, but he didn't have the energy to bother with telling them.
"I don't know," he said. When he drank his coffee he could taste the chemical composition of it, the acids and bases at work, which was distracting -- but not as distracting as things had been a few hours before. He was slotting things into their proper places almost as soon as he noticed them now, so the entire history of the carafe on the table (including the company that made it) slid into a little cubbyhole in his brain as it appeared. Tosh's mum's telephone number, chance-seen once when helping her with her tax, vanished away just after he looked at her. He glanced down at Owen's watch, now strapped to his wrist. "Sorry," he added, disctracted. "What?"
"How much do you remember?" Jack said. "Start with this morning."
Ianto felt that he ought to blush, but his cheeks stayed cool. Every single intimate detail of waking up -- sliding out from under Jack's arm, peculiar shyness about being naked in his room, the outline of Jack's body under the blankets and the desire he never concieved of feeling for another man -- all of it cropped up in his mind and then faded away.
"I made breakfast," he said haltingly. "Owen ate all the toast."
"Bugger, the toast," Owen said, as the others apparently began to notice the smell. He ran to the toaster just outside the room and popped it up, disgustedly dropping two charred slices of bread in the trash.
"We were almost out, and we needed transistors and a new doorknob for the coat closet and -- " he paused. He'd thought Jack might like some oranges, and he'd wanted to please Jack and show him that he was glad for last night. "Some food and fruit and things. I got some money from petty cash and went out. Didn't bother with the car."
Nine-twenty-two, bought doorknob at hardware store. Nine forty-five, bought oranges for lover. The hilarity was just now hitting him.
"I was coming back to Torchwood," he continued, trying not to laugh. "Had a bag in each hand. I think the light changed and I just...I was thinking about something else and didn't notice and there was this noise." It wasn't quite so funny now, really. "Stupid. You don't think it's going to go like that."
"That's what I said," Owen put in. Gwen kicked him under the table.
"My head hurt." Ianto looked at Jack and saw an almost physical grief, something that seemed to blur the edges of his body. So much grief, pent up but near to overflowing. Surely it wasn't all for him, and even as he thought it he saw other faces, heard other names, people he didn't know but Jack must have. It was nearly unbearable, all the loss and sadness, and it was his fault for triggering it all.
Jack looked away. The names faded. "What then?" he asked, and Ianto saw that this was another test.
"I ended up on the pavement. My stopwatch -- " he paused. "I could see it, it fell out of my pocket."
He could see it, lying next to a broken bag of bread, the white insides of the bread spilling out like guts. An orange rolling past down the incline of the street.
"Where is it?" he asked, abruptly. "I asked for it. I had it. Do you know where it is?"
The others looked at Jack guiltily.
"It broke," Jack said. Tosh rose and picked up a small plastic bag in the corner, offering it to him. Inside were a few twisted bits of metal, a lot of glass, and about half of a remaining stopwatch. The back had popped open.
"Then nothing until I woke up. Ran away from the hospital and came ho -- here," Ianto corrected himself. "I thought Owen could help me. The idiots at the hospital didn't even know I was still alive."
"You weren't," Gwen said. "We identified your body. Earlier today. Tosh did every test she could think of."
Ianto looked down at the watch. He let a full minute pass while he collected himself.
"But I'm here," he said. "And I look...different. So...what's happened?"
Jack gripped his hand so tightly it hurt, then let it go.
"We'll find out," he said. "For now, you stay here. Owen?"
"Tests," Owen said, turning to Ianto. "Come on."
"Tosh, check out the hospital. Gwen, crime scene, have a look around, find the car. I'll talk to the driver."
Ianto wanted to feel nothing but gratitude and love for Jack for protecting him, for implicitly making him feel safe and there and Ianto, but the impulse disappeared in the wash of memory -- every time Jack had ever given orders in that way, sending them all about the business of setting things right. Every single time he'd done it, all of them passed through his consciousness at high speed, and he found that without wanting to he had analysed them and judged Jack a good leader. The gratitude was there somewhere, but it was buried under the knowledge that Jack was a smart man doing the best he could and would probably solve this, though not without some margin of error. Ten percent, on average. Pretty good odds actually.
