Fic: Day of Black (S2: Epilogue, SoI 25, Part 2), Jack/Ianto
Chapter Title: Day of Black (S2: Epilogue, SoI 25)
Author: sarcasticchick
Pairing: Jack/Ianto
Rating: R
Spoilers: TW S1
Fluffers/Betas: lilithilien, fivealive
Summary: The Day of Black
A/N: Two Parts. Full author's notes at the conclusion.
For Shades of Ianto series information, please see Prologue, Chapter 1
Previous Chapters:
Prologue: Chapters 1-7 (Complete)
Series1: Chapters 1-8 (Complete)
S2: Chap 1, SoI 16
S2: Chap 2, SoI 17
S2: Chap 3, SoI 18
S2: Chap 4, SoI 19
S2: Chap 5, SoI 20 (Two Parts)
S2: Chap 6, SoI 21
S2: Chap 7, SoI 22 (Three Parts)
S2: Chap 8, SoI 23 (Three Parts)
S2: Chap 9, SoI 24
S2: Epilogue, Part 1, SoI 25
***
***
He woke slowly, awareness impinging on the silent dark with a ferocious snarl. It wasn't painful, it was just insistent, demanding, refusing to permit him solace in the silent dark again. Not that he wanted that -- he didn't think he did, there were important things outside the dark, but the thoughts were wafting through the awareness to disappear into the hazy mists. Important things ... things he must do. And people. Important people. Names slipped his grasp but he knew they existed beyond the dark, beyond the silent, wherever he had been before he was. Or perhaps it wasn't a question of before but a matter of now, amidst the patter of water he didn't hear so much as felt pounding a cascading rhythm upon his eardrums, individual waves blending to one complete sound.
Complete. There were things he needed to complete. To do. Unfinished and never started, existing simultaneously in needs he knew without question were his. He just needed to ...
He remembered. Remembered peace and calm, serenity within the chaos, stretching timeless as the river flowed around stone, unimpeded and undirected, just movement following the currents, never stopping yet never beginning. As it were and as it ever will be.
He remembered.
Memory gave him strength, love and laughter crawling down his fingers, guilt and remorse to his toes, care and concern for family, and something so much bigger than himself warming his middle until he could feel every bend and curve as he lay, knees to his chest, hands gently clasped together in unity making it difficult to pinpoint which finger belonged to each. But the longer he lay, the easier it became. Images joined the emotions, blending with sound until he could recall everything, every whisper and every scream, life and death as it gave and took without mercy in the unceasing cycle that made man both weak and powerful, the gods jealous and petty.
It took little effort to push to his knees and from there to his feet as he remained crouched, hands on his knees while he balanced on his toes, opening his eyes to water falling, drop chasing drop in a race for the finish wherever the flow might take them. Tilting his head, he could follow each individually as they tumbled over the other. As much a metaphor for life as could ever exist, all existing in a single unit moving forward to interact with others on the same path, except for some, bouncing off the thin skins in extraordinary directions. Some up, some down, some straight out and away from the steady stream, only to take up a path at a different point, a different pace in life.
It was then he remembered to breathe.
With his first breath he smelled roses so sharp it was overwhelming, itching his nose until a sneeze crept up faster than he could stop, starling him with sound as though he'd forgotten how to listen. The sneeze shot through his body; he could feel it in his chest and down to his toes, a feeling he'd never truly attended to but in the face of its vehement demands he cataloged every sensation. He laughed in delight as he'd never noticed before the way his muscles trembled or how he could feel the air expel from his lungs and pass through his nose and lips. It tickled; the very notion brought a smile to his lips as he uncurled from his squat and stood tall before the tower of water, hands on his hips just to feel that they existed as did the rest of him.
Raising his chin, he followed the tower straight to the ceiling, a dizzying sight to behold. But at the top, a solid stone roof, a stone which nearly sang its presence to him as the familiar earthen hues triggered yet more memories to push their way to the front, stampeding others as they clamored for attention. He remembered viewing the ceiling from different angles, lounged on the couch or spinning idly in a chair, thinking of answers or waiting for them. With one hand he ran his fingers through his hair, in both imitation of those memories and because he could. Sensations so familiar and new. Each strand felt unique as they slid through his fingers, pausing only when they encountered an object that didn't feel as the others, catching it as it fell from his hair into his hands.
A rose petal.
That would explain the pervasive scent.
He pivoted slowly on heel and toe, smoothing the petal between his fingers, bruising the red satin just enough to release the oils but not enough to damage the fragile curve. He knew where he was. He remembered. And as he spun, smell of roasted bean on his mind and the taste of coffee he craved from habit and comfort, his motion was halted by sights incompatible with his location. Two strangers stood next to his father, the twins and his sister; family he felt running strong and fierce in his blood. The constable with the heart sat on the floor, cradling something as she was being cradled by her rock, the rookie and surprisingly good rugby player. He couldn't quite register their expressions, that comprehension eluded him as their names but he knew them.
He remembered who they were. He remembered what they meant to him. Unfinished, incomplete. The things he needed to do, to complete. He needed them.
Turning further, he saw the medic grasping the sleeve of the warrior who held the brilliant technician in his arms; why, he couldn't figure out. But he was distracted by movement, a figure with pale blue eyes removing his hand from the technician's shoulder as he moved, hands extended out to ward off the air or rose petals or the creatures who left them.
"Stop. This could be a trick."
The figure spoke, he knew the words but words seemed as empty as the letters he knew which spelled them. They were really just a fragment of quantified thought and interpretation, a notion incredibly difficult to move beyond to comprehension. Pale blue eyes moved in front of him, staring into his own.
"Ianto?"
Ianto. That was it. Names collapsed from the upper citadels of his mind, tinkling like shattered glass. Hundreds of them. Thousands of them. Everyone he'd met, every person he'd researched, every single life and death, some with faces, some without -- just empty words so devoid of explanation or reason. He knew there was a story behind each name, even those without a face. A life behind those words.
And he knew this life, he knew this face.
"Jean-Luc." Ianto's face felt odd as his lips and tongue formed the sounds which meant the words. Stretching, pulling, and pursing, but his voice was clear, feeling as aware and ready as his flesh and bone. He remembered waking in the morning, his voice craggy with sleep as he threaten his alarm clock with permanent harm if it didn't stop.
"How do I know it's you?"
With a smile, Ianto thought an invitation to the mental query, welcoming Jean-Luc to see whatever it was he wished to see. He could stop him, Ianto felt certain of that. Certain memories vibrated in various corners of his mind, teasing him to look, but he wasn't quite sure what was there; he just knew what was there meant he could stop Jean-Luc. But that felt ridiculous at this point, with his friend so close and present within his public mind that it only seemed natural to permit him to see whatever it was he needed to see.
Warmth spread comfort over his mind, the presence of Jean-Luc overwhelming but not threatening as various cues were given to recall memories from their childhood, from their teens, and into adulthood. They were mostly memories shared with Jean-Luc, flashing forward like photographs stacked and flipping, rapidly jetting through time as the images grew darker and stress crackled the edges, burning with dragon fire and on to incredible pain as the dragons attempted to tear through his mind. And then ... peace. Calm. Exploding brilliant white and gold and then ... nothing. Darkness.
Until awareness, lying on the floor.
