The Windhovers: The Fledgling (7 of 8), Jack/Ianto
Title: The Fledgling
Series 'Verse: The Windhovers
Chapter: 7 of 8
Author: sarcasticchick
Pairing: Jack/Ianto
Rating: R
Spoilers: TW S1, S2
Fluffers/Betas: lilithilien
Summary: "All truths are easy to understand once they are discovered; the point is to discover them." - Galileo Galilei
A/N: Okay, so I'm embarrassed. I said with Chapter 5 that the next week would be the last chapter. However, upon writing, the ending tallied up to about 20k words. But I didn't dare post last Monday without the story being done! So, BONUS. 3 chapters for the price of 2 weeks!! Aren't you glad you stuck with me? ;)
Notes and thanks at the end of Chapter 8.
Previous Chapters:
The Windhovers: The Beginning(complete)
The Fledgling (1 of 8)
The Fledgling (2 of 8)
The Fledgling (3 of 8)
The Fledgling (4 of 8)
The Fledgling (5 of 8)
The Fledgling (6 of 8)
Ianto brushed his hands off on his trousers, scowling when the pink particulates did as he'd intended - departed from his hands and replaced themselves on his clothing. But now his trousers were soiled and if there was anything he detested more, it was dirty clothing. Dirty Windhover clothing at that.
At least they hadn't been damaged when the building had collapsed. That would have been unforgivable.
He'd meant the action to have a calming effect. Didn't work.
Not even close. Fuck, his hands shook from anger and restraint.
The Doctor stood near the TARDIS' main console, hands stuffed in his pockets looking remarkably dust-free, which only served to anger Ianto more. Anger as heavy and cloying as the dust which had threatened to choke him when the Rodan's evacuation ship had exploded, so heavy he could barely breathe. Not that he was furious that the ship had exploded with the entire governing body inside; the bastards deserved a much slower punishment for all Ianto was concerned.
They'd enslaved an entire population. Actually, not an entire population, but an entire planet.
Justice meted.
Not perfectly; Ianto still had no clue what course of action was preferred. Arrest? He couldn't have very well arrested the lot, there were no courts, no trials, no governing body of Windhovers standing watch to ensure the Laws were followed. Except for him. And he knew every Law they were breaking, every instance of conflict with the Shadow Proclamation, every detail down to the last Code violation. And he was fucking stymied by his own failure to understand how despite it screaming necessary through every fiber of his being.
The Doctor had done something to disable the Rodans' communications with his sonic screwdriver, and Ianto had stood by and watched him do it. Just watched. Watched and rather feared for his life as the Rodan army gathered and the leaders had begun shouting at the Doctor. But Ianto had watched and did the one thing he knew how to do: he worked on devising a method to ensure the government got their due and to escape.
Not that his plans had mattered, in the end.
The ship with the escaping Rodans had exploded, the Hall of Government collapsing in the wake of the blast.
And Ianto had felt satisfied.
No, that wasn't the source of his anger. Nor was it the Doctor's, whose temper looked to be boiling just beneath the surface as well. Maybe it wasn't anger; Ianto couldn't tell. Didn't very much care, truth be told. Whatever it was, the Doctor was not happy. With him.
Which also satisfied Ianto as he was equally as unhappy with the Doctor.
Defiantly, Ianto raised his chin as he pulled the Blaster 201SX Series off his shoulder and checked the safety. Not a very creative name for the energy weapon of the Rodan, but effective. Especially against the Rodan.
He'd saved the life of a Naveed, one of the native people on the planet. It was worth every ounce of the Doctor's ire.
Quickly dismantling the weapon (he knew how, he just didn't know how he knew), Ianto destroyed the charge crystal and firing block, effectively turning the weapon into nothing more than a child's toy, and turned back to the TARDIS doors, throwing the pieces out because he knew she didn't like the weapon on board.
He didn't give a damn what the Doctor felt, though Ianto knew full-well that the other man loathed the device being on the TARDIS. Hell, he hadn't even liked the weapon being used.
Used. To save a life.
Of course, the Doctor's displeasure may have had something to do in part with Ianto directly disobeying his commands to run and return to the TARDIS. Disorder and panic had swirled around them, a rebellious uprising against the remaining Rodan army by the Naveed. And this one had needed to be saved. Or at least Ianto couldn't stand back and allow him to die, not with the training he'd received from Jack. So he'd broken away, raced to where he had heard the struggle, and protected the Naveed, discharging the Blaster 201SX Series he'd lifted off a fallen Rodan along the way.
He'd disobeyed the Doctor and saved a life, one that had given his thanks and updated Ianto quickly on their rebellion and rescue efforts to assist the Naveed trapped within the remains of the Halls of Government.
Fucking Time Lords anyway.
Ianto had no more than closed the TARDIS door than the Doctor began furiously punching buttons and pulling levers, programming a destination of who knew where, maybe back to Cardiff where the Doctor would drop-kick him to the curb. Perfectly agreeable situation, at this point in time. At any time, really.
The TARDIS lurched to a halt, stopping at some where and when, at the Doctor's whim and desire. Ianto didn't care, he'd take a black hole if it meant getting away from the man. He knew it wasn't all situational, that watching the fall of the Hall of Government and the Doctor's departure from the scene struck a nerve far too close to personal for him to ignore. But there was an underlying ... expectation. Predictability. Ianto just didn't know why.
Or maybe he did know. Fuck he wasn't sure of anything any more within his own mind.
"Small wonder we parted ways." Ianto turned his gaze up towards the ceiling, refusing to continue to look at the Doctor who quite literally glowered from his stance near the console, never speaking a word but Ianto could almost hear the tirade. Did the Doctor tirade? Ianto decided it would be worth the effort to see, because then at least any shouting on his part would be justifiable. "That's what Time Lords do, yeah? Sit back idly and watch civilizations fall unless it serves you to act at all."
"Spoken like a Windhover," scoffed the Doctor, sounding closer to Ianto's ears than his distance ought to have pitched. Lowering his gaze, Ianto felt his jaw clench, teeth grinding against each other until he forcibly stilled it. The Doctor was closer, leaning with arms crossed against a pillar, a casual pose that Ianto knew was anything but. Not that he believed the Doctor would actually physically fight. No, that was beneath him. "You lot never once thought about the consequences, always wandering in, mucking about with things you couldn't possibly understand."
"Right." Ianto laughed, more a bark than a laugh for as sharp as it sounded to his ears. Mucking about. He was pretty sure the Naveed he saved wouldn't call it 'mucking about'. And what had been so wrong about that? The Rodan soldier had been unjustified in his actions, and despite the destruction of the governing body, was still killing the Naveeds. There were so many violations of Law Ianto could have spent hours detailing it. In the end, he hadn't needed to. The Rodan had turned a weapon on him and he'd fired without hesitation, just as Jack and Torchwood One had trained him. Of course the Doctor would call it 'mucking about' - the Doctor had started it when he'd landed on the planet and 'accidentally' ended up confronting the controlling Rodans. The uprising wouldn't have started had the Rodans not tried to flee.
"You go flitting about the Universe in your little ship," Ianto continued, ignoring any soothing attempts by the TARDIS as he felt every crime the Doctor was responsible for. Windhover-instinct or purely human Ianto had no clue, he found the more he knew about himself the less he knew, but there was little doubt of his anger. "Dip your fingers into grand situations that you deem worthy of your effort, then dash off before you see consequences other than how it affects your bloody timelines." Anger. The whole fucking bridge was filled with anger and not all of it his. "How many lives will you destroy in the name of 'good' in order to assuage your guilt?"
"You know nothing." The words spoken by the Doctor were more warning than commentary on Ianto's intelligence, he could hear it the way 'nothing' sparked off the Doctor's tongue to envelop the space within the TARDIS. Warning, and even if Ianto hadn't turned to look, he would have known it. But he did turn, the Doctor appearing the same as he'd always seen but it was the eyes that just seemed ancient. Warning indeed. "You're just a child of a race no better than the Judoon."
Ianto felt the slap of the words even if there was nothing physical and fuck if his proverbial feathers didn't ruffle in affront. If he wore his Windhover wings they probably would have been; as it was, his fingernails dug into his palms and he swore he could feel the heat radiating off his body as he demonstrated what he thought was considerable restraint.
He and the Judoon were nothing alike. They were mercenaries who enjoyed the hunt and kill. He didn't ... he didn't know what the hell the Windhovers did when arresting and sentencing someone, but it wasn't killing. He knew it wasn't. And though it may be a last resort in the name of protecting a life, they didn't kill for pleasure. He didn't kill for pleasure.
He didn't.
The Windhovers didn't.
Ianto knew.
With a start, his eyes narrowed as he realized the Doctor was goading him. Maybe not goading; intentionally striking to hurt with barbs that felt as ancient as the storm behind his eyes. Well, fuck him. "Canary Wharf."
"What?" Ianto almost smirked at the incredulity frozen on the Doctor's face. Almost. And he was rather glad he hadn't when the tableau shattered and animation vibrated every limb of the Doctor before he shoved his hands in his pockets and paced furiously, long coat swirling with each turn. Jaguar; smooth and graceful, power barely contained. "I stopped two invasions Torchwood was ignorant enough to start!"
"And then you left, just like today, without bothering to check for survivors. Duty done, after all," Ianto sneered, using a tone only Owen heard. It sounded without effort, his voice too hard and tensely coiled to crack while memories of that day replayed in his head. Coworkers panicked, screaming as they ran while the Cybermen aimed their weapons at the ones who didn't halt. Crackles of the radios while agents shouted for backup to confront the Daleks, to confront the Cybermen, but it was too much technology , too much power, too much metal to fight when they were simply too human. And the rubble and bodies, smoking in the corridors when silence fell, the awe of salvation overpowering, for a moment, all pain.
And then the screaming had begun anew, fresh wails of agony and pleading for death. Metal parts and bleeding skin. "Drop in, leave a footprint so people will know you were there, then off again before you learn any of the faces you're leaving behind." Ianto continued his tirade, for that's what it was, never stopping or pausing. Ianto didn't even think it was about the Time Lords and Windhovers now. Maybe it never was. Maybe it always was. "We burned, Doctor. Innocents died. And you left, just like today. What good are your fucking timelines if you abandon the people in them?"
"You fool." The Doctor's voice came out as a hiss, barely audible over the harsh sounds of someone's breathing. His, Ianto belatedly realized, the sudden awareness surprising him to silence. "You were all fools, thinking you could protect everyone, and look where it got you?" Ianto flinched, but didn't look away, couldn't move, really. "Didn't care about the ripples you caused saving one more life, just thought yourselves untouchable angels."
Ianto stubbornly squared his jaw, knowing the Doctor was wrong. He was wrong.; The Windhovers had been successful with their Laws and enforcement; their stories and poems had been filled first with the creation and then the progression to enforcement. And they'd done good. He knew they had. There'd been some rogue Coteries, but for the most part, people had lived because of them. Or at least they'd tried.
Hadn't they?