Ianto was not happy with himself. Not with his new stupid floppy hair or the face he didn't recognise or the way his mind now worked. It was a relief to follow Owen and submit to his tests and only have to concentrate on the needles in his skin and the swab under his tongue.
***
I stole California from the Mexican lands
Fought in the bloody Civil War
Yes I even killed my brothers
And so many others
But I ain't marching anymore
Fought in the bloody Civil War
Yes I even killed my brothers
And so many others
But I ain't marching anymore
Time Lords were not by and large entirely telepathic; when he was a child (so long ago now) there had been an order of religious women on Gallifrey who honed their telepathy and built no mental walls, which drove them ritually mad and was not bad entertainment of an afternoon, at least according to some. He'd seen them once, and once was all he ever needed.
Still, all of them possessed some little degree of connection, and the Doctor knew that he had stumbled over another Time Lord, winking into existence. How, he didn't know; perhaps a rift from Arcadia. He'd always theorised that it could have happened, but it never had, so the point was moot.
He made the leap from 6950 to 2008 mid-journey, tapping some solar radiation to slingshot himself back a little more quickly. It wouldn't be as precise, but it would halve the time he had to wait and he'd only be off by a week or month at most. This close he could feel the other man, and it was a man, feeling mainly pain and confusion. The Doctor wondered how much the other could feel his thoughts.
He didn't think properly like a Time Lord, this one. More like a small child, an infant almost. The Doctor remembered his eldest son, the way he'd been afraid to touch the infant's mind when he was born and how he'd had to be shown how to soothe the confused little head into peace. Hours he had spent, holding a child that he could hardly believe was his, gently straightening out the thoughts one by one until the boy would sleep.
He hadn't thought about that in a long time. His eldest had been somewhere around two hundred when he fought at Arcadia, in the same division as the Doctor's sister and brothers. His daughters had fallen to Daleks long before, and his granddaughter was probably on Gallifrey when it burned.
He shut the thoughts away. That was done now, cinders and space-debris.
The closer he got, the easier it was to lock into the location of the Other. He hadn't expected Great Britain, precisely, but he wasn't surprised when he was able to narrow it to the little island. Nor was he shocked when he set coordinates for Cardiff.
It would be good to see Jack again, and he could use the help of local collaborators. Especially since the TARDIS was beginning to show other ships closing on Earth. The energy expended from a regeneration was tremendous; even the rumours that Earth was under the Doctor's protection could not frighten away the hungrier jackals of the skies.
"I'm coming," he said quietly, wondering if he'd be heard. "Sit tight, lad. I'm coming."
***
I don't care who started it
Just stop all the noise
I can see you're two
Very overtired little boys
Just stop all the noise
I can see you're two
Very overtired little boys
Night had been falling when Ianto returned to Torchwood, and by Owen's watch the sun should have set before the team even went out. Outside it was dark. You couldn't even see many stars, until you got a few miles outside of Cardiff.
Unbidden, images of the stars filled his vision -- familiar constellations and strange ones too. To dispel them he looked down again at Owen's watch. He ought to give it back to him, but he'd no idea where his had gone.
"Sorry I've stolen your watch," he said from the exam chair, while Owen piped chemicals into various tubes.
"It's cheap and crap. Keep it if you want," Owen said, not looking up.
"You believe it's me, don't you?" he asked.
"I -- believe you think you're Ianto," Owen answered. "People aren't always who they think they are."
"I know that."
"So, do you believe you are?" Owen asked.
"Yes."
"Well, that's nice," Owen said absently, shaking one of the tubes. "Whoever you are, you aren't human."
"Is that why it's so hard to breathe?" Ianto asked. Owen tilted his head.
"Can't get enough, or can't inhale?" he asked. "Is there any pain?"
"It's just -- like I'm off-rhythm," Ianto stammered.