Jean-Luc hastily withdrew, appearing shaken, and Ianto was certain he should have felt shaken as well but for the moment everything was too much, too overwhelming as too many things clamored to be cataloged and understood, from sights to sounds to smells and touch. Everything was something new or unexpected or certainly taken for granted before. Before ... Ianto wasn't sure what exactly.
"Merde, Ianto. It's really you."
As opposed to another Ianto? He wasn't sure what that was to mean, but Jean-Luc's tight hug left little room for either thought or breath. The contact was different, touch so intense like he'd forgotten what it felt like when something else contacted his skin, a million nerves rapidly firing to define the sensation of pressure. Every point where Jean-Luc's body contacted his was an individual pocket of wonderment and awe. His skin could feel so alive and fresh that he wondered how he ever grew accustomed to the sense.
A thought crossed his mind, causing the smile to slip from his face, pulling away so he could look at those familiar pale blue eyes. "Stephen's dead," Ianto sadly informed Jean-Luc, knowing his friend would miss their old mentor as much as he. He couldn't understand Jean-Luc's reaction, however, a flicker of something akin to grief and confusion registering before the face settled into an equally sad expression.
"Yeah, I know." Jean-Luc paused a moment before stepping away, a smirk on his face. "Come on, can't have you naked. You'll scare the kids with your skinny legs. Here." And with a slight wave, a coat flew over the heads of the two strangers and Ianto's family (he remembered, Broderick, Elaine, Bryce and Gareth), flying so quickly it ruffled their hair.
Ianto hadn't even realized until then that he was unclothed. Or maybe he had and he didn't particularly care.
Jean-Luc helped Ianto into the coat, a long coat, wool, and god did it scratch, falling just around mid-calf. While Jean-Luc was buttoning it, Ianto ran his hand over the grey wool, fondly remembering another great coat that held so many memories. The coat was too broad in the shoulders, but he supposed it would do until he could find some clothing that would fit, until he could go back to his flat and fetch some things. And talk with his family because why were they here? And Sheppard? Owen and Tosh were staring, Gwen and Rhys still clinging, a sling of fabric that looked remarkably like a ...
Ianto felt his face stretch into a scowl, his nose pressing into the collar of the coat to make certain he wasn't mistaken, imagining things that he wished were there. Hallucinations were a sign of madness, or so the handbooks said. He sniffed, closing his eyes as his mind nearly overloaded with memory of evenings on rooftops, loos, and that first date, laughter and sex, comfort and passion. It couldn't be, but it was, overwhelmingly so, but it escaped logic to understand how or why. For the first time since he became aware, and perhaps not the last, Ianto felt himself slip into panic because it made no sense. And up until then, while perhaps things hadn't made sense, Ianto had never felt confusion or fear, feelings so deep-rooted he couldn't shake them off or brush them aside, figments of his imagination. But it wasn't the smell that made him fear, it was the missing that was so terrifying. "But I ... this is ... I sent him away."
As soon as he said it, he knew that didn't make sense. But the Jacks in his head were so intermingled as memory crumpled up and threw every image of Jack, every sound and spoken word he wasn't sure what was when and how.
Jean-Luc wasn't helping, uncertain and uncomfortable. But finally he spoke, his accent thick and heavy as his voice cracked. "You've been gone for a year, Ianto." With a nod over Ianto's shoulder, Jean-Luc quit talking, just gently nudged Ianto's arm to get him to turn.
He did turn, though it was somewhat reluctant as the idea of one year rattled about his mind and fought with the truth which stood behind him. It was too much, all just too much and the panic intensified, remembering everything and understanding absolutely nothing. He reached for the calm which had been such a comfort earlier, shakily clinging to that sense of spiritual whole, but as soon as the questions began, they wouldn't stop, tumbling like boulders into the stream, impeding the flow, creating a dam as the confusion rose behind it.
Which was worse, facing the Captain or asking what Jean-Luc had meant? Where he'd been, why he'd been 'gone' from his family and friends? He'd intentionally acted horrendously towards Jack, stolen moments of his life from him and banished him from that period of time. There was no forgiveness in that. But asking Jean-Luc the questions of 'where' and 'how' and 'why' were far worse, begging answers which seemed improbable and in the realm of impossible. It hurt to consider.
That would be dealt with later.
Ianto squared his shoulders, resolve inching towards defiance as he deliberately shoved aside the panic. He'd faced worse (roars, thousands of roars as Tiffany screamed and the air sucked backwards like giant turbine engines -- no. Those memories were for later) than Jack, and if the Captain wished to seek vengeance for Ianto's actions, he was certainly within that right and Ianto wouldn't stop him.
What he hadn't expected was the still face, eyes tracking movement but for all intents frozen in time. Jack's lips slightly parted, the tendons in his neck stretching the skin as it appeared he was torn between stunned stillness and the urge to run. Ianto had been ready for anger, ready for the threat of violence but he hadn't braced himself for Jack's silence, awkward and unnatural while the water tumbled down the tower. "Jack?"
The sound of Ianto's voice, or perhaps the question, was all it seemed to take to melt the fixed visage of the Captain. The shock wore off as his face flashed a million emotions before settling on one Ianto couldn't discern, didn't think he could even if his thoughts had been properly ordering themselves within his mind. Jack moved so quickly. Between one blink he was far away and the next he was so close that Ianto swore he could feel the rush of air currents swirl around him. He was swept up by strong arms in a grasp so tight it drove the air from his lungs. Not that he was concerned for breathing as Jack's fingers curled around the base of his skull, holding Ianto firmly in place, as though he wished to be anywhere else.
Jack didn't say anything, which unnerved Ianto as he waited beneath Jack's stare. Not a stare, Ianto amended, feeling Jack's breath heavy and hot. Smelling faintly of alcohol, he hovered just inches from his lips, connecting with the wild eyes and was he smelling Ianto? Jack's hand shook as it gripped the back of his neck, the other apparently locked into its position around Ianto's waist, pressing the wool uncomfortably into his skin, but he didn't move for fear of breaking whatever this was, whatever Jack needed. Their noses bumped, barely touching, more a tickle of sense than anything definite.
The anticipation was nearly as intense as the touch, from the hands clutching almost painfully and the feather-light grace of skin against skin to the knowledge of something waiting, not hiding but begging to be discovered where every question had answers and needs their fulfillment. Something waiting which had been searching for years. Something suspended by time, alive and glowing brilliant as flame beneath the surface of that flowing river.
Jack had all the time he wished, but Ianto felt time as precious as every trembling touch. He could almost see it, circling, coiling, loop after loop of existence, each point returning to the same position but a new location as nature and fate fought for balance, one holding no hold over the other. Jack, Jacks, didn't much matter, all the same position on the same coil, just a different location, backwards or forwards.
He remembered, a dream so long ago. Asleep and held within Jack's arms at his father's, tucked away warm and safe within his childhood bed. "I'm with you, I am always with you, on every curve and coil."
And Jack, true to his word, had been ... even now, along this new curve of life and time.
Jack.
Ianto moved on intuition and practice, more optimism than anxiety driving his actions because what was important was now, this time with Jack. And when Jack said "forever", Ianto believed it. He'd meant only a reassuring, welcoming press, comforting both himself and Jack, but that thought quickly devolved into less planned and more instinct, a primal kiss that left Ianto light-headed as hands scrabbled for points of touch, contact of skin limited to the captain's neck, face, and scalp as the rational portion of his mind still quietly reminded him they had an audience. He needed to confirm though that Jack was real, that he wasn't imagining things, hallucinating alone in the depths of his mind.