No. The Doctor was wrong. Ianto knew he was. He knew. The Doctor had left and Lisa had ... and he'd ... Fuck him. And the Time Lords. They'd ignored the Windhovers'. Didn't fit into their crucial timelines. Hell, even his mind sneered the word in mockery. Where were they now? Off watching the genesis of a star or arguing amongst themselves whether they should intervene in a planet's collapse or spend their time twiddling with Distributed Cluster Algebra. Not that Ianto knew what the hell that was and it meant fuck all to most of the Universes but it was more important than trying to save one life. "And you all think you're bloody gods."
Silence.
He counted his breaths - twenty-seven - between his last word and any reaction on the Doctor's face. Trouble was, Ianto couldn't define what that reaction was when it did happen, flashing across his eyes, his lips; even his hair appeared to express whatever it was the Doctor was thinking. Being. And for a moment, all Ianto could feel was grief.
And only for a moment, because he was the first to move and the first to leave, escaping out of the bridge of the TARDIS not in a run but in haste. He didn't understand. Any of it. All of it. Ianto felt both guilty as hell for what he said and yet justified, and he couldn't read the Doctor. He'd just stood there, a mask so thick Ianto couldn't tell if he was about to strike Ianto down or hug him, though hugging was likely not on the Doctor's list. Only his eyes said anything at all and they no longer looked ancient just ... old.
Old and .. other. Something. Something that scared the shit out of Ianto.
That's it. He was fucking terrified but he didn't know why. Maybe that's why he'd left the bridge, afraid he'd crossed a line. No, Ianto knew he had, but that didn't matter.
He was scared. Not scared of the Doctor, he was just a bloody Time Lord. Just. He could hear the laughter in his mind, and had to agree that had been a bit arrogant for someone who didn't even know how to fucking reproduce. Create more. To do...
And that was it. He was scared of himself. For everything he knew, he understood even less. Ianto had no clue why he was so angry with the Doctor and yet he had reasons that made sense. He didn't know who he was or what any of it meant any longer. What life meant. Which was absurd because apparently Windhovers didn't live they existed. They were. Somehow. Which followed no bloody logic and if he couldn't understand what he was how the hell was he to do anything? How could he be Windhover?
He terrified himself.
And whether it had been a reflection of himself or the Doctor within those eyes that looked so old, Ianto rather thought the terror was the same.
***
The sound of the door opening didn't startle him; Ianto had known the Doctor was standing outside the moment the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. For a while, Ianto almost thought he was going to just leave; it wasn't like Ianto was getting into any trouble sitting on the steps leading into the TARDIS' garden. Not that he'd even picked the garden as his destination, he hadn't really had a plan quite honestly but the door he opened which he thought was going to be his bedroom ended up being the entrance to a truly magnificent garden.
He must have made a wrong turn, somewhere. Though he'd never made one before and it wasn't like he was so distressed that he was out of sorts.
At least he didn't think so. He may feel a bit like he had when he was a teen and just needed to run, just for an hour, to escape his mother's latest slip, but he wasn't completely distressed. Air, and quiet. This place ... it provided it all.
The garden was breathtaking in size and beauty, making Ianto wonder if it was something the Doctor had cultivated or if it was more the TARDIS' doings. Plants and flowers of every imaginable shape and color lined pathways and beds, filling the room with the scent of blossoms and, well, dirt, but it was a richer, organic smell than that. Deeper, and definitely not originating from Earth. Ianto imagined that if the soil was taken to Earth and crops grown, the harvest would be remarkable. Maybe. Maybe it really was just dirt.
A fountain curved its way to the ceiling in the middle of the garden, looking impossible in all its splendor as it seemed to defy gravity. Or rather, the water seemed to, spilling off the fountain's branches in all ways but down to strike the next twist and follow its path. Ianto had lost himself in the design, trying to trace the water's flow, but eventually he had to stop for fear his mind would just rebel from what appeared impossible.
Not all the impossible was actually that, he was learning. And a stunning fountain backlit by the stars with water that flowed up and sideways and diagonally would just have to be admired, rather than questioned. And for once, his mind remained silent, didn't detail the mineral properties of the marble-crystal-looking sculpture, didn't tell him what technology was being used to make the water travel as it did. It simply was, and Ianto could appreciate the artistry in that.
What actually had surprised Ianto was when the Doctor had sat down on the step right next to him, literally in his personal space and almost awkwardly close. Thigh-to-thigh, hip-to-hip; Ianto couldn't move his shoulders at all without brushing against the Doctor's. But the Doctor didn't move, didn't correct the placement of his arse on the step, instead he handed Ianto a shallow cup - crystal? Maybe glass. He was pretty sure it was alcohol in the decanter the Doctor poured from, however. Poured two glasses of the amber beverage and held his up for a toast.
Very strange. Very odd. And completely unexpected.
The Doctor drank?
Ianto for one was relieved for the feeling of 'normal' as he clinked his glass against the Doctor's; it would have been rude for him not to but he didn't voice a toast. Didn't quite know what to say, and it had always served him best to say nothing at all under those circumstances. The drink looked like a fine whiskey, though the nose told him nothing as it didn't smell of any whiskey he knew. It tasted ... something sweet, like honey only less sugar-sweet and more ... gold tingling his taste buds. A hint of bitter, dry and rough as it settled full on his tongue. And ... green. Could the color green have a taste? Cool and fresh, yet at the same time dark and alive. Not literally, Ianto was firmly against consuming anything that might squirm in his mouth, but he could taste it, that feeling one got in the spring when everything was in bloom, or a near-death experience when one realized they still breathed. It had a flavor upon his tongue.
Definitely alcohol, though. He could feel it burn a path down his throat, hit his stomach and almost ... splash out, instantly spilling golden-tingling warmth throughout his body. Truly exquisite, and Ianto swore he could feel the smile on the Doctor's face as he must have enjoyed the same. Ianto didn't know for sure, though, the Doctor may have been scowling for all Ianto determinedly did not look at the man. Their earlier confrontation still rang in his ears and he didn't know whether to apologize or renew it; he was pretty sure the Doctor hadn't forgotten it so soon either.
So they didn't say anything at all, which made the company almost ... pleasant. Didn't mean Ianto wasn't intensely aware of the man while they sat like conjoined twins staring at the fountain in the center of the garden and sipped alien alcohol in tandem. Whether it was the subdued anxiety that was always present when the Doctor was around that currently was more muted than loud or the physical touch of another that made Ianto relax, he wasn't sure. Given it was the Doctor he shouldn't have relaxed at all. He unwound all the same, grounded by the solid, immovable wall which had inexplicably planted himself right beside Ianto.
And refilled their glasses when both their drinks were gone.
"Rose Tyler."
Ianto blinked as the silence vanished, broken by a name that some how sounded familiar to him but foreign all the same. He knew that name, not through the Windhovers or anything of the sort, but he'd seen it somewhere.
"I lost her, at Canary Wharf." Ah, that was how Ianto knew her. Her name had been on the list of the missing, presumed dead - along with far too many others. He felt the words he'd spoken earlier creep into his throat, choking off any attempt to speak. Which apparently suited the Doctor as he continued. "Well, not that I lost her-lost her. I know exactly where she is, so I suppose she isn't lost, more cosmically displaced in a parallel universe." Ianto had no idea how that was possible, but he still wasn't entirely sure of how the Doctor had defeated the Daleks and Cybermen either. Had he sent them to a parallel world, to threaten someone else? The idea was disturbing and upset some of the calm Ianto had been feeling. "Very nearly sucked into the Void when Pete saved her, but trapped her in his world. All the powers of a god, Mr. Jones, and she's beyond my reach."
Ianto didn't miss the bitter, self-mocking tone at the end of what the Doctor had said, and even if he had missed it, the slight shoulder nudge he received would have clued him in. Did the Doctor honestly think he was that dense? Owen, maybe.
"Lisa Hallett," Ianto stated after taking a moment to address the matter of 'courage' by taking a sip of his drink. Not that it helped, but he did understand, for once, the Doctor's motives. "She survived the initial incursion as a partially converted Cyberman. I tried to save her. Thought I could." Ianto's smile felt more like a grimace for all he'd intended it to be regretful reminiscence. Fuck, the ripples it'd caused. "She killed two before Jack- before Torchwood Three could stop her." The glass in his hand provided a good distraction as he swirled the liquid, watching the amber color cling briefly to the edges before sinking back into the pool. He did wonder, for a moment, if he stood next to the fountain would his drink just continue its movement upwards? "I think," Ianto scowled as he tried to voice his next thoughts, but no matter what words he came up with, it just sounded wrong given what he knew now. "She tried to kill me," he settled on, tapping a finger against the glass, "and I still couldn't stop trying."
'Because I loved her,' went without saying, though neither spoke a word once Ianto finished talking. There were thousands of recriminations Ianto supposed he deserved, especially following what the Doctor had said - and who he'd lost. Hell, he'd inadvertently nearly rekindled the invasion the Doctor had stopped because Ianto simply hadn't considered what could happen if she had been too far gone.
Course, the Doctor hadn't stopped to think of the twenty-seven survivors either. Maybe he had, and simply didn't care.
It was petty and self-centered, Ianto knew, but to him it was important. Even if the Doctor had been immersed in grief for losing Rose, he could have helped while Torchwood One fell. Maybe more would have survived. Maybe Lisa ... talk about ripples.
Or maybe he was still looking for someone to blame.
Which made it all the more confusing, sitting shoulder-to-shoulder, thigh-to-thigh with the man while they drank alien alcohol and stared at a fountain that flowed up.
"I owe you an apology." Ianto knew he did, but that didn't make the words any easier to force off his tongue. The alcohol helped a bit, smoothing out the edges, but it still felt like petting a hedgehog the wrong way.
"Nah. You were right." Ianto couldn't stop himself from looking at the Doctor in surprise, an action not overtly witnessed by the other man as he continued to watch the fountain, but Ianto saw the slight curl of a smile touch the Doctor's lips. Oh, he'd been seen alright. "And so was I. This isn't the first time these arguments have been made, Mr. Jones, though before there were far more robes and fancy speak and absolutely no Meentak wine. Which was most unfortunate as the whole lot of them were so dreadfully boring."
Ianto snorted in amusement before he could check himself, mentally absolving himself by deciding that it must have been the Meentak wine, not any sort of congeniality found in the Doctor's words or attitude. He was supposed to loathe the man. Wasn't he? He had a list of reasons why he ought to, but a list of contrary reasons was rapidly growing as well which begged the question, 'was he wrong?'
He wasn't sure which terrified him more; that the information was faulty or for having believed so quickly that it could be as simple as black and white.
"Ianto," he corrected, not really sure if it was the Doctor's preference to refer to someone by their last name or if it had been merely politeness after having had a gun directed on him as their first introduction. But they were long past such formalities, though Ianto knew better than to refer to the Doctor by his name. There were some things one simply did not do and Ianto knew this was to be respected without question.