"Well, that might be because you have two hearts," Owen said unsympathetically.
"What?"
"And your blood is not type A, B, AB, or O," Owen added. "Wholly new type. Computer can't even identify it. Congratulations. You have type I blood."
"For Ianto," Ianto smiled slightly.
"No, for idiot. You walked in front of a car, you berk," Owen said, tossing his pen down on the counter.
"I didn't do it to annoy you," Ianto said, stung.
"No, you just didn't not do it."
Ianto's initial reaction was to stammer an apology, but a certain clarity of thought he'd never felt before shoved different words out of his mouth.
"So it's my fault, getting smashed up by a car?"
"Yes! Maybe! You know what is your fault, Jones? Jack. Do you know what it's like to take Jack to the hospital and watch him identify a body? Ever have to do that when you were Mr. Torchwood back before Canary Wharf? Jesus, doesn't anyone ever stay dead around here! I had to drive them because Jack wouldn't talk and Gwen was a wreck and after all that you show up here -- "
"You've a little brother, haven't you."
Owen's head snapped up. "What the hell does that have to do -- "
"You sound like a brother. Like you think little brother Ianto can't look after himself."
Owen's face crumpled, which Ianto had been aiming for but hadn't thought would be quite so easy to achieve. It felt as if he knew where all the levers were...
"Sorry, Owen," he said, ducking his head.
"Yeah, well. What'm I supposed to do, right? I could care less about you, but the others've gotten attached."
"Oh, have they," Ianto asked, amused.
"Bugger off. I have work to do."
Ianto climbed out of the chair, shooting a sidelong glance at Owen to make sure he was all right before he left. And, because nobody had said anything about him being fired even if he was dead, he tidied the meeting room, poured out the cold coffee, rinsed the carafe, and sat down at his computer.
It helped to do the little tasks.
***
For the forging of words
Comes easy as sleep
Stones for Smith and Taylor
Their memories to keep
Comes easy as sleep
Stones for Smith and Taylor
Their memories to keep
The Torchwood team began to reassemble slowly, late at night but in good spirits -- or at least better spirits than they had been in. This was what they lived for, the chase, the discovery, and even if they had discovered nothing yet...
Jack had struck out with the driver of the car, a pretty young man who was traumatised by the accident and terrified that Jack had come to arrest him. He'd spent more time reassuring him than he had questioning him, and anyway the kid didn't know anything. Tosh had helpfully straightened out some paperwork at the hospital regarding the demise (or lack thereof) of Ianto Jones, and Gwen turned up blank at the accident scene. Owen had plenty to say, but most of it was a knot of confusing test results and alien physiology.
Poor Ianto had tidied while they were gone, found a spare suit, and answered all his emails. As they gave their reports he sat at one end of the table and didn't say much. His right hand rubbed the watch on his wrist more or less constantly. If he wasn't Ianto he was doing a damn good job of impersonating him.
"All right. We've covered our bases. Let's reconvene tomorrow and we'll do some research in the archives. I have one or two starting points," Jack said. "Go home, get some rest."
They filed out, Gwen stopping to touch Ianto's shoulder -- half-reassurance, half probably to see if he was real.
"Means you too," Jack said, when they were gone. "You look tired. Resurrection hurts. Trust me, I know."
Ianto nodded. A lock of hair fell in his eyes and he brushed it away, annoyed.
"Unless you want to stay here tonight," Jack suggested. Ianto looked up at him. "Just -- to sleep, I mean. Nothing else. Except if you want..." he trailed off, grinning. "That sounds awkward, huh."
"Stay with you?" Ianto asked. Jack didn't know how to read him anymore; he'd just begun properly understanding the old Ianto.
"Yes."
Ianto stood up and faced him, lifting a hand and then letting it fall without actually touching him.
"You can't know I'm safe," he said.
"Yeah, but I can't be killed, either. If you're dangerous I'm the best person to keep an eye on you. And if you're not, you could use the company."
He nodded. "Yes. All right. But -- can I ask?"