From the frantic, desperate grabs and the frenzied play of his tongue over Ianto's, it appeared Jack sought the same confirmation. He tugged on the greatcoat, using the wool to pull Ianto close, closer, so close that Ianto believed himself, for a moment, as much Jack as he was Ianto. That wasn't so bad, really, except for the seam indentations the greatcoat was sure to leave in Ianto's skin, leaving him patch-worked. Though perhaps that was truly him, pieces sewn together, the snapshots of time. Each experience a new piece, until Ianto was made whole.
He knew who he was, now, smashed against Jack, their hands clutching whatever hold they could find as their lips said everything they never said, their bodies warming to fire as they burned for everything they wanted but never asked.
Life. Love.
Frantic melted away as smooth chocolate dripping slowly down the edge of a cake, glazing the path in delicious hints of cacao and liquor, rich and slow their kisses once they realized that neither was moving or vanishing into intangible dreams. Slow and sure, every touch remembering what it was to feel the other, the taste of the full line of Jack's lower lip, the feel of the shallow dimple of his chin and the delicate curve of his ear. Everything was so very Jack, to the fall of his cheekbones and the angle of his jaw, so real and limited; infinity unmasked and unguarded, exposing itself to the presence of a moment and the dance of their tongues.
Fuck, he was beautiful, even if unexplainable by all human notions. But Ianto didn't care about explanations, nor did he demand commitments or promises because Jack followed on every curve, showed up in every circle of history. All that mattered was now, not the future or the past, only the present because Jack was here and Ianto wanted to never abuse that gift. He supposed it might apply to himself as well if he'd really been gone for a year, judging by the way Jack appeared to be mapping Ianto's face as well as they kissed, remembering and memorizing every detail in actions reflecting Ianto's.
The here-and-now was amazing, fantastic beyond hope, a far cry from dragons and screams, blood and fear as the air retreated in sulfur-tinged flight. Brilliant white and gold as he clutched the blue pebble, warming ominously in his hand as he waited and knew; knew and accepted. Ianto squashed the memory back, shoving it ruthlessly into a far corner of his mind to be left undisturbed for the moment, because time was precious and the Captain was now.
But Jack was no fool, he'd felt Ianto's brief disorientation as he'd choked on the memory threatening to overwhelm him no matter how he'd tried to hide it. Ianto knew Jack hadn't looked into this mind, yet knew what had shaken him. Jack broke away, leaving the two of them audibly gasping for breath, staring at each other for just a brief second before Jack pulled Ianto close for a bone-crushing hug, cheeks pressing so tight Ianto could feel the Captain's stubble scratching against his skin. It'd leave a red mark, but as Jack's hand circled through Ianto's hair in sympathy or protection from whatever nightmares that plagued Ianto's thoughts, he found he really didn't much mind the red marks.
"You're alive."
Ianto wasn't quite sure who was meant to be reassured by Jack's words. Perhaps a little of them both. He smiled as he turned his face against the Captain's neck, pressing his nose against the tender skin behind Jack's ear. "So're you," he all but laughed in reply, tightening his arms, relishing the feel of solid weight beneath his hands. "Jack, I'm sorry-"
"No. No apologies." The touch on his neck grew stronger, reinforcing Jack's words. Ianto would have cringed beneath the touch had it not been Jack's hands doing the touching. "I would have stopped you," Jack avowed, and Ianto didn't doubt the fervor or the promise of what might have been. A determined Jack was an unstoppable man, "and that would have been quite possibly the worst decision I have ever made. Ianto, you are Mr. Black. I just ... I understand now."
The blush started at his ears, creeping forward until it stained his cheeks and Ianto was fairly certain his nose, too. Jack had spoken with such alacrity, such vehemence he couldn't know what he was saying. But Ianto was pulled away from Jack's neck, fingers brushing his stained cheeks before his chin was tilted to see the open honesty in Jack's eyes. He'd have fidgeted but something on the Captain's face made him hold still. Pride? His face flushed deeper, to Jack's amusement, and he had to bite his tongue to keep himself from saying anything childish. "Who was my replacement?"
Jack's smile faltered and Ianto chided himself for his lack of tact. He'd believed Ianto dead. They'd all believed him dead. And perhaps he had been; he still wasn't quite sure. "Your sister, Ms. Blue." Ianto grinned at the idea of another Jones continuing the tradition. "Though I imagine she'll be turning that role back over to you. Never liked the protocol much, or the budgets. Or any of it, really. But she was determined to carry on the family honor." Jack's voice dropped to a whisper, winking. "She scares me too, but don't tell her. She'd quit bringing me pastries when she dropped in for inspection."
Ianto laughed at the idea of his sister scaring Jack, though knowing full-well how frightening she could be when it came to her family and loved ones. With a brow arching, stretching muscles which felt like they'd not performed the action in quite some time, Ianto smoothly straightened Jack's shirt collar. "I suppose you'll need to take to calling me 'sir' then."
The joyous laughter meant more to Ianto than all the praise in the world.
Jack returned the favor, straightening the passants and lapels on the greatcoat. Jack's greatcoat. Ianto paused to run his cheek over the material again, smelling it, grinning when Jack's eyes visibly darkened at Ianto's action. "Go on, you have some people who are probably quite happy to see you." His voice was hoarse, the voice Ianto heard at odd times, be it during sex or when Jack thought he was asleep. Jack smiled, nodding his head in the general direction of all the others as though Ianto wasn't aware of who the Captain meant. "And after that, I am taking you home where I'll give you a proper welcome. Preferably while you're still wearing my coat."
As Ianto was pushed towards the others who swarmed around him like bees to honey once they'd been given whatever sign they were waiting for to release the tide, he turned to look back at Jack, who stood so proud and confident before the water tower, the flowing river framing him perfectly. His mind might still be playing catch up, Ianto knew he and Jack had details from the past to work through despite the relief of reunion, but he knew there was love. And respect. He could never go back to the shadows to hide so quiet as to pass unnoticed. Not with Jack, not with his friends, family and team, and most certainly, not with his duty and responsibility: for Queen and country, for the world and for the city of Cardiff, the place he called home. But even if he could, he wouldn't go back, not now. Some were luckier than others, and Ianto considered himself one of the luckiest.
Like Jack said, he was Mr. Black, more than just a tea-boy.
And he wasn't alone.
***
***
"Oi, that was brilliant!" The Doctor rocked forward while holding on to the bar railing. Broderick couldn't very well disagree. After all, it wasn't every day one's son was awakened from the eternal sleep. But their family had never gone about things in the most sensible of manners, and he supposed death was one of them that may always be a little skewed. "He's your son, then?"
Broderick nodded, waving with a smile at Bryce and Gareth when they looked up to see where he was. He hadn't gone down to speak with Ianto yet, but he would, when perhaps he wouldn't risk a limb to hug his son as the group of family and friends celebrated his return. For once, the tears shed weren't in sorrow, nor were the shouts in grief. Torchwood was a dangerous business, but he only had the heart to comfort Elaine once. He didn't think he could do it again. He avoided looking at the Doctor. No need, really, and besides, he figured the Doctor was doing enough staring for the both of them. A squall rose above the chatter; the girl called Martha took to bouncing the baby Ianto while cooing nonsense to the child. Wasn't but thirty years ago when he was doing the same thing, his own baby Ianto cradled so carefully in his hands, falling asleep to the tales of an old man. "A man of legend."