The Doctor looked quite pleased with himself as he topped off their glasses, but Ianto refrained from retracting his permission just to be difficult. Barely. He may have bitten his tongue in the process, but he would always deny if ever asked.
"Ianto." The Doctor repeated the name like he was practicing it, though Ianto knew it hadn't been the first time he'd used it. He did say it with the proper accent, unlike Jack's "Yan-toe" which should have annoyed him but was more endearing than not. "You ought to tell Jack." Ianto couldn't help the scowl as he remembered having said the same thing to the Doctor in regards to the man's care for Jack, and he couldn't believe the Doctor was throwing it back at him. Especially now. "Contrary to how the situation was resolved with the Cyberman, he holds no prejudices against species."
Ah. Was that why he was wary of telling Jack, because he believed it possible that Jack might kill him as a consequence of being alien? Perhaps subconsciously, because he still remembered Jack standing with the smoking gun?
Ianto gave the idea time to crawl across his mind, encountering all logic and emotional pitfalls along the way, including an instinctual need for secrecy borne of being Windhover. That wasn't imagined, he'd felt the same reservations in the company of Lester and Dr. Ramamurthy. And even with the Doctor. But how much of it was just the Windhover, and how much of it was an honest fear of Jack?
Fuck, he had no clue.
But he knew it wasn't entirely their shared past with Lisa. "And if he hunted my kind during his time at the Time Agency?" And it also wasn't just his fear that Jack would attempt to kill him. "Or if my Coterie was one that ought to have been hunted?" Because there had been those Coteries, rogue Coteries and criminal Coteries, breaking the same Laws that the others fought to enforce. Ianto had read those tales, of the epic battles between a lawful and criminal Windhover Coterie, chasing each other about the Universes and time. None of those had a happy ending, for any involved.
And he still knew nothing.
"Nearly all races had divisions which sought to capture or destroy the Windhover, Ianto. Even mine." The Doctor smirked, pausing a moment with his glass to his lips. "Human kind is not an exception." Ianto's breath caught and he swore his heart rate irrationally quadrupled in the span between the Doctor's words and the time it took for him to take a drink. A thousand thoughts twisted into a tangled, panicked heap in his gut before Ianto could calm himself. If the Doctor meant to kill him, he'd have had ample opportunity already. Although, it could be argued that he had been captured, even though the Doctor insisted that he was not a prisoner aboard the TARDIS. And Ianto would like to believe him unconditionally on that fact, if he was to believe anything at all. "Well, they did infiltrate our ranks with a Coterie that identified as Time Lords. How you managed that gave us fits when it was discovered. I thought it was rather brilliant, myself. Imagine that, Windhover Time Lords! Completely outside of possible, yet there it was!"
Ianto didn't say anything as he had no idea why it was so impossible for Windhovers to be Time Lords when Windhovers could be humans or apparently any race they wished to intermingle with. Intermingle was perhaps the wrong word. Blend? The Doctor had taken the time to explain the whole identification concept as best he could explain it when Ianto had asked if he could take any form he wished, since he existed more as a concept than an actual physical being. A complex babbling of rationale later, and Ianto thought he understood it to an extent. Technically, he could, and the older more experienced Windhovers most likely could. But since he was raised believing fully that he was human with the face that he wore, it was difficult to get past the intense self-identification. He looked like 'Ianto' when he changed to his Windhover form because he believed so internally that he was 'Ianto.' To change form or face would run against such a strong belief.
That session made his head hurt trying to grasp the idea.
But what the Doctor had said about Windhover Time Lords, and how he spoke with such eager wonder, left Ianto wondering if perhaps that wasn't the answer to the clothing stored on the TARDIS and that he now wore. Bit unnerving, really, he'd avoided the thought that he was wearing someone else's clothing by just leaving it generalized 'made for Windhovers.' But if a Windhover Time Lord had possibly traveled with the Doctor in the past, maybe because the Doctor was what, unwilling to turn them over?
That put a major kink in how Ianto viewed the Doctor.
"Stand up."
Ianto blinked at the sudden command and the sudden loss of 'wall' next to him which caused him to shift to the side before he could correct the movement. Warily he stood, because if there was anything he'd learned during his time with the Doctor, one could never predict what mood or action he would take next. He kept his drink, however. It was too good to discard, plus, whatever the Doctor intended might just require a drink.
"Will you show me?"
For a moment - and only the briefest of moments that he would ever admit to - Ianto interpreted the Doctor's request as he wished to see Ianto's cock. Alarmed, it finally occurred to him that he'd been around Jack apparently far more than proper because instead of an innocent request, it morphed into something sex-related, and while Jack might think it amusing or even a positive quality, Ianto found it disturbing at best.
That the one soliciting the response was the Doctor, and Ianto's mind had dipped to where it had, made it all the more humiliating.
Ianto quickly shoved the thought aside, praying to every deity he knew that the Doctor was not a mind-reader. He had asked with a certain respect, as though he would consider it an honor. The 'why' escaped Ianto, but given that the Doctor had never before asked to see, he had to wonder if there wasn't some kind of secrecy involved in revealing his Windhover form. Form in this Universe, Ianto corrected himself as he was fairly certain that beyond the Veil he would exist as ... some thing else. Technically not 'thing' as things simply weren't beyond the Veil but he wouldn't look as he appeared now.
The Doctor was asking Ianto to show himself.
Rather than question it, Ianto believed there was a sort of ... intimacy ... about revealing what the Doctor was asking for. Maybe not intimacy, but definitely a level of trust that Ianto hadn't believed existed between them. Or perhaps maybe it did. The Windhovers shrouded themselves in masks of perfect species identity, for goodness sakes, passing themselves off completely as though they were actually that race. Fooling all equipment. Even TARDIS'.
It just wasn't done.
At least not often.
He'd been unnerved back at Lester's, preferring to avoid scrutiny than engage socially with all who stepped into Lester's home. Was there more to that than Ianto finding solace, hiding in shame of wings and avoiding the stares at the marks upon his skin?
Possible, he supposed.
Not like he knew anything to give a definitive anyways.
But the Doctor had asked. That meant ... something.
Of course, it could be an elaborate ploy for Ianto to reveal himself to a Windhover hunter who would then use his superior knowledge to kill him before Ianto could draw a breath. A most positive thought, he chided himself, but the fear once considered didn't go away.
He had another option, not to do anything at all. Refuse the Doctor. He'd only asked, after all.
Ianto looked at the glass in his hand before drinking the contents in one go and handing the glass back to the Doctor. Not that there had been anything more than a swig remaining, but he felt a bit like a man approaching his death enjoying his last meal. And really, if his last taste was going to be Meentak wine, Ianto supposed life could have been worse.
Focusing inward, Ianto touched the something that he instinctively was aware of but knew wouldn't exist on any scanning device. Focused and felt the slight give of fabric at his back as the heady rush of home for a moment clouded his mind, filling his whole being with a rush of purple-grey and the taste of Meentak wine. Not that it actually tasted, but if it had a flavor it would be that wine, Ianto decided.
He stretched his wings, unencumbered as they were by the vast space of the garden with the fountain that flowed up. And out. And every direction except where one would assume it'd flow. It'd been so long since he'd existed as ... this - as himself - and the shift was breathtaking. Not that he felt any different, not really. Everything smelled the same as it had, sounded the same as it had, even looked the same. Nothing was different - aside from the wings and the marks, Ianto supposed - other than just simply ... being.
A smile grew, one that Ianto couldn't stop had he tried, not that he made any great effort. He'd just forgotten what it was like; although maybe he'd never felt the relief before. Ianto had been in such fear and confusion at Lester's that even had he wanted to enjoy the experience, he couldn't. And after leaving Lester's, well, he'd never changed back. Too afraid he'd be caught. Too afraid Jack would know. Too afraid of well, being anything other than human.
But on the TARDIS...
"Oh, now aren't you beautiful."
Ianto remembered quickly that he wasn't the only one in the garden, in fact, he kicked himself for not remembering. It was the Doctor. He should be aware of the Doctor even if Ianto hadn't been concerned for his own safety and the other man's possibly nefarious motivations. But he'd forgotten, for a moment.
And that moment had been wonderful.
The Doctor, to his credit, didn't appear murderous to Ianto, which quickly diminished any anxiety he felt over his brief inattention. He looked ... both somber and ecstatic, serene and excited, like Christmas and Remembrance Day and a birthday all rolled into one, a combination of expressions which Ianto knew couldn't possibly exist on a human.
Ianto could see grief too, and he assumed that the Doctor may have known some Windhover rather well.
The Doctor took one step forward, then stopped, seeming as though he'd surprised himself. "May I?"
Nodding because he really didn't understand what the Doctor was asking for and he felt it rather embarrassing to have him clarify, Ianto stood impossibly still as the Doctor approached, the little corner of doubt reviving as the other man stepped closer.
"Black was the sole color of the R'te-phire Coterie, and only the R'te-phire bore that color in its purest shade as you do," the Doctor began, standing close enough for Ianto to hug without reaching, if he'd wanted. Apparently the Doctor hadn't learned the rules of personal space, but Ianto didn't move. He couldn't.
R'te-phire.
The name turned over and over in his mind, spinning wildly while Ianto tried to remember to breathe. Something. He knew something about himself. About ... shit. He could feel his whole body tremble, every last feather in his wings quiver with the knowledge, and Ianto hoped the Doctor wouldn't notice. Not that he cared particularly. R'te-phire. But the Doctor made it difficult to ignore him, his hands flashing over Ianto's face that took a moment before he realized-
The Doctor was reading.
"Color of your wings designates the Coterie, and your markings, Ianto of the R'te-phire," the Doctor spoke the name again and Ianto memorized it, implanted the sounds and the twists so he'd never forget it, he swore not even in death would he forget it. "Your markings tell of your lineage, the titles and the history, in every curve and straight line." A finger followed a coil into his hairline before tracing a delicate line just under his eye. Ianto would have moved, but he couldn't.
R'te-phire.
"Not typically human identification, perhaps they were desperate and couldn't take the time ah, yes, an ancient Coterie and an equally old H'd-tobi, they would have known. Of course they had known, they couldn't possibly have not known given who they, oh. Well, now that's very interesting."
The Doctor's hands had moved to his neck when they paused, the sudden complete lack of movement feeling as jarring had Ianto been the one in motion.
Had Ianto been capable of moving, he might have over-corrected due to the sensation.
But he couldn't. He just stared speechless at the Doctor, remembering everything he said to ask him later what the hell he meant.
The Doctor was reading his skin.
Time had most certainly stopped within the TARDIS, Ianto didn't breathe and he couldn't hear the water in the fountain tumbling up. Or maybe it still was flowing and it was only he that stopped, anticipation winding him so coiled that he didn't dare blink for fear of bursting.