"Ask what?" Jack turned his head slightly. Ianto's feet were bare below the cuffs of his suit trousers.
"You thought I was the Doctor," Ianto said softly. "Only we don't know who he is, except that you were looking for him. But I looked in the archives after you left, and on the internet. If you know where to look you can find out a lot. Like how Torchwood was founded. There was a doctor -- "
"I wouldn't know about that," Jack said.
"And there's a time-traveler, supposedly..." Ianto said. He reached out again and did touch him this time. He rested his hand on Jack's chest.
"Just one heart," he said lightly. "Got you beat, sir."
Jack snorted. "Are you coming along or not?"
"Yes, sir."
"I'm warning you," Jack said over his shoulder, as he led Ianto through the office and down the ladder. "I'm still gonna sleep in the nude."
"I'm aware of that," Ianto replied. "I think I can restrain myself."
"Are you sure I can?" he inquired, turning and stepping backwards towards the bed. He was betting on an extremely attractive look of confusion, not to be lifted half-off the ground, pressed into the nearest wall, and kissed passionately with their heads six inches from a framed map of 19th century Wales. Not that he minded.
Jack clutched at Ianto's shoulders, pulling his body closer so that they were more on a level, tilting his head to take best advantage. Ianto's teeth closed for just a second on his lower lip and the whisper from earlier came back to him; spitfire, in a hoarse voice and hesitant, hoping for recognition.
Ianto leaned back, slightly. They were both breathing hard.
"I'm sure you'll do your best, sir," he said.
"Yes," Jack said, swallowing. "Okay."
Ianto eased the jacket off his shoulders and draped it carefully across the back of the chair, following with his tie. Jack stayed where he was, because the shirt came next, and the angle and set of Ianto's lovely shoulders hadn't changed. He came forward while Ianto was undoing the belt, and kissed the back of his neck.
"Is it strange?" Ianto asked. Jack slid his hands down Ianto's arms, helping him with the waistband of his trousers.
"What?" he asked, nipping one ear.
"Different body," Ianto shrugged against his chest. "And -- well you'd only just got used to the old one."
Jack chuckled. "I wasn't even started on the old one. Turn around."
Ianto twisted his body, taking only a single step. Jack took his shoulders again and evened him out.
"I don't have to live in it," he said. "You do. So -- what do you want, Ianto?"
The other man looked longingly at the bed. There were circles under his eyes. Jack smiled and shoved him towards it.
"You're not a rent-boy, you know," he said, as he undressed. Ianto was lying on his side, looking very young and unprotected, taking off Owen's watch and propping it on the table. "Neither am I. I don't take a fee for sleeping here."
Ianto nodded against the pillow, still watching the clock. Jack climbed into bed and curled up, his chin on Ianto's shoulder. He slid his hand along Ianto's hip and up, around his shoulder, to pin him in place. By degrees, the strange body with its familiar double-heartbeat relaxed.
Jack had felt the Doctor's heartbeat enough to recognise it, even if it was only a handful of times and never in bed; he could have wished, and bringing Rose along would have been fun, but a Time Lord was above all that. Or the Doctor was at any rate. The Doctor could change his appearance; the Doctor had two hearts, but he also had a razor wit and a brain that Jack would admit put his own to shame. And Ianto had never had a double-heartbeat before. Jack ought to know.
"I'm not him, whoever he is," Ianto said into the silence, and Jack remembered that Time Lords could read minds if they wanted.
"I hope not," Jack replied. "Bastard left me with a broken heart and a case of immortality."
"You can have one of mine," Ianto yawned. Jack curled his fingers against his skin.
"Keep them. Never know when you might need a spare," he murmured, as Ianto's breathing slowed and the ticking of Owen's cheap, crap watch filled the room.
Chapter One | Chapter Three
Fic: The Doctor and Mr Jones Chapter 2
I am finding this so terribly lovely and delightful.
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what do you do...with the pieces...of a broken heart...
Awww, Jackie!
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I hope the Doctor gets there fast, before others drawn by Ianto's regeneration do.