The Doctor's mood shifted suddenly, though Broderick had been expecting it since the Doctor and his companion had entered the conference room. "Yeah, about that. This show," the Doctor waved a hand about, gesturing towards the group standing around Ianto before turning an accusing finger on Broderick. "You knew. How? How do you know what's to come?"
"Come now, Time Lord," Broderick smiled as the Doctor scowled and leaned against the railing, crossing his arms like he was a technological puzzle to figure out. He calmly removed his pipe kit from his pocket, balanced a tin of tobacco on the railing while the Doctor waited for an answer, preparing the pipe he knew Ianto would request eventually. Some things weren't so hard to figure out, his son's comfort in the smell of pipe smoke up near the top. He imagined the full impact of what happened would leave Ianto shaken. Best excuse to start now. And to find the coffee maker; Broderick assumed coffee would be requested too. "I'm a student of myths and legends. Events such as these, they will not soon be forgotten. Oh, the tale might change in time, growing as myths do, generation to generation until you or I would hardly recognize the lad, the king heralding in a new era, a glorious Camelot of the ages when utopia thrived among the people of Earth. But that would just be myth, wouldn't it?"
The Time Lord didn't say anything for some time, just watched the mundane actions of practiced tapping and lighting the pipe. Broderick took but two puffs before Ianto's eyes shot up towards where he stood, the relief clear on his face. Not too early for the comforting smell, it would seem. Finally the Doctor spoke, bluntly and without question. "You don't belong to this time."
"Don't I?" Broderick gestured with his pipe to his family: the twins refusing to let go of Ianto's legs, Elaine clinging to her brother so fiercely he rather feared for his son's ability to breathe, and finally his son, standing so tall in the center of it all, if not appearing overwhelmingly embarrassed by the attention. "If anyone is misplaced, I would say it to be you, Time Lord." His firm defense of his family softened into one of sympathy, miming the Doctor's lean against the railing as he smoked his pipe with thoughtful patience. "Though one might say you've lost your place to belong. It would be a hard life, but at least you're not alone." Broderick smiled at Martha still holding baby Ianto for Gwen and Rhys. "But it's still not home."
Silence stretched between the two men, the Doctor blatantly avoiding Broderick by turning away, one foot on the lowest rung, his elbows on the top rail as he stared at the water tower. Broderick let him be, entertaining himself by blowing smoke rings perfected long ago. Identical circles, one after the other, drifting across the open room of the Hub until they slowly dissipated much as the mists which had wafted in from the ancient forests.
"Let me tell you of a legend of my people, Broderick, father of Ianto." The Doctor's voice startled him mid-ring, ruining that attempt but Broderick wasn't to be deterred. Starting a new one as though he had never been interrupted, he listened, curious as the Doctor continued. "Story says there was one of us, a Time Lord, who led a rebellion against every rule, every advance, every social and political belief, corrupt or not. Ended poorly, the Time Lord standing on his own, the others choosing to be reconditioned or left the city. He was brought to trial for his actions but escaped before verdict, clever man. Only one to ever successfully erase their own bio-data and collective memory from the Matrix ... well, erase it and live."
The Doctor paused a moment; Broderick just waited without response, curious to hear the end of the story. "He fled Gallifrey and none could find him, not even within their minds; presumed dead and swiftly forgotten. But the stories, oh, the stories told about this man." Broderick could feel the Doctor's excitement as it built, the previous downturn of emotion giving way to the swing towards joy in discovery. "It was whispered he lived, lost away on some forgotten world in some forgotten time, meddling in affairs the Time Lords refused to acknowledge or bother with. A bit my hero, that man," the Doctor smiled fondly, his Chuck Tayler-clad foot swinging on the railing. "But, that would just be myth, wouldn't it? Unless, like Mr. Black, there's a real man behind the legend."
Broderick just smiled at the Doctor's poignant look, forming yet another perfect smoke ring, and then another and another in rapid fire, almost successfully joining the three rings. He feigned a bit of surprise, hand jerking the pipe away from his lips before he could inhale the spicy tobacco. "Oh, are you implying me? You're mistaken, I'm just a simple man, Time Lord, with a home in the hills and a lovely family."
"Now, that would be foolish of me, wouldn't it? I'm the last one. I'd know if there was another." The Doctor's voice dropped to nearly a hiss, angry as he tapped his head. "After all that has been lost, it'd be ridiculous to think that any would stay in hiding when only one remains." Instantly, the capricious man's mood shifted, causing Broderick, mostly unflappable he thought, to blink at the shift in tone. "Course, an old friend said I wasn't alone. Didn't believe him at the time, but ... maybe he was right."
"Wouldn't be the first time the Time Lords were wrong." Broderick looked down on his family, Ianto's partner, team, and his friends. Only one was missing from the reunion. He sadly reflected that his wife would have been proud of her son for everything he had accomplished, everyone he had saved. So many lost, so much taken, but she had done what she must. Ianto succeeded her with every respect and honor to their family.
Viviene would have been most proud.
Jack was watching the Doctor and him with a bit of a frown on his face. Broderick smiled brazenly at Jack and waved, knowing it'd unnerve the man. A good thing, given his relationship with Ianto. His son deserved the best, and it wouldn't hurt to keep Jack a little off-balance. More amusing than anything, really. He and the Doctor stood shoulder to shoulder, overlooking the Hub floor and the people still swarming his son with their exuberance. He raised the pipe to his lips, pausing to ask a question before he took a puff. "This legend of yours, did he have a name?"
The Doctor glanced at him, and Broderick caught the movement out of the corner of his eye. At first, Broderick thought he wasn't going to answer. The silence stretched between them, only broken by the screaming laughter of the twins as Owen swung each in the air. But the Doctor's voice carried low, almost cracking in the quiet. "The stories say his name was Myrddin."
Broderick smiled, the soft huff of laughter escaping his lips before he could completely tamp it down, knowing the Time Lord still watched and might take laughter as mockery. In fact, the Doctor had turned away, his usually expressive face staring stoically out at the water tower. Broderick gently patted the Doctor's hand, a pat which turned into a desperate grip as the Doctor turned his hand into Broderick's, the Time Lord blindly clutching despite the apparent inattention.
"Just myths and legends, Doctor," Broderick said softly, watching his son. "In the end, we are all just myths and legends."
Fin
***
My sincerest debt and gratitude to my wonderful beta, plot bunny feeder, and general cheerleader, lilithilien (journal here). Without her constant support, prodding, 'yes you cans!' and hand holding at times, I don't know if this would have ever been finished. Or looked or sounded half as well as it did. I kid you not. I'd call her an angel, but she might take offense to that so I'll just say I'm forever her bitch. ;)
Thanks as well to fivealive who was my constant fluffer - for listening while I babbled and hashed out plot points and supporting my idea to kill Ianto. *g* Hours upon hours on the telephone! I wouldn't be surprised if that thing was permanently affixed to her head.
And to those two as well for getting me into Torchwood to begin with. What would the world be like without teh Janto? Seriously, their love is so canon.
A hundred thanks to cs_whitewolf who provided naked Ianto and Jack muses whenever the going got tough. They even danced in the rain sometimes, a beautiful sight to behold.
And most of all, thanks to everyone who kept reading despite delays in schedules, essploding Ianto, and bearing with me through the past 200,000+ word journey. It's been fun! And now, on to the next adventure.