"I knew ... well, I knew a few within the R'te-phire." The hands were moving again, running up a line curving over Ianto's jaw. "Not the H'd-tobi that created you, Ishaan and Inaani, but others. They ... tolerated me." With a smile that was perhaps more secretive than open, the Doctor touched Ianto's cheek, a confusing gesture as Ianto knew there were no marks at that spot on his skin. "They were a brave people, just, and a bit more scholarly than the rest of them." The Doctor's finger tapped his cheek twice, focusing all of Ianto's attention on what he saying, as though Ianto had been doing anything else. "Cast out any other scary thoughts you might be entertaining in that head of yours, Ianto of the R'te-phre. You'd bring dishonor to their name if you believed them anything but good."
Ianto opened his mouth to speak, then closed it before he could say anything trite or inane after the Doctor's words. Nothing seemed appropriate and the sense of overwhelming ... everything ... completely stripped his vocabulary of anything other than syllabic nonsense.
He was supposed to hate this man.
He should; Ianto had countless reasons to hate him.
But he'd just given Ianto a gift that bordered on impossible. Intangibles, like Jack visiting every day while Ianto was at Providence or Tosh combing his hair or even Owen looking after the Torchwood One survivors. Unquantifiable and something he could never repay. Not that they'd ever ask to be repaid; at least Ianto assumed what the Doctor had said came unconditionally. His origins, his kind. The Doctor could be lying, Ianto had never thought to look at it as a script before and not just ... a doodle Jack drew on important UNIT documents. This would be one hell of a charade, though, because the Doctor was staring at him, open and honest and his words hadn't been overwhelming that certainly was.
The R'te-phire were good.
For reasons he couldn't explain, that meant more to Ianto than anything the Doctor could have said, relief snapping back with such force that it almost hurt. At least that was the excuse Ianto fed himself as to why his eyes were a bit watery. He looked up at the ceiling, not really rotating his head since he could still feel the Doctor's hands on his face, just his eyes, glancing away for a moment to get his thoughts under control, to moisten lips a bit dry from the alcohol and above all, maintain his composure.
Which was difficult. Incredibly difficult. Swallowing-hard-around-the-lump-in-his-throat difficult.
It was the fear thing. Fear of himself, fear of not knowing, fear of knowing, fear of never knowing. It didn't matter the angle, he was terrified. But this ... helped. Not that he wasn't still scared shitless, but his Coterie had been one of the good ones. One that the Doctor had known and respected. It shouldn't matter but it did.
When he dropped his eyes from the ceiling and refocused on the Doctor's face, Ianto rather thought the Doctor knew just how much it mattered.
"Thank you." Ianto sincerely meant those words, although his voice came didn't come out quite as he had intended, roughened like he had actually wept for an hour. He cleared his throat but couldn't think of anything more to say that hadn't been summed up in those two words.
"The thanks is mine." The Doctor's serious expression vanished quickly, and in its place a smile so wicked Ianto wondered if the man was channeling Jack. "I'm assuming you've writing all over, the R'te-phire were an ancient Coterie as Ishaan and Inaani were elders among the Windhover. If I was Jack, I'd say something shamelessly depraved when asking if you'd remove your kit." So the Doctor was channeling Jack. "Though, I suppose I could just ask you to show me again."
This time Ianto couldn't stop the blush which stained his cheeks what he assumed was a remarkable shade of red. Probably his neck too, as true embarrassment tended to encapsulate his whole body instead of just angry dots high on his cheeks. Which the Doctor was still touching, rather unnecessarily so as he was no longer reading, maybe he was and he just wasn't telling Ianto?
And he wanted to read more? Or was he just taking the piss?
Fuck, he'd caught the line of thought Ianto had followed (briefly) earlier. Maybe he had blushed when he'd considered it. Or maybe the Doctor was psychic.
Whatever the case, the Doctor had appeared to have amused himself, chuckling at Ianto's expense. Not that Ianto terribly minded, he supposed it could be considered amusing. He didn't laugh though, he was more curious than not.
"What do you see, when you look at me?" The words tumbled out of his mouth before Ianto could think to apply a filter. Or censor them altogether. But as reason caught up with what he had asked, it made all the more sense. Long ago, the Doctor had said in his human form Ianto appeared human, with no deviation. And if Ianto technically existed outside of time and space in this form, then what would a Time Lord see? Would he see anything different?
"I see," the Doctor tilted Ianto's face for different angles in the lighting, though Ianto suspected it was more for show since there hadn't appeared to be a primary source of the light in the room, "Ianto Jones, fragile human surrounded by the impossible, scribing itself into words of the R'te-phire. The words feel," and again the Doctor's fingers tracing lines over Ianto's cheek, down to his jaw where the fingers stopped, "like all the brilliant ideas ever thought would feel if I could touch them. And it tastes-" Ianto's breath caught as the Doctor's lips pressed against his, actual thought losing its footing and tumbling to a crumpled heap while the Doctor tasted. Crackled, time so solid in form as it fought for place against its opposite that the collision sparked new universes, stacked time over time as they spiraled away from the nothing that bound them. Not nothing, everything existing in the complete absence of all things, pressing, pushing against the stubborn time which bent only to curl around and reclaim ground but never space, infinite in its absoluteness, defined by the undefined.
At least that's what it felt like to Ianto when the Doctor pulled away, a soft "fuck" breathed out, not in curse but wonder.
"Tastes like," the Doctor smacked his lips repeatedly, looking odd but Ianto recognized the trick of drawing air over taste buds to enhance and draw out subtle flavors. "Meentak wine."
Ianto blinked, his mind refusing to play along until it slowly caught up with the fact that the Doctor had known the precise 'taste' before he'd ... oh, the Doctor had known and was teasing. The smirk that stretched across the man's face would put any of Jack's to shame. And he'd known exactly what sort of reaction it'd have on Ianto, which made the clothing perhaps more understandable. Questionable? Curious.
He had asked, he supposed. Sort of.
"And what of you, Ianto Jones of the R'te-phire." The Doctor stepped away, hands in his pockets as he did a quick pirouette, still engaged but a much more somber tone than before. "When you look at me, what do you see?"
He couldn't help himself. The moment the question was asked Ianto flinched, the simple query reminding him of what he had been rather successfully ignoring, scrolling past his mind's eye faster than he could really read but he was aware of all the details. They'd always been there, since the day Ianto had first met the Doctor through this moment in the garden with the fountain that flowed up, perhaps even more so standing before the Doctor with his Windhover wings stretched wide, the names of his Coterie and their nature still ringing in his ears, and his lips still tingling from the Doctor's 'taste'.
Ianto was supposed to hate this man.
"Ah." The Doctor's eyes narrowed, but he didn't move, studying Ianto while he tried to come up with an answer. "Nothing good, I assume. Nothing the Windhover recorded was ever good." Ianto had to admit he had a point, and it was rather a depressing one at that. Everything it - and he truly needed a name for it because he was growing tired of 'it' - showed him, everything that popped into his mind when he least expected to know something, rarely was it good. Like the fountain, though he appreciated not knowing anything regarding the technology or composition. Did that mean something? Could an entire race be inherently pessimistic, or did that allow them to better appreciate the good when they found it?
"What do you see?" The Doctor's tone left no room for disagreement, though Ianto was tempted to lie through his teeth. He had to know .. of course the Doctor knew. The Doctor was anything but a fool and what was this, a test then?
"Willfull destruction of the planet Gallifrey." Ianto frowned as a question tickled the edges of his mind, but he shoved it aside for the time, along with the painful admission that this was how he was repaying the Doctor for the gift he had given Ianto earlier. The Doctor himself refrained from commenting, just waited. Like he knew and was waiting. Anticipating. Reluctantly, he continued, "Skaro." Ianto felt no sorrow for the loss of that planet. He continued the list, skipping along faster after the first two, "Delphine. Phlxx. Rachid-"
"What?" The Doctor interrupted, but Ianto kept reading. He was only at the beginning of a very large list - he'd started with the planets.
"-Onax. Colony 4582 of the Glends. Colony 4583 of the Glends. Colony 4586 of the Glends. Parallav. Hrulub-"
"Not responsible for that one, either." Scowling, the Doctor waved a hand and Ianto stopped. Not that he really cared to go on. It was bad enough seeing the list within his mind, but saying it aloud made the imperative to do something all the stronger. Sickening. Especially as he couldn't actually do anything.
Ianto didn't think he really wanted to, either.
Did that make him a bad Windhover? A disgrace? He didn't even know what rules he was breaking by not doing anything.
The Doctor began pacing, quick passes which were only a matter of four steps by four steps marked in time by a hand through his hair every sixth step. It was so patterned Ianto wondered if it was intentional, probably was. Ianto crossed his arms and watched, having nothing to add to the half-thoughts and random words which made little sense even when he understood the word itself. Something had agitated the Doctor, that was for certain, but over what? Wasn't the planet names - he'd shown no surprise when Ianto had said Gallifrey. The Doctor didn't think he was responsible for something, but he was.
Wasn't he?
"Well!" The Doctor stopped suddenly, looking as manic as Ianto had ever seen him. A disturbing false smile that never reached his eyes, almost vibrating with pent up energy and Ianto had the urge once again to question the man's sanity. "About time I return you to Cardiff, I reckon. Imagine the TARDIS seems quite dull compared to your adventures with Torchwood and Jack."
Stunned, Ianto had the distinct impression he was being kicked to the curb, which perhaps hours ago he may have believed but now? "Doctor?" He waited for an answer, and quickly shifted any self-directed fears to returning to Cardiff. And Jack. Less fear, more uncertainty. A sort of uncomfortableness like he'd dried a pair of denims and they didn't fit quite right. But definitely less fear.
And a touch of unfairness, which internally some portion of his mind which still entertained childish notions threw a righteous tantrum at the idea of leaving the TARDIS. And the Doctor, who had told him so much already. He'd been around the Windhovers, and he had yet to tell Ianto everything that he had even read on his skin, of the Coterie and the titles and the history, like he'd said was written there. He wanted to know more about the Time Lords, more about Windhover culture, more about everything, and dammit, his source was kicking him off the TARDIS.
Which was another question as well. Was there a reason he got the impressions and emotions from her? He had so many questions, and it simply didn't seem fair.
But he was only a guest. A hijacked guest, but a guest all the same. It just ...
"It appears your knowledge source may be fallible when it comes to me. And the Time Lords." The Doctor's smile had vanished once more, leaving behind the sort of empty hardness Ianto saw so often on Jack's face in the field. Something was terribly wrong. And apparently his information was faulty. How was that possible? The notion was terrifying in its promise - that Ianto couldn't rely on it so dependently as he had in the past. And when he saw others, new faces with their own personal records (if they had one) could he trust what he saw? What if it was wrong too? Or was it, like the Doctor said, just him? "You should get washed up, still have a bit of dust on you from the Hall of Government and we wouldn't want to face the wrath of Jack dirty now, would we?"
The Doctor smiled and retrieved the glasses and the decanter of Meentak wine and left the garden. Ianto wouldn't say he fled but it was definitely in haste. And left little time for Ianto to question the instructions or what was happening or even what he had done and how he could fix it. Topsy-turvy, every which-way and that, Ianto's thoughts tumbled about as he tried to find some order. Some explanation. And mostly, a way to stay, even though he knew staying was most likely not a choice left to him.