- jo
Author: sarcasticchick
Pairing: Jack/Ianto
Rating: R
Spoilers: TW S1
Fluffers/Betas: lilithilien, fivealive
Summary: The Day of Black
A/N: Two Parts. Full author's notes at the conclusion.
For Shades of Ianto series information, please see Prologue, Chapter 1
Previous Chapters:
Prologue: Chapters 1-7 (Complete)
Series1: Chapters 1-8 (Complete)
S2: Chap 1, SoI 16
S2: Chap 2, SoI 17
S2: Chap 3, SoI 18
S2: Chap 4, SoI 19
S2: Chap 5, SoI 20 (Two Parts)
S2: Chap 6, SoI 21
S2: Chap 7, SoI 22 (Three Parts)
S2: Chap 8, SoI 23 (Three Parts)
S2: Chap 9, SoI 24
S2: Epilogue, Part 1, SoI 25
***
***
He woke slowly, awareness impinging on the silent dark with a ferocious snarl. It wasn't painful, it was just insistent, demanding, refusing to permit him solace in the silent dark again. Not that he wanted that -- he didn't think he did, there were important things outside the dark, but the thoughts were wafting through the awareness to disappear into the hazy mists. Important things ... things he must do. And people. Important people. Names slipped his grasp but he knew they existed beyond the dark, beyond the silent, wherever he had been before he was. Or perhaps it wasn't a question of before but a matter of now, amidst the patter of water he didn't hear so much as felt pounding a cascading rhythm upon his eardrums, individual waves blending to one complete sound.
Complete. There were things he needed to complete. To do. Unfinished and never started, existing simultaneously in needs he knew without question were his. He just needed to ...
He remembered. Remembered peace and calm, serenity within the chaos, stretching timeless as the river flowed around stone, unimpeded and undirected, just movement following the currents, never stopping yet never beginning. As it were and as it ever will be.
He remembered.
Memory gave him strength, love and laughter crawling down his fingers, guilt and remorse to his toes, care and concern for family, and something so much bigger than himself warming his middle until he could feel every bend and curve as he lay, knees to his chest, hands gently clasped together in unity making it difficult to pinpoint which finger belonged to each. But the longer he lay, the easier it became. Images joined the emotions, blending with sound until he could recall everything, every whisper and every scream, life and death as it gave and took without mercy in the unceasing cycle that made man both weak and powerful, the gods jealous and petty.
It took little effort to push to his knees and from there to his feet as he remained crouched, hands on his knees while he balanced on his toes, opening his eyes to water falling, drop chasing drop in a race for the finish wherever the flow might take them. Tilting his head, he could follow each individually as they tumbled over the other. As much a metaphor for life as could ever exist, all existing in a single unit moving forward to interact with others on the same path, except for some, bouncing off the thin skins in extraordinary directions. Some up, some down, some straight out and away from the steady stream, only to take up a path at a different point, a different pace in life.
It was then he remembered to breathe.
With his first breath he smelled roses so sharp it was overwhelming, itching his nose until a sneeze crept up faster than he could stop, starling him with sound as though he'd forgotten how to listen. The sneeze shot through his body; he could feel it in his chest and down to his toes, a feeling he'd never truly attended to but in the face of its vehement demands he cataloged every sensation. He laughed in delight as he'd never noticed before the way his muscles trembled or how he could feel the air expel from his lungs and pass through his nose and lips. It tickled; the very notion brought a smile to his lips as he uncurled from his squat and stood tall before the tower of water, hands on his hips just to feel that they existed as did the rest of him.
Raising his chin, he followed the tower straight to the ceiling, a dizzying sight to behold. But at the top, a solid stone roof, a stone which nearly sang its presence to him as the familiar earthen hues triggered yet more memories to push their way to the front, stampeding others as they clamored for attention. He remembered viewing the ceiling from different angles, lounged on the couch or spinning idly in a chair, thinking of answers or waiting for them. With one hand he ran his fingers through his hair, in both imitation of those memories and because he could. Sensations so familiar and new. Each strand felt unique as they slid through his fingers, pausing only when they encountered an object that didn't feel as the others, catching it as it fell from his hair into his hands.
A rose petal.
That would explain the pervasive scent.
He pivoted slowly on heel and toe, smoothing the petal between his fingers, bruising the red satin just enough to release the oils but not enough to damage the fragile curve. He knew where he was. He remembered. And as he spun, smell of roasted bean on his mind and the taste of coffee he craved from habit and comfort, his motion was halted by sights incompatible with his location. Two strangers stood next to his father, the twins and his sister; family he felt running strong and fierce in his blood. The constable with the heart sat on the floor, cradling something as she was being cradled by her rock, the rookie and surprisingly good rugby player. He couldn't quite register their expressions, that comprehension eluded him as their names but he knew them.
He remembered who they were. He remembered what they meant to him. Unfinished, incomplete. The things he needed to do, to complete. He needed them.
Turning further, he saw the medic grasping the sleeve of the warrior who held the brilliant technician in his arms; why, he couldn't figure out. But he was distracted by movement, a figure with pale blue eyes removing his hand from the technician's shoulder as he moved, hands extended out to ward off the air or rose petals or the creatures who left them.
"Stop. This could be a trick."
The figure spoke, he knew the words but words seemed as empty as the letters he knew which spelled them. They were really just a fragment of quantified thought and interpretation, a notion incredibly difficult to move beyond to comprehension. Pale blue eyes moved in front of him, staring into his own.
"Ianto?"
Ianto. That was it. Names collapsed from the upper citadels of his mind, tinkling like shattered glass. Hundreds of them. Thousands of them. Everyone he'd met, every person he'd researched, every single life and death, some with faces, some without -- just empty words so devoid of explanation or reason. He knew there was a story behind each name, even those without a face. A life behind those words.
And he knew this life, he knew this face.
"Jean-Luc." Ianto's face felt odd as his lips and tongue formed the sounds which meant the words. Stretching, pulling, and pursing, but his voice was clear, feeling as aware and ready as his flesh and bone. He remembered waking in the morning, his voice craggy with sleep as he threaten his alarm clock with permanent harm if it didn't stop.
"How do I know it's you?"
With a smile, Ianto thought an invitation to the mental query, welcoming Jean-Luc to see whatever it was he wished to see. He could stop him, Ianto felt certain of that. Certain memories vibrated in various corners of his mind, teasing him to look, but he wasn't quite sure what was there; he just knew what was there meant he could stop Jean-Luc. But that felt ridiculous at this point, with his friend so close and present within his public mind that it only seemed natural to permit him to see whatever it was he needed to see.
Warmth spread comfort over his mind, the presence of Jean-Luc overwhelming but not threatening as various cues were given to recall memories from their childhood, from their teens, and into adulthood. They were mostly memories shared with Jean-Luc, flashing forward like photographs stacked and flipping, rapidly jetting through time as the images grew darker and stress crackled the edges, burning with dragon fire and on to incredible pain as the dragons attempted to tear through his mind. And then ... peace. Calm. Exploding brilliant white and gold and then ... nothing. Darkness.
Until awareness, lying on the floor.
Jean-Luc hastily withdrew, appearing shaken, and Ianto was certain he should have felt shaken as well but for the moment everything was too much, too overwhelming as too many things clamored to be cataloged and understood, from sights to sounds to smells and touch. Everything was something new or unexpected or certainly taken for granted before. Before ... Ianto wasn't sure what exactly.
"Merde, Ianto. It's really you."
As opposed to another Ianto? He wasn't sure what that was to mean, but Jean-Luc's tight hug left little room for either thought or breath. The contact was different, touch so intense like he'd forgotten what it felt like when something else contacted his skin, a million nerves rapidly firing to define the sensation of pressure. Every point where Jean-Luc's body contacted his was an individual pocket of wonderment and awe. His skin could feel so alive and fresh that he wondered how he ever grew accustomed to the sense.
A thought crossed his mind, causing the smile to slip from his face, pulling away so he could look at those familiar pale blue eyes. "Stephen's dead," Ianto sadly informed Jean-Luc, knowing his friend would miss their old mentor as much as he. He couldn't understand Jean-Luc's reaction, however, a flicker of something akin to grief and confusion registering before the face settled into an equally sad expression.
"Yeah, I know." Jean-Luc paused a moment before stepping away, a smirk on his face. "Come on, can't have you naked. You'll scare the kids with your skinny legs. Here." And with a slight wave, a coat flew over the heads of the two strangers and Ianto's family (he remembered, Broderick, Elaine, Bryce and Gareth), flying so quickly it ruffled their hair.
Ianto hadn't even realized until then that he was unclothed. Or maybe he had and he didn't particularly care.
Jean-Luc helped Ianto into the coat, a long coat, wool, and god did it scratch, falling just around mid-calf. While Jean-Luc was buttoning it, Ianto ran his hand over the grey wool, fondly remembering another great coat that held so many memories. The coat was too broad in the shoulders, but he supposed it would do until he could find some clothing that would fit, until he could go back to his flat and fetch some things. And talk with his family because why were they here? And Sheppard? Owen and Tosh were staring, Gwen and Rhys still clinging, a sling of fabric that looked remarkably like a ...
Ianto felt his face stretch into a scowl, his nose pressing into the collar of the coat to make certain he wasn't mistaken, imagining things that he wished were there. Hallucinations were a sign of madness, or so the handbooks said. He sniffed, closing his eyes as his mind nearly overloaded with memory of evenings on rooftops, loos, and that first date, laughter and sex, comfort and passion. It couldn't be, but it was, overwhelmingly so, but it escaped logic to understand how or why. For the first time since he became aware, and perhaps not the last, Ianto felt himself slip into panic because it made no sense. And up until then, while perhaps things hadn't made sense, Ianto had never felt confusion or fear, feelings so deep-rooted he couldn't shake them off or brush them aside, figments of his imagination. But it wasn't the smell that made him fear, it was the missing that was so terrifying. "But I ... this is ... I sent him away."
As soon as he said it, he knew that didn't make sense. But the Jacks in his head were so intermingled as memory crumpled up and threw every image of Jack, every sound and spoken word he wasn't sure what was when and how.
Jean-Luc wasn't helping, uncertain and uncomfortable. But finally he spoke, his accent thick and heavy as his voice cracked. "You've been gone for a year, Ianto." With a nod over Ianto's shoulder, Jean-Luc quit talking, just gently nudged Ianto's arm to get him to turn.
He did turn, though it was somewhat reluctant as the idea of one year rattled about his mind and fought with the truth which stood behind him. It was too much, all just too much and the panic intensified, remembering everything and understanding absolutely nothing. He reached for the calm which had been such a comfort earlier, shakily clinging to that sense of spiritual whole, but as soon as the questions began, they wouldn't stop, tumbling like boulders into the stream, impeding the flow, creating a dam as the confusion rose behind it.
Which was worse, facing the Captain or asking what Jean-Luc had meant? Where he'd been, why he'd been 'gone' from his family and friends? He'd intentionally acted horrendously towards Jack, stolen moments of his life from him and banished him from that period of time. There was no forgiveness in that. But asking Jean-Luc the questions of 'where' and 'how' and 'why' were far worse, begging answers which seemed improbable and in the realm of impossible. It hurt to consider.
That would be dealt with later.
Ianto squared his shoulders, resolve inching towards defiance as he deliberately shoved aside the panic. He'd faced worse (roars, thousands of roars as Tiffany screamed and the air sucked backwards like giant turbine engines -- no. Those memories were for later) than Jack, and if the Captain wished to seek vengeance for Ianto's actions, he was certainly within that right and Ianto wouldn't stop him.
What he hadn't expected was the still face, eyes tracking movement but for all intents frozen in time. Jack's lips slightly parted, the tendons in his neck stretching the skin as it appeared he was torn between stunned stillness and the urge to run. Ianto had been ready for anger, ready for the threat of violence but he hadn't braced himself for Jack's silence, awkward and unnatural while the water tumbled down the tower. "Jack?"
The sound of Ianto's voice, or perhaps the question, was all it seemed to take to melt the fixed visage of the Captain. The shock wore off as his face flashed a million emotions before settling on one Ianto couldn't discern, didn't think he could even if his thoughts had been properly ordering themselves within his mind. Jack moved so quickly. Between one blink he was far away and the next he was so close that Ianto swore he could feel the rush of air currents swirl around him. He was swept up by strong arms in a grasp so tight it drove the air from his lungs. Not that he was concerned for breathing as Jack's fingers curled around the base of his skull, holding Ianto firmly in place, as though he wished to be anywhere else.
Jack didn't say anything, which unnerved Ianto as he waited beneath Jack's stare. Not a stare, Ianto amended, feeling Jack's breath heavy and hot. Smelling faintly of alcohol, he hovered just inches from his lips, connecting with the wild eyes and was he smelling Ianto? Jack's hand shook as it gripped the back of his neck, the other apparently locked into its position around Ianto's waist, pressing the wool uncomfortably into his skin, but he didn't move for fear of breaking whatever this was, whatever Jack needed. Their noses bumped, barely touching, more a tickle of sense than anything definite.
The anticipation was nearly as intense as the touch, from the hands clutching almost painfully and the feather-light grace of skin against skin to the knowledge of something waiting, not hiding but begging to be discovered where every question had answers and needs their fulfillment. Something waiting which had been searching for years. Something suspended by time, alive and glowing brilliant as flame beneath the surface of that flowing river.
Jack had all the time he wished, but Ianto felt time as precious as every trembling touch. He could almost see it, circling, coiling, loop after loop of existence, each point returning to the same position but a new location as nature and fate fought for balance, one holding no hold over the other. Jack, Jacks, didn't much matter, all the same position on the same coil, just a different location, backwards or forwards.
He remembered, a dream so long ago. Asleep and held within Jack's arms at his father's, tucked away warm and safe within his childhood bed. "I'm with you, I am always with you, on every curve and coil."
And Jack, true to his word, had been ... even now, along this new curve of life and time.
Jack.
Ianto moved on intuition and practice, more optimism than anxiety driving his actions because what was important was now, this time with Jack. And when Jack said "forever", Ianto believed it. He'd meant only a reassuring, welcoming press, comforting both himself and Jack, but that thought quickly devolved into less planned and more instinct, a primal kiss that left Ianto light-headed as hands scrabbled for points of touch, contact of skin limited to the captain's neck, face, and scalp as the rational portion of his mind still quietly reminded him they had an audience. He needed to confirm though that Jack was real, that he wasn't imagining things, hallucinating alone in the depths of his mind.