It wasn't hardly fair.
Frustrated, Ianto turned to look at the beautiful gardens once more, enjoying the languid setting which was in such contrast to the abrupt mannerisms of the Doctor just now. The water in the fountain still flowed up, diagonally, even parallel to the ground as it was framed spectacularly by millions of stars and galaxies Ianto might know the name of if he ventured closer, but for now, the simplicity pleased him, washed over him, left him feeling refreshed if not a little more calm.
He raised and lowered his wings once, stretching them out to their full width before drawing them close to his body, just because he could.
Here, in the quiet, safe gardens of the TARDIS, he was Windhover.
He was supposed to hate the Doctor, loathe him for all the horrible things Ianto's mind said he'd done, apprehend him so he wouldn't commit any others.
Now, Ianto wasn't so sure.
And for someone who existed outside of time, Ianto mocked himself, he had simply run out.
Next Chapter
Series 'Verse: The Windhovers
Chapter: 7 of 8
Author: sarcasticchick
Pairing: Jack/Ianto
Rating: R
Spoilers: TW S1, S2
Fluffers/Betas: lilithilien
Summary: "All truths are easy to understand once they are discovered; the point is to discover them." - Galileo Galilei
A/N: Okay, so I'm embarrassed. I said with Chapter 5 that the next week would be the last chapter. However, upon writing, the ending tallied up to about 20k words. But I didn't dare post last Monday without the story being done! So, BONUS. 3 chapters for the price of 2 weeks!! Aren't you glad you stuck with me? ;)
Notes and thanks at the end of Chapter 8.
Previous Chapters:
The Windhovers: The Beginning(complete)
The Fledgling (1 of 8)
The Fledgling (2 of 8)
The Fledgling (3 of 8)
The Fledgling (4 of 8)
The Fledgling (5 of 8)
The Fledgling (6 of 8)
Ianto brushed his hands off on his trousers, scowling when the pink particulates did as he'd intended - departed from his hands and replaced themselves on his clothing. But now his trousers were soiled and if there was anything he detested more, it was dirty clothing. Dirty Windhover clothing at that.
At least they hadn't been damaged when the building had collapsed. That would have been unforgivable.
He'd meant the action to have a calming effect. Didn't work.
Not even close. Fuck, his hands shook from anger and restraint.
The Doctor stood near the TARDIS' main console, hands stuffed in his pockets looking remarkably dust-free, which only served to anger Ianto more. Anger as heavy and cloying as the dust which had threatened to choke him when the Rodan's evacuation ship had exploded, so heavy he could barely breathe. Not that he was furious that the ship had exploded with the entire governing body inside; the bastards deserved a much slower punishment for all Ianto was concerned.
They'd enslaved an entire population. Actually, not an entire population, but an entire planet.
Justice meted.
Not perfectly; Ianto still had no clue what course of action was preferred. Arrest? He couldn't have very well arrested the lot, there were no courts, no trials, no governing body of Windhovers standing watch to ensure the Laws were followed. Except for him. And he knew every Law they were breaking, every instance of conflict with the Shadow Proclamation, every detail down to the last Code violation. And he was fucking stymied by his own failure to understand how despite it screaming necessary through every fiber of his being.
The Doctor had done something to disable the Rodans' communications with his sonic screwdriver, and Ianto had stood by and watched him do it. Just watched. Watched and rather feared for his life as the Rodan army gathered and the leaders had begun shouting at the Doctor. But Ianto had watched and did the one thing he knew how to do: he worked on devising a method to ensure the government got their due and to escape.
Not that his plans had mattered, in the end.
The ship with the escaping Rodans had exploded, the Hall of Government collapsing in the wake of the blast.
And Ianto had felt satisfied.
No, that wasn't the source of his anger. Nor was it the Doctor's, whose temper looked to be boiling just beneath the surface as well. Maybe it wasn't anger; Ianto couldn't tell. Didn't very much care, truth be told. Whatever it was, the Doctor was not happy. With him.
Which also satisfied Ianto as he was equally as unhappy with the Doctor.
Defiantly, Ianto raised his chin as he pulled the Blaster 201SX Series off his shoulder and checked the safety. Not a very creative name for the energy weapon of the Rodan, but effective. Especially against the Rodan.
He'd saved the life of a Naveed, one of the native people on the planet. It was worth every ounce of the Doctor's ire.
Quickly dismantling the weapon (he knew how, he just didn't know how he knew), Ianto destroyed the charge crystal and firing block, effectively turning the weapon into nothing more than a child's toy, and turned back to the TARDIS doors, throwing the pieces out because he knew she didn't like the weapon on board.
He didn't give a damn what the Doctor felt, though Ianto knew full-well that the other man loathed the device being on the TARDIS. Hell, he hadn't even liked the weapon being used.
Used. To save a life.
Of course, the Doctor's displeasure may have had something to do in part with Ianto directly disobeying his commands to run and return to the TARDIS. Disorder and panic had swirled around them, a rebellious uprising against the remaining Rodan army by the Naveed. And this one had needed to be saved. Or at least Ianto couldn't stand back and allow him to die, not with the training he'd received from Jack. So he'd broken away, raced to where he had heard the struggle, and protected the Naveed, discharging the Blaster 201SX Series he'd lifted off a fallen Rodan along the way.
He'd disobeyed the Doctor and saved a life, one that had given his thanks and updated Ianto quickly on their rebellion and rescue efforts to assist the Naveed trapped within the remains of the Halls of Government.
Fucking Time Lords anyway.
Ianto had no more than closed the TARDIS door than the Doctor began furiously punching buttons and pulling levers, programming a destination of who knew where, maybe back to Cardiff where the Doctor would drop-kick him to the curb. Perfectly agreeable situation, at this point in time. At any time, really.
The TARDIS lurched to a halt, stopping at some where and when, at the Doctor's whim and desire. Ianto didn't care, he'd take a black hole if it meant getting away from the man. He knew it wasn't all situational, that watching the fall of the Hall of Government and the Doctor's departure from the scene struck a nerve far too close to personal for him to ignore. But there was an underlying ... expectation. Predictability. Ianto just didn't know why.
Or maybe he did know. Fuck he wasn't sure of anything any more within his own mind.
"Small wonder we parted ways." Ianto turned his gaze up towards the ceiling, refusing to continue to look at the Doctor who quite literally glowered from his stance near the console, never speaking a word but Ianto could almost hear the tirade. Did the Doctor tirade? Ianto decided it would be worth the effort to see, because then at least any shouting on his part would be justifiable. "That's what Time Lords do, yeah? Sit back idly and watch civilizations fall unless it serves you to act at all."
"Spoken like a Windhover," scoffed the Doctor, sounding closer to Ianto's ears than his distance ought to have pitched. Lowering his gaze, Ianto felt his jaw clench, teeth grinding against each other until he forcibly stilled it. The Doctor was closer, leaning with arms crossed against a pillar, a casual pose that Ianto knew was anything but. Not that he believed the Doctor would actually physically fight. No, that was beneath him. "You lot never once thought about the consequences, always wandering in, mucking about with things you couldn't possibly understand."
"Right." Ianto laughed, more a bark than a laugh for as sharp as it sounded to his ears. Mucking about. He was pretty sure the Naveed he saved wouldn't call it 'mucking about'. And what had been so wrong about that? The Rodan soldier had been unjustified in his actions, and despite the destruction of the governing body, was still killing the Naveeds. There were so many violations of Law Ianto could have spent hours detailing it. In the end, he hadn't needed to. The Rodan had turned a weapon on him and he'd fired without hesitation, just as Jack and Torchwood One had trained him. Of course the Doctor would call it 'mucking about' - the Doctor had started it when he'd landed on the planet and 'accidentally' ended up confronting the controlling Rodans. The uprising wouldn't have started had the Rodans not tried to flee.
"You go flitting about the Universe in your little ship," Ianto continued, ignoring any soothing attempts by the TARDIS as he felt every crime the Doctor was responsible for. Windhover-instinct or purely human Ianto had no clue, he found the more he knew about himself the less he knew, but there was little doubt of his anger. "Dip your fingers into grand situations that you deem worthy of your effort, then dash off before you see consequences other than how it affects your bloody timelines." Anger. The whole fucking bridge was filled with anger and not all of it his. "How many lives will you destroy in the name of 'good' in order to assuage your guilt?"
"You know nothing." The words spoken by the Doctor were more warning than commentary on Ianto's intelligence, he could hear it the way 'nothing' sparked off the Doctor's tongue to envelop the space within the TARDIS. Warning, and even if Ianto hadn't turned to look, he would have known it. But he did turn, the Doctor appearing the same as he'd always seen but it was the eyes that just seemed ancient. Warning indeed. "You're just a child of a race no better than the Judoon."
Ianto felt the slap of the words even if there was nothing physical and fuck if his proverbial feathers didn't ruffle in affront. If he wore his Windhover wings they probably would have been; as it was, his fingernails dug into his palms and he swore he could feel the heat radiating off his body as he demonstrated what he thought was considerable restraint.
He and the Judoon were nothing alike. They were mercenaries who enjoyed the hunt and kill. He didn't ... he didn't know what the hell the Windhovers did when arresting and sentencing someone, but it wasn't killing. He knew it wasn't. And though it may be a last resort in the name of protecting a life, they didn't kill for pleasure. He didn't kill for pleasure.
He didn't.
The Windhovers didn't.
Ianto knew.
With a start, his eyes narrowed as he realized the Doctor was goading him. Maybe not goading; intentionally striking to hurt with barbs that felt as ancient as the storm behind his eyes. Well, fuck him. "Canary Wharf."
"What?" Ianto almost smirked at the incredulity frozen on the Doctor's face. Almost. And he was rather glad he hadn't when the tableau shattered and animation vibrated every limb of the Doctor before he shoved his hands in his pockets and paced furiously, long coat swirling with each turn. Jaguar; smooth and graceful, power barely contained. "I stopped two invasions Torchwood was ignorant enough to start!"
"And then you left, just like today, without bothering to check for survivors. Duty done, after all," Ianto sneered, using a tone only Owen heard. It sounded without effort, his voice too hard and tensely coiled to crack while memories of that day replayed in his head. Coworkers panicked, screaming as they ran while the Cybermen aimed their weapons at the ones who didn't halt. Crackles of the radios while agents shouted for backup to confront the Daleks, to confront the Cybermen, but it was too much technology , too much power, too much metal to fight when they were simply too human. And the rubble and bodies, smoking in the corridors when silence fell, the awe of salvation overpowering, for a moment, all pain.
And then the screaming had begun anew, fresh wails of agony and pleading for death. Metal parts and bleeding skin. "Drop in, leave a footprint so people will know you were there, then off again before you learn any of the faces you're leaving behind." Ianto continued his tirade, for that's what it was, never stopping or pausing. Ianto didn't even think it was about the Time Lords and Windhovers now. Maybe it never was. Maybe it always was. "We burned, Doctor. Innocents died. And you left, just like today. What good are your fucking timelines if you abandon the people in them?"