From the frantic, desperate grabs and the frenzied play of his tongue over Ianto's, it appeared Jack sought the same confirmation. He tugged on the greatcoat, using the wool to pull Ianto close, closer, so close that Ianto believed himself, for a moment, as much Jack as he was Ianto. That wasn't so bad, really, except for the seam indentations the greatcoat was sure to leave in Ianto's skin, leaving him patch-worked. Though perhaps that was truly him, pieces sewn together, the snapshots of time. Each experience a new piece, until Ianto was made whole.
He knew who he was, now, smashed against Jack, their hands clutching whatever hold they could find as their lips said everything they never said, their bodies warming to fire as they burned for everything they wanted but never asked.
Life. Love.
Frantic melted away as smooth chocolate dripping slowly down the edge of a cake, glazing the path in delicious hints of cacao and liquor, rich and slow their kisses once they realized that neither was moving or vanishing into intangible dreams. Slow and sure, every touch remembering what it was to feel the other, the taste of the full line of Jack's lower lip, the feel of the shallow dimple of his chin and the delicate curve of his ear. Everything was so very Jack, to the fall of his cheekbones and the angle of his jaw, so real and limited; infinity unmasked and unguarded, exposing itself to the presence of a moment and the dance of their tongues.
Fuck, he was beautiful, even if unexplainable by all human notions. But Ianto didn't care about explanations, nor did he demand commitments or promises because Jack followed on every curve, showed up in every circle of history. All that mattered was now, not the future or the past, only the present because Jack was here and Ianto wanted to never abuse that gift. He supposed it might apply to himself as well if he'd really been gone for a year, judging by the way Jack appeared to be mapping Ianto's face as well as they kissed, remembering and memorizing every detail in actions reflecting Ianto's.
The here-and-now was amazing, fantastic beyond hope, a far cry from dragons and screams, blood and fear as the air retreated in sulfur-tinged flight. Brilliant white and gold as he clutched the blue pebble, warming ominously in his hand as he waited and knew; knew and accepted. Ianto squashed the memory back, shoving it ruthlessly into a far corner of his mind to be left undisturbed for the moment, because time was precious and the Captain was now.
But Jack was no fool, he'd felt Ianto's brief disorientation as he'd choked on the memory threatening to overwhelm him no matter how he'd tried to hide it. Ianto knew Jack hadn't looked into this mind, yet knew what had shaken him. Jack broke away, leaving the two of them audibly gasping for breath, staring at each other for just a brief second before Jack pulled Ianto close for a bone-crushing hug, cheeks pressing so tight Ianto could feel the Captain's stubble scratching against his skin. It'd leave a red mark, but as Jack's hand circled through Ianto's hair in sympathy or protection from whatever nightmares that plagued Ianto's thoughts, he found he really didn't much mind the red marks.
"You're alive."
Ianto wasn't quite sure who was meant to be reassured by Jack's words. Perhaps a little of them both. He smiled as he turned his face against the Captain's neck, pressing his nose against the tender skin behind Jack's ear. "So're you," he all but laughed in reply, tightening his arms, relishing the feel of solid weight beneath his hands. "Jack, I'm sorry-"
"No. No apologies." The touch on his neck grew stronger, reinforcing Jack's words. Ianto would have cringed beneath the touch had it not been Jack's hands doing the touching. "I would have stopped you," Jack avowed, and Ianto didn't doubt the fervor or the promise of what might have been. A determined Jack was an unstoppable man, "and that would have been quite possibly the worst decision I have ever made. Ianto, you are Mr. Black. I just ... I understand now."
The blush started at his ears, creeping forward until it stained his cheeks and Ianto was fairly certain his nose, too. Jack had spoken with such alacrity, such vehemence he couldn't know what he was saying. But Ianto was pulled away from Jack's neck, fingers brushing his stained cheeks before his chin was tilted to see the open honesty in Jack's eyes. He'd have fidgeted but something on the Captain's face made him hold still. Pride? His face flushed deeper, to Jack's amusement, and he had to bite his tongue to keep himself from saying anything childish. "Who was my replacement?"
Jack's smile faltered and Ianto chided himself for his lack of tact. He'd believed Ianto dead. They'd all believed him dead. And perhaps he had been; he still wasn't quite sure. "Your sister, Ms. Blue." Ianto grinned at the idea of another Jones continuing the tradition. "Though I imagine she'll be turning that role back over to you. Never liked the protocol much, or the budgets. Or any of it, really. But she was determined to carry on the family honor." Jack's voice dropped to a whisper, winking. "She scares me too, but don't tell her. She'd quit bringing me pastries when she dropped in for inspection."
Ianto laughed at the idea of his sister scaring Jack, though knowing full-well how frightening she could be when it came to her family and loved ones. With a brow arching, stretching muscles which felt like they'd not performed the action in quite some time, Ianto smoothly straightened Jack's shirt collar. "I suppose you'll need to take to calling me 'sir' then."
The joyous laughter meant more to Ianto than all the praise in the world.
Jack returned the favor, straightening the passants and lapels on the greatcoat. Jack's greatcoat. Ianto paused to run his cheek over the material again, smelling it, grinning when Jack's eyes visibly darkened at Ianto's action. "Go on, you have some people who are probably quite happy to see you." His voice was hoarse, the voice Ianto heard at odd times, be it during sex or when Jack thought he was asleep. Jack smiled, nodding his head in the general direction of all the others as though Ianto wasn't aware of who the Captain meant. "And after that, I am taking you home where I'll give you a proper welcome. Preferably while you're still wearing my coat."
As Ianto was pushed towards the others who swarmed around him like bees to honey once they'd been given whatever sign they were waiting for to release the tide, he turned to look back at Jack, who stood so proud and confident before the water tower, the flowing river framing him perfectly. His mind might still be playing catch up, Ianto knew he and Jack had details from the past to work through despite the relief of reunion, but he knew there was love. And respect. He could never go back to the shadows to hide so quiet as to pass unnoticed. Not with Jack, not with his friends, family and team, and most certainly, not with his duty and responsibility: for Queen and country, for the world and for the city of Cardiff, the place he called home. But even if he could, he wouldn't go back, not now. Some were luckier than others, and Ianto considered himself one of the luckiest.
Like Jack said, he was Mr. Black, more than just a tea-boy.
And he wasn't alone.
***
***
"Oi, that was brilliant!" The Doctor rocked forward while holding on to the bar railing. Broderick couldn't very well disagree. After all, it wasn't every day one's son was awakened from the eternal sleep. But their family had never gone about things in the most sensible of manners, and he supposed death was one of them that may always be a little skewed. "He's your son, then?"
Broderick nodded, waving with a smile at Bryce and Gareth when they looked up to see where he was. He hadn't gone down to speak with Ianto yet, but he would, when perhaps he wouldn't risk a limb to hug his son as the group of family and friends celebrated his return. For once, the tears shed weren't in sorrow, nor were the shouts in grief. Torchwood was a dangerous business, but he only had the heart to comfort Elaine once. He didn't think he could do it again. He avoided looking at the Doctor. No need, really, and besides, he figured the Doctor was doing enough staring for the both of them. A squall rose above the chatter; the girl called Martha took to bouncing the baby Ianto while cooing nonsense to the child. Wasn't but thirty years ago when he was doing the same thing, his own baby Ianto cradled so carefully in his hands, falling asleep to the tales of an old man. "A man of legend."
The Doctor's mood shifted suddenly, though Broderick had been expecting it since the Doctor and his companion had entered the conference room. "Yeah, about that. This show," the Doctor waved a hand about, gesturing towards the group standing around Ianto before turning an accusing finger on Broderick. "You knew. How? How do you know what's to come?"
"Come now, Time Lord," Broderick smiled as the Doctor scowled and leaned against the railing, crossing his arms like he was a technological puzzle to figure out. He calmly removed his pipe kit from his pocket, balanced a tin of tobacco on the railing while the Doctor waited for an answer, preparing the pipe he knew Ianto would request eventually. Some things weren't so hard to figure out, his son's comfort in the smell of pipe smoke up near the top. He imagined the full impact of what happened would leave Ianto shaken. Best excuse to start now. And to find the coffee maker; Broderick assumed coffee would be requested too. "I'm a student of myths and legends. Events such as these, they will not soon be forgotten. Oh, the tale might change in time, growing as myths do, generation to generation until you or I would hardly recognize the lad, the king heralding in a new era, a glorious Camelot of the ages when utopia thrived among the people of Earth. But that would just be myth, wouldn't it?"
The Time Lord didn't say anything for some time, just watched the mundane actions of practiced tapping and lighting the pipe. Broderick took but two puffs before Ianto's eyes shot up towards where he stood, the relief clear on his face. Not too early for the comforting smell, it would seem. Finally the Doctor spoke, bluntly and without question. "You don't belong to this time."
"Don't I?" Broderick gestured with his pipe to his family: the twins refusing to let go of Ianto's legs, Elaine clinging to her brother so fiercely he rather feared for his son's ability to breathe, and finally his son, standing so tall in the center of it all, if not appearing overwhelmingly embarrassed by the attention. "If anyone is misplaced, I would say it to be you, Time Lord." His firm defense of his family softened into one of sympathy, miming the Doctor's lean against the railing as he smoked his pipe with thoughtful patience. "Though one might say you've lost your place to belong. It would be a hard life, but at least you're not alone." Broderick smiled at Martha still holding baby Ianto for Gwen and Rhys. "But it's still not home."
Silence stretched between the two men, the Doctor blatantly avoiding Broderick by turning away, one foot on the lowest rung, his elbows on the top rail as he stared at the water tower. Broderick let him be, entertaining himself by blowing smoke rings perfected long ago. Identical circles, one after the other, drifting across the open room of the Hub until they slowly dissipated much as the mists which had wafted in from the ancient forests.
"Let me tell you of a legend of my people, Broderick, father of Ianto." The Doctor's voice startled him mid-ring, ruining that attempt but Broderick wasn't to be deterred. Starting a new one as though he had never been interrupted, he listened, curious as the Doctor continued. "Story says there was one of us, a Time Lord, who led a rebellion against every rule, every advance, every social and political belief, corrupt or not. Ended poorly, the Time Lord standing on his own, the others choosing to be reconditioned or left the city. He was brought to trial for his actions but escaped before verdict, clever man. Only one to ever successfully erase their own bio-data and collective memory from the Matrix ... well, erase it and live."
The Doctor paused a moment; Broderick just waited without response, curious to hear the end of the story. "He fled Gallifrey and none could find him, not even within their minds; presumed dead and swiftly forgotten. But the stories, oh, the stories told about this man." Broderick could feel the Doctor's excitement as it built, the previous downturn of emotion giving way to the swing towards joy in discovery. "It was whispered he lived, lost away on some forgotten world in some forgotten time, meddling in affairs the Time Lords refused to acknowledge or bother with. A bit my hero, that man," the Doctor smiled fondly, his Chuck Tayler-clad foot swinging on the railing. "But, that would just be myth, wouldn't it? Unless, like Mr. Black, there's a real man behind the legend."
Broderick just smiled at the Doctor's poignant look, forming yet another perfect smoke ring, and then another and another in rapid fire, almost successfully joining the three rings. He feigned a bit of surprise, hand jerking the pipe away from his lips before he could inhale the spicy tobacco. "Oh, are you implying me? You're mistaken, I'm just a simple man, Time Lord, with a home in the hills and a lovely family."
"Now, that would be foolish of me, wouldn't it? I'm the last one. I'd know if there was another." The Doctor's voice dropped to nearly a hiss, angry as he tapped his head. "After all that has been lost, it'd be ridiculous to think that any would stay in hiding when only one remains." Instantly, the capricious man's mood shifted, causing Broderick, mostly unflappable he thought, to blink at the shift in tone. "Course, an old friend said I wasn't alone. Didn't believe him at the time, but ... maybe he was right."
"Wouldn't be the first time the Time Lords were wrong." Broderick looked down on his family, Ianto's partner, team, and his friends. Only one was missing from the reunion. He sadly reflected that his wife would have been proud of her son for everything he had accomplished, everyone he had saved. So many lost, so much taken, but she had done what she must. Ianto succeeded her with every respect and honor to their family.
Viviene would have been most proud.
Jack was watching the Doctor and him with a bit of a frown on his face. Broderick smiled brazenly at Jack and waved, knowing it'd unnerve the man. A good thing, given his relationship with Ianto. His son deserved the best, and it wouldn't hurt to keep Jack a little off-balance. More amusing than anything, really. He and the Doctor stood shoulder to shoulder, overlooking the Hub floor and the people still swarming his son with their exuberance. He raised the pipe to his lips, pausing to ask a question before he took a puff. "This legend of yours, did he have a name?"
The Doctor glanced at him, and Broderick caught the movement out of the corner of his eye. At first, Broderick thought he wasn't going to answer. The silence stretched between them, only broken by the screaming laughter of the twins as Owen swung each in the air. But the Doctor's voice carried low, almost cracking in the quiet. "The stories say his name was Myrddin."
Broderick smiled, the soft huff of laughter escaping his lips before he could completely tamp it down, knowing the Time Lord still watched and might take laughter as mockery. In fact, the Doctor had turned away, his usually expressive face staring stoically out at the water tower. Broderick gently patted the Doctor's hand, a pat which turned into a desperate grip as the Doctor turned his hand into Broderick's, the Time Lord blindly clutching despite the apparent inattention.
"Just myths and legends, Doctor," Broderick said softly, watching his son. "In the end, we are all just myths and legends."
Fin
***
My sincerest debt and gratitude to my wonderful beta, plot bunny feeder, and general cheerleader, lilithilien (journal here). Without her constant support, prodding, 'yes you cans!' and hand holding at times, I don't know if this would have ever been finished. Or looked or sounded half as well as it did. I kid you not. I'd call her an angel, but she might take offense to that so I'll just say I'm forever her bitch. ;)
Thanks as well to fivealive who was my constant fluffer - for listening while I babbled and hashed out plot points and supporting my idea to kill Ianto. *g* Hours upon hours on the telephone! I wouldn't be surprised if that thing was permanently affixed to her head.
And to those two as well for getting me into Torchwood to begin with. What would the world be like without teh Janto? Seriously, their love is so canon.
A hundred thanks to cs_whitewolf who provided naked Ianto and Jack muses whenever the going got tough. They even danced in the rain sometimes, a beautiful sight to behold.
And most of all, thanks to everyone who kept reading despite delays in schedules, essploding Ianto, and bearing with me through the past 200,000+ word journey. It's been fun! And now, on to the next adventure.
- jo