"You fool." The Doctor's voice came out as a hiss, barely audible over the harsh sounds of someone's breathing. His, Ianto belatedly realized, the sudden awareness surprising him to silence. "You were all fools, thinking you could protect everyone, and look where it got you?" Ianto flinched, but didn't look away, couldn't move, really. "Didn't care about the ripples you caused saving one more life, just thought yourselves untouchable angels."
Ianto stubbornly squared his jaw, knowing the Doctor was wrong. He was wrong.; The Windhovers had been successful with their Laws and enforcement; their stories and poems had been filled first with the creation and then the progression to enforcement. And they'd done good. He knew they had. There'd been some rogue Coteries, but for the most part, people had lived because of them. Or at least they'd tried.
Hadn't they?
No. The Doctor was wrong. Ianto knew he was. He knew. The Doctor had left and Lisa had ... and he'd ... Fuck him. And the Time Lords. They'd ignored the Windhovers'. Didn't fit into their crucial timelines. Hell, even his mind sneered the word in mockery. Where were they now? Off watching the genesis of a star or arguing amongst themselves whether they should intervene in a planet's collapse or spend their time twiddling with Distributed Cluster Algebra. Not that Ianto knew what the hell that was and it meant fuck all to most of the Universes but it was more important than trying to save one life. "And you all think you're bloody gods."
Silence.
He counted his breaths - twenty-seven - between his last word and any reaction on the Doctor's face. Trouble was, Ianto couldn't define what that reaction was when it did happen, flashing across his eyes, his lips; even his hair appeared to express whatever it was the Doctor was thinking. Being. And for a moment, all Ianto could feel was grief.
And only for a moment, because he was the first to move and the first to leave, escaping out of the bridge of the TARDIS not in a run but in haste. He didn't understand. Any of it. All of it. Ianto felt both guilty as hell for what he said and yet justified, and he couldn't read the Doctor. He'd just stood there, a mask so thick Ianto couldn't tell if he was about to strike Ianto down or hug him, though hugging was likely not on the Doctor's list. Only his eyes said anything at all and they no longer looked ancient just ... old.
Old and .. other. Something. Something that scared the shit out of Ianto.
That's it. He was fucking terrified but he didn't know why. Maybe that's why he'd left the bridge, afraid he'd crossed a line. No, Ianto knew he had, but that didn't matter.
He was scared. Not scared of the Doctor, he was just a bloody Time Lord. Just. He could hear the laughter in his mind, and had to agree that had been a bit arrogant for someone who didn't even know how to fucking reproduce. Create more. To do...
And that was it. He was scared of himself. For everything he knew, he understood even less. Ianto had no clue why he was so angry with the Doctor and yet he had reasons that made sense. He didn't know who he was or what any of it meant any longer. What life meant. Which was absurd because apparently Windhovers didn't live they existed. They were. Somehow. Which followed no bloody logic and if he couldn't understand what he was how the hell was he to do anything? How could he be Windhover?
He terrified himself.
And whether it had been a reflection of himself or the Doctor within those eyes that looked so old, Ianto rather thought the terror was the same.
***
The sound of the door opening didn't startle him; Ianto had known the Doctor was standing outside the moment the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. For a while, Ianto almost thought he was going to just leave; it wasn't like Ianto was getting into any trouble sitting on the steps leading into the TARDIS' garden. Not that he'd even picked the garden as his destination, he hadn't really had a plan quite honestly but the door he opened which he thought was going to be his bedroom ended up being the entrance to a truly magnificent garden.
He must have made a wrong turn, somewhere. Though he'd never made one before and it wasn't like he was so distressed that he was out of sorts.
At least he didn't think so. He may feel a bit like he had when he was a teen and just needed to run, just for an hour, to escape his mother's latest slip, but he wasn't completely distressed. Air, and quiet. This place ... it provided it all.
The garden was breathtaking in size and beauty, making Ianto wonder if it was something the Doctor had cultivated or if it was more the TARDIS' doings. Plants and flowers of every imaginable shape and color lined pathways and beds, filling the room with the scent of blossoms and, well, dirt, but it was a richer, organic smell than that. Deeper, and definitely not originating from Earth. Ianto imagined that if the soil was taken to Earth and crops grown, the harvest would be remarkable. Maybe. Maybe it really was just dirt.
A fountain curved its way to the ceiling in the middle of the garden, looking impossible in all its splendor as it seemed to defy gravity. Or rather, the water seemed to, spilling off the fountain's branches in all ways but down to strike the next twist and follow its path. Ianto had lost himself in the design, trying to trace the water's flow, but eventually he had to stop for fear his mind would just rebel from what appeared impossible.
Not all the impossible was actually that, he was learning. And a stunning fountain backlit by the stars with water that flowed up and sideways and diagonally would just have to be admired, rather than questioned. And for once, his mind remained silent, didn't detail the mineral properties of the marble-crystal-looking sculpture, didn't tell him what technology was being used to make the water travel as it did. It simply was, and Ianto could appreciate the artistry in that.
What actually had surprised Ianto was when the Doctor had sat down on the step right next to him, literally in his personal space and almost awkwardly close. Thigh-to-thigh, hip-to-hip; Ianto couldn't move his shoulders at all without brushing against the Doctor's. But the Doctor didn't move, didn't correct the placement of his arse on the step, instead he handed Ianto a shallow cup - crystal? Maybe glass. He was pretty sure it was alcohol in the decanter the Doctor poured from, however. Poured two glasses of the amber beverage and held his up for a toast.
Very strange. Very odd. And completely unexpected.
The Doctor drank?
Ianto for one was relieved for the feeling of 'normal' as he clinked his glass against the Doctor's; it would have been rude for him not to but he didn't voice a toast. Didn't quite know what to say, and it had always served him best to say nothing at all under those circumstances. The drink looked like a fine whiskey, though the nose told him nothing as it didn't smell of any whiskey he knew. It tasted ... something sweet, like honey only less sugar-sweet and more ... gold tingling his taste buds. A hint of bitter, dry and rough as it settled full on his tongue. And ... green. Could the color green have a taste? Cool and fresh, yet at the same time dark and alive. Not literally, Ianto was firmly against consuming anything that might squirm in his mouth, but he could taste it, that feeling one got in the spring when everything was in bloom, or a near-death experience when one realized they still breathed. It had a flavor upon his tongue.
Definitely alcohol, though. He could feel it burn a path down his throat, hit his stomach and almost ... splash out, instantly spilling golden-tingling warmth throughout his body. Truly exquisite, and Ianto swore he could feel the smile on the Doctor's face as he must have enjoyed the same. Ianto didn't know for sure, though, the Doctor may have been scowling for all Ianto determinedly did not look at the man. Their earlier confrontation still rang in his ears and he didn't know whether to apologize or renew it; he was pretty sure the Doctor hadn't forgotten it so soon either.
So they didn't say anything at all, which made the company almost ... pleasant. Didn't mean Ianto wasn't intensely aware of the man while they sat like conjoined twins staring at the fountain in the center of the garden and sipped alien alcohol in tandem. Whether it was the subdued anxiety that was always present when the Doctor was around that currently was more muted than loud or the physical touch of another that made Ianto relax, he wasn't sure. Given it was the Doctor he shouldn't have relaxed at all. He unwound all the same, grounded by the solid, immovable wall which had inexplicably planted himself right beside Ianto.
And refilled their glasses when both their drinks were gone.
"Rose Tyler."
Ianto blinked as the silence vanished, broken by a name that some how sounded familiar to him but foreign all the same. He knew that name, not through the Windhovers or anything of the sort, but he'd seen it somewhere.
"I lost her, at Canary Wharf." Ah, that was how Ianto knew her. Her name had been on the list of the missing, presumed dead - along with far too many others. He felt the words he'd spoken earlier creep into his throat, choking off any attempt to speak. Which apparently suited the Doctor as he continued. "Well, not that I lost her-lost her. I know exactly where she is, so I suppose she isn't lost, more cosmically displaced in a parallel universe." Ianto had no idea how that was possible, but he still wasn't entirely sure of how the Doctor had defeated the Daleks and Cybermen either. Had he sent them to a parallel world, to threaten someone else? The idea was disturbing and upset some of the calm Ianto had been feeling. "Very nearly sucked into the Void when Pete saved her, but trapped her in his world. All the powers of a god, Mr. Jones, and she's beyond my reach."
Ianto didn't miss the bitter, self-mocking tone at the end of what the Doctor had said, and even if he had missed it, the slight shoulder nudge he received would have clued him in. Did the Doctor honestly think he was that dense? Owen, maybe.
"Lisa Hallett," Ianto stated after taking a moment to address the matter of 'courage' by taking a sip of his drink. Not that it helped, but he did understand, for once, the Doctor's motives. "She survived the initial incursion as a partially converted Cyberman. I tried to save her. Thought I could." Ianto's smile felt more like a grimace for all he'd intended it to be regretful reminiscence. Fuck, the ripples it'd caused. "She killed two before Jack- before Torchwood Three could stop her." The glass in his hand provided a good distraction as he swirled the liquid, watching the amber color cling briefly to the edges before sinking back into the pool. He did wonder, for a moment, if he stood next to the fountain would his drink just continue its movement upwards? "I think," Ianto scowled as he tried to voice his next thoughts, but no matter what words he came up with, it just sounded wrong given what he knew now. "She tried to kill me," he settled on, tapping a finger against the glass, "and I still couldn't stop trying."
'Because I loved her,' went without saying, though neither spoke a word once Ianto finished talking. There were thousands of recriminations Ianto supposed he deserved, especially following what the Doctor had said - and who he'd lost. Hell, he'd inadvertently nearly rekindled the invasion the Doctor had stopped because Ianto simply hadn't considered what could happen if she had been too far gone.
Course, the Doctor hadn't stopped to think of the twenty-seven survivors either. Maybe he had, and simply didn't care.
It was petty and self-centered, Ianto knew, but to him it was important. Even if the Doctor had been immersed in grief for losing Rose, he could have helped while Torchwood One fell. Maybe more would have survived. Maybe Lisa ... talk about ripples.
Or maybe he was still looking for someone to blame.
Which made it all the more confusing, sitting shoulder-to-shoulder, thigh-to-thigh with the man while they drank alien alcohol and stared at a fountain that flowed up.
"I owe you an apology." Ianto knew he did, but that didn't make the words any easier to force off his tongue. The alcohol helped a bit, smoothing out the edges, but it still felt like petting a hedgehog the wrong way.
"Nah. You were right." Ianto couldn't stop himself from looking at the Doctor in surprise, an action not overtly witnessed by the other man as he continued to watch the fountain, but Ianto saw the slight curl of a smile touch the Doctor's lips. Oh, he'd been seen alright. "And so was I. This isn't the first time these arguments have been made, Mr. Jones, though before there were far more robes and fancy speak and absolutely no Meentak wine. Which was most unfortunate as the whole lot of them were so dreadfully boring."
Ianto snorted in amusement before he could check himself, mentally absolving himself by deciding that it must have been the Meentak wine, not any sort of congeniality found in the Doctor's words or attitude. He was supposed to loathe the man. Wasn't he? He had a list of reasons why he ought to, but a list of contrary reasons was rapidly growing as well which begged the question, 'was he wrong?'
He wasn't sure which terrified him more; that the information was faulty or for having believed so quickly that it could be as simple as black and white.
"Ianto," he corrected, not really sure if it was the Doctor's preference to refer to someone by their last name or if it had been merely politeness after having had a gun directed on him as their first introduction. But they were long past such formalities, though Ianto knew better than to refer to the Doctor by his name. There were some things one simply did not do and Ianto knew this was to be respected without question.
The Doctor looked quite pleased with himself as he topped off their glasses, but Ianto refrained from retracting his permission just to be difficult. Barely. He may have bitten his tongue in the process, but he would always deny if ever asked.
"Ianto." The Doctor repeated the name like he was practicing it, though Ianto knew it hadn't been the first time he'd used it. He did say it with the proper accent, unlike Jack's "Yan-toe" which should have annoyed him but was more endearing than not. "You ought to tell Jack." Ianto couldn't help the scowl as he remembered having said the same thing to the Doctor in regards to the man's care for Jack, and he couldn't believe the Doctor was throwing it back at him. Especially now. "Contrary to how the situation was resolved with the Cyberman, he holds no prejudices against species."
Ah. Was that why he was wary of telling Jack, because he believed it possible that Jack might kill him as a consequence of being alien? Perhaps subconsciously, because he still remembered Jack standing with the smoking gun?
Ianto gave the idea time to crawl across his mind, encountering all logic and emotional pitfalls along the way, including an instinctual need for secrecy borne of being Windhover. That wasn't imagined, he'd felt the same reservations in the company of Lester and Dr. Ramamurthy. And even with the Doctor. But how much of it was just the Windhover, and how much of it was an honest fear of Jack?
Fuck, he had no clue.
But he knew it wasn't entirely their shared past with Lisa. "And if he hunted my kind during his time at the Time Agency?" And it also wasn't just his fear that Jack would attempt to kill him. "Or if my Coterie was one that ought to have been hunted?" Because there had been those Coteries, rogue Coteries and criminal Coteries, breaking the same Laws that the others fought to enforce. Ianto had read those tales, of the epic battles between a lawful and criminal Windhover Coterie, chasing each other about the Universes and time. None of those had a happy ending, for any involved.
And he still knew nothing.
"Nearly all races had divisions which sought to capture or destroy the Windhover, Ianto. Even mine." The Doctor smirked, pausing a moment with his glass to his lips. "Human kind is not an exception." Ianto's breath caught and he swore his heart rate irrationally quadrupled in the span between the Doctor's words and the time it took for him to take a drink. A thousand thoughts twisted into a tangled, panicked heap in his gut before Ianto could calm himself. If the Doctor meant to kill him, he'd have had ample opportunity already. Although, it could be argued that he had been captured, even though the Doctor insisted that he was not a prisoner aboard the TARDIS. And Ianto would like to believe him unconditionally on that fact, if he was to believe anything at all. "Well, they did infiltrate our ranks with a Coterie that identified as Time Lords. How you managed that gave us fits when it was discovered. I thought it was rather brilliant, myself. Imagine that, Windhover Time Lords! Completely outside of possible, yet there it was!"
Ianto didn't say anything as he had no idea why it was so impossible for Windhovers to be Time Lords when Windhovers could be humans or apparently any race they wished to intermingle with. Intermingle was perhaps the wrong word. Blend? The Doctor had taken the time to explain the whole identification concept as best he could explain it when Ianto had asked if he could take any form he wished, since he existed more as a concept than an actual physical being. A complex babbling of rationale later, and Ianto thought he understood it to an extent. Technically, he could, and the older more experienced Windhovers most likely could. But since he was raised believing fully that he was human with the face that he wore, it was difficult to get past the intense self-identification. He looked like 'Ianto' when he changed to his Windhover form because he believed so internally that he was 'Ianto.' To change form or face would run against such a strong belief.
That session made his head hurt trying to grasp the idea.
But what the Doctor had said about Windhover Time Lords, and how he spoke with such eager wonder, left Ianto wondering if perhaps that wasn't the answer to the clothing stored on the TARDIS and that he now wore. Bit unnerving, really, he'd avoided the thought that he was wearing someone else's clothing by just leaving it generalized 'made for Windhovers.' But if a Windhover Time Lord had possibly traveled with the Doctor in the past, maybe because the Doctor was what, unwilling to turn them over?
That put a major kink in how Ianto viewed the Doctor.
"Stand up."
Ianto blinked at the sudden command and the sudden loss of 'wall' next to him which caused him to shift to the side before he could correct the movement. Warily he stood, because if there was anything he'd learned during his time with the Doctor, one could never predict what mood or action he would take next. He kept his drink, however. It was too good to discard, plus, whatever the Doctor intended might just require a drink.
"Will you show me?"
For a moment - and only the briefest of moments that he would ever admit to - Ianto interpreted the Doctor's request as he wished to see Ianto's cock. Alarmed, it finally occurred to him that he'd been around Jack apparently far more than proper because instead of an innocent request, it morphed into something sex-related, and while Jack might think it amusing or even a positive quality, Ianto found it disturbing at best.
That the one soliciting the response was the Doctor, and Ianto's mind had dipped to where it had, made it all the more humiliating.
Ianto quickly shoved the thought aside, praying to every deity he knew that the Doctor was not a mind-reader. He had asked with a certain respect, as though he would consider it an honor. The 'why' escaped Ianto, but given that the Doctor had never before asked to see, he had to wonder if there wasn't some kind of secrecy involved in revealing his Windhover form. Form in this Universe, Ianto corrected himself as he was fairly certain that beyond the Veil he would exist as ... some thing else. Technically not 'thing' as things simply weren't beyond the Veil but he wouldn't look as he appeared now.
The Doctor was asking Ianto to show himself.
Rather than question it, Ianto believed there was a sort of ... intimacy ... about revealing what the Doctor was asking for. Maybe not intimacy, but definitely a level of trust that Ianto hadn't believed existed between them. Or perhaps maybe it did. The Windhovers shrouded themselves in masks of perfect species identity, for goodness sakes, passing themselves off completely as though they were actually that race. Fooling all equipment. Even TARDIS'.
It just wasn't done.
At least not often.
He'd been unnerved back at Lester's, preferring to avoid scrutiny than engage socially with all who stepped into Lester's home. Was there more to that than Ianto finding solace, hiding in shame of wings and avoiding the stares at the marks upon his skin?
Possible, he supposed.
Not like he knew anything to give a definitive anyways.
But the Doctor had asked. That meant ... something.
Of course, it could be an elaborate ploy for Ianto to reveal himself to a Windhover hunter who would then use his superior knowledge to kill him before Ianto could draw a breath. A most positive thought, he chided himself, but the fear once considered didn't go away.
He had another option, not to do anything at all. Refuse the Doctor. He'd only asked, after all.
Ianto looked at the glass in his hand before drinking the contents in one go and handing the glass back to the Doctor. Not that there had been anything more than a swig remaining, but he felt a bit like a man approaching his death enjoying his last meal. And really, if his last taste was going to be Meentak wine, Ianto supposed life could have been worse.
Focusing inward, Ianto touched the something that he instinctively was aware of but knew wouldn't exist on any scanning device. Focused and felt the slight give of fabric at his back as the heady rush of home for a moment clouded his mind, filling his whole being with a rush of purple-grey and the taste of Meentak wine. Not that it actually tasted, but if it had a flavor it would be that wine, Ianto decided.
He stretched his wings, unencumbered as they were by the vast space of the garden with the fountain that flowed up. And out. And every direction except where one would assume it'd flow. It'd been so long since he'd existed as ... this - as himself - and the shift was breathtaking. Not that he felt any different, not really. Everything smelled the same as it had, sounded the same as it had, even looked the same. Nothing was different - aside from the wings and the marks, Ianto supposed - other than just simply ... being.
A smile grew, one that Ianto couldn't stop had he tried, not that he made any great effort. He'd just forgotten what it was like; although maybe he'd never felt the relief before. Ianto had been in such fear and confusion at Lester's that even had he wanted to enjoy the experience, he couldn't. And after leaving Lester's, well, he'd never changed back. Too afraid he'd be caught. Too afraid Jack would know. Too afraid of well, being anything other than human.
But on the TARDIS...
"Oh, now aren't you beautiful."
Ianto remembered quickly that he wasn't the only one in the garden, in fact, he kicked himself for not remembering. It was the Doctor. He should be aware of the Doctor even if Ianto hadn't been concerned for his own safety and the other man's possibly nefarious motivations. But he'd forgotten, for a moment.
And that moment had been wonderful.
The Doctor, to his credit, didn't appear murderous to Ianto, which quickly diminished any anxiety he felt over his brief inattention. He looked ... both somber and ecstatic, serene and excited, like Christmas and Remembrance Day and a birthday all rolled into one, a combination of expressions which Ianto knew couldn't possibly exist on a human.
Ianto could see grief too, and he assumed that the Doctor may have known some Windhover rather well.
The Doctor took one step forward, then stopped, seeming as though he'd surprised himself. "May I?"
Nodding because he really didn't understand what the Doctor was asking for and he felt it rather embarrassing to have him clarify, Ianto stood impossibly still as the Doctor approached, the little corner of doubt reviving as the other man stepped closer.
"Black was the sole color of the R'te-phire Coterie, and only the R'te-phire bore that color in its purest shade as you do," the Doctor began, standing close enough for Ianto to hug without reaching, if he'd wanted. Apparently the Doctor hadn't learned the rules of personal space, but Ianto didn't move. He couldn't.
R'te-phire.
The name turned over and over in his mind, spinning wildly while Ianto tried to remember to breathe. Something. He knew something about himself. About ... shit. He could feel his whole body tremble, every last feather in his wings quiver with the knowledge, and Ianto hoped the Doctor wouldn't notice. Not that he cared particularly. R'te-phire. But the Doctor made it difficult to ignore him, his hands flashing over Ianto's face that took a moment before he realized-
The Doctor was reading.
"Color of your wings designates the Coterie, and your markings, Ianto of the R'te-phire," the Doctor spoke the name again and Ianto memorized it, implanted the sounds and the twists so he'd never forget it, he swore not even in death would he forget it. "Your markings tell of your lineage, the titles and the history, in every curve and straight line." A finger followed a coil into his hairline before tracing a delicate line just under his eye. Ianto would have moved, but he couldn't.
R'te-phire.
"Not typically human identification, perhaps they were desperate and couldn't take the time ah, yes, an ancient Coterie and an equally old H'd-tobi, they would have known. Of course they had known, they couldn't possibly have not known given who they, oh. Well, now that's very interesting."
The Doctor's hands had moved to his neck when they paused, the sudden complete lack of movement feeling as jarring had Ianto been the one in motion.
Had Ianto been capable of moving, he might have over-corrected due to the sensation.
But he couldn't. He just stared speechless at the Doctor, remembering everything he said to ask him later what the hell he meant.
The Doctor was reading his skin.
Time had most certainly stopped within the TARDIS, Ianto didn't breathe and he couldn't hear the water in the fountain tumbling up. Or maybe it still was flowing and it was only he that stopped, anticipation winding him so coiled that he didn't dare blink for fear of bursting.
"I knew ... well, I knew a few within the R'te-phire." The hands were moving again, running up a line curving over Ianto's jaw. "Not the H'd-tobi that created you, Ishaan and Inaani, but others. They ... tolerated me." With a smile that was perhaps more secretive than open, the Doctor touched Ianto's cheek, a confusing gesture as Ianto knew there were no marks at that spot on his skin. "They were a brave people, just, and a bit more scholarly than the rest of them." The Doctor's finger tapped his cheek twice, focusing all of Ianto's attention on what he saying, as though Ianto had been doing anything else. "Cast out any other scary thoughts you might be entertaining in that head of yours, Ianto of the R'te-phre. You'd bring dishonor to their name if you believed them anything but good."
Ianto opened his mouth to speak, then closed it before he could say anything trite or inane after the Doctor's words. Nothing seemed appropriate and the sense of overwhelming ... everything ... completely stripped his vocabulary of anything other than syllabic nonsense.
He was supposed to hate this man.
He should; Ianto had countless reasons to hate him.
But he'd just given Ianto a gift that bordered on impossible. Intangibles, like Jack visiting every day while Ianto was at Providence or Tosh combing his hair or even Owen looking after the Torchwood One survivors. Unquantifiable and something he could never repay. Not that they'd ever ask to be repaid; at least Ianto assumed what the Doctor had said came unconditionally. His origins, his kind. The Doctor could be lying, Ianto had never thought to look at it as a script before and not just ... a doodle Jack drew on important UNIT documents. This would be one hell of a charade, though, because the Doctor was staring at him, open and honest and his words hadn't been overwhelming that certainly was.
The R'te-phire were good.
For reasons he couldn't explain, that meant more to Ianto than anything the Doctor could have said, relief snapping back with such force that it almost hurt. At least that was the excuse Ianto fed himself as to why his eyes were a bit watery. He looked up at the ceiling, not really rotating his head since he could still feel the Doctor's hands on his face, just his eyes, glancing away for a moment to get his thoughts under control, to moisten lips a bit dry from the alcohol and above all, maintain his composure.
Which was difficult. Incredibly difficult. Swallowing-hard-around-the-lump-in-his-throat difficult.
It was the fear thing. Fear of himself, fear of not knowing, fear of knowing, fear of never knowing. It didn't matter the angle, he was terrified. But this ... helped. Not that he wasn't still scared shitless, but his Coterie had been one of the good ones. One that the Doctor had known and respected. It shouldn't matter but it did.
When he dropped his eyes from the ceiling and refocused on the Doctor's face, Ianto rather thought the Doctor knew just how much it mattered.
"Thank you." Ianto sincerely meant those words, although his voice came didn't come out quite as he had intended, roughened like he had actually wept for an hour. He cleared his throat but couldn't think of anything more to say that hadn't been summed up in those two words.
"The thanks is mine." The Doctor's serious expression vanished quickly, and in its place a smile so wicked Ianto wondered if the man was channeling Jack. "I'm assuming you've writing all over, the R'te-phire were an ancient Coterie as Ishaan and Inaani were elders among the Windhover. If I was Jack, I'd say something shamelessly depraved when asking if you'd remove your kit." So the Doctor was channeling Jack. "Though, I suppose I could just ask you to show me again."
This time Ianto couldn't stop the blush which stained his cheeks what he assumed was a remarkable shade of red. Probably his neck too, as true embarrassment tended to encapsulate his whole body instead of just angry dots high on his cheeks. Which the Doctor was still touching, rather unnecessarily so as he was no longer reading, maybe he was and he just wasn't telling Ianto?
And he wanted to read more? Or was he just taking the piss?
Fuck, he'd caught the line of thought Ianto had followed (briefly) earlier. Maybe he had blushed when he'd considered it. Or maybe the Doctor was psychic.
Whatever the case, the Doctor had appeared to have amused himself, chuckling at Ianto's expense. Not that Ianto terribly minded, he supposed it could be considered amusing. He didn't laugh though, he was more curious than not.
"What do you see, when you look at me?" The words tumbled out of his mouth before Ianto could think to apply a filter. Or censor them altogether. But as reason caught up with what he had asked, it made all the more sense. Long ago, the Doctor had said in his human form Ianto appeared human, with no deviation. And if Ianto technically existed outside of time and space in this form, then what would a Time Lord see? Would he see anything different?
"I see," the Doctor tilted Ianto's face for different angles in the lighting, though Ianto suspected it was more for show since there hadn't appeared to be a primary source of the light in the room, "Ianto Jones, fragile human surrounded by the impossible, scribing itself into words of the R'te-phire. The words feel," and again the Doctor's fingers tracing lines over Ianto's cheek, down to his jaw where the fingers stopped, "like all the brilliant ideas ever thought would feel if I could touch them. And it tastes-" Ianto's breath caught as the Doctor's lips pressed against his, actual thought losing its footing and tumbling to a crumpled heap while the Doctor tasted. Crackled, time so solid in form as it fought for place against its opposite that the collision sparked new universes, stacked time over time as they spiraled away from the nothing that bound them. Not nothing, everything existing in the complete absence of all things, pressing, pushing against the stubborn time which bent only to curl around and reclaim ground but never space, infinite in its absoluteness, defined by the undefined.
At least that's what it felt like to Ianto when the Doctor pulled away, a soft "fuck" breathed out, not in curse but wonder.
"Tastes like," the Doctor smacked his lips repeatedly, looking odd but Ianto recognized the trick of drawing air over taste buds to enhance and draw out subtle flavors. "Meentak wine."
Ianto blinked, his mind refusing to play along until it slowly caught up with the fact that the Doctor had known the precise 'taste' before he'd ... oh, the Doctor had known and was teasing. The smirk that stretched across the man's face would put any of Jack's to shame. And he'd known exactly what sort of reaction it'd have on Ianto, which made the clothing perhaps more understandable. Questionable? Curious.
He had asked, he supposed. Sort of.
"And what of you, Ianto Jones of the R'te-phire." The Doctor stepped away, hands in his pockets as he did a quick pirouette, still engaged but a much more somber tone than before. "When you look at me, what do you see?"
He couldn't help himself. The moment the question was asked Ianto flinched, the simple query reminding him of what he had been rather successfully ignoring, scrolling past his mind's eye faster than he could really read but he was aware of all the details. They'd always been there, since the day Ianto had first met the Doctor through this moment in the garden with the fountain that flowed up, perhaps even more so standing before the Doctor with his Windhover wings stretched wide, the names of his Coterie and their nature still ringing in his ears, and his lips still tingling from the Doctor's 'taste'.
Ianto was supposed to hate this man.
"Ah." The Doctor's eyes narrowed, but he didn't move, studying Ianto while he tried to come up with an answer. "Nothing good, I assume. Nothing the Windhover recorded was ever good." Ianto had to admit he had a point, and it was rather a depressing one at that. Everything it - and he truly needed a name for it because he was growing tired of 'it' - showed him, everything that popped into his mind when he least expected to know something, rarely was it good. Like the fountain, though he appreciated not knowing anything regarding the technology or composition. Did that mean something? Could an entire race be inherently pessimistic, or did that allow them to better appreciate the good when they found it?
"What do you see?" The Doctor's tone left no room for disagreement, though Ianto was tempted to lie through his teeth. He had to know .. of course the Doctor knew. The Doctor was anything but a fool and what was this, a test then?
"Willfull destruction of the planet Gallifrey." Ianto frowned as a question tickled the edges of his mind, but he shoved it aside for the time, along with the painful admission that this was how he was repaying the Doctor for the gift he had given Ianto earlier. The Doctor himself refrained from commenting, just waited. Like he knew and was waiting. Anticipating. Reluctantly, he continued, "Skaro." Ianto felt no sorrow for the loss of that planet. He continued the list, skipping along faster after the first two, "Delphine. Phlxx. Rachid-"
"What?" The Doctor interrupted, but Ianto kept reading. He was only at the beginning of a very large list - he'd started with the planets.
"-Onax. Colony 4582 of the Glends. Colony 4583 of the Glends. Colony 4586 of the Glends. Parallav. Hrulub-"
"Not responsible for that one, either." Scowling, the Doctor waved a hand and Ianto stopped. Not that he really cared to go on. It was bad enough seeing the list within his mind, but saying it aloud made the imperative to do something all the stronger. Sickening. Especially as he couldn't actually do anything.
Ianto didn't think he really wanted to, either.
Did that make him a bad Windhover? A disgrace? He didn't even know what rules he was breaking by not doing anything.
The Doctor began pacing, quick passes which were only a matter of four steps by four steps marked in time by a hand through his hair every sixth step. It was so patterned Ianto wondered if it was intentional, probably was. Ianto crossed his arms and watched, having nothing to add to the half-thoughts and random words which made little sense even when he understood the word itself. Something had agitated the Doctor, that was for certain, but over what? Wasn't the planet names - he'd shown no surprise when Ianto had said Gallifrey. The Doctor didn't think he was responsible for something, but he was.
Wasn't he?
"Well!" The Doctor stopped suddenly, looking as manic as Ianto had ever seen him. A disturbing false smile that never reached his eyes, almost vibrating with pent up energy and Ianto had the urge once again to question the man's sanity. "About time I return you to Cardiff, I reckon. Imagine the TARDIS seems quite dull compared to your adventures with Torchwood and Jack."
Stunned, Ianto had the distinct impression he was being kicked to the curb, which perhaps hours ago he may have believed but now? "Doctor?" He waited for an answer, and quickly shifted any self-directed fears to returning to Cardiff. And Jack. Less fear, more uncertainty. A sort of uncomfortableness like he'd dried a pair of denims and they didn't fit quite right. But definitely less fear.
And a touch of unfairness, which internally some portion of his mind which still entertained childish notions threw a righteous tantrum at the idea of leaving the TARDIS. And the Doctor, who had told him so much already. He'd been around the Windhovers, and he had yet to tell Ianto everything that he had even read on his skin, of the Coterie and the titles and the history, like he'd said was written there. He wanted to know more about the Time Lords, more about Windhover culture, more about everything, and dammit, his source was kicking him off the TARDIS.
Which was another question as well. Was there a reason he got the impressions and emotions from her? He had so many questions, and it simply didn't seem fair.
But he was only a guest. A hijacked guest, but a guest all the same. It just ...
"It appears your knowledge source may be fallible when it comes to me. And the Time Lords." The Doctor's smile had vanished once more, leaving behind the sort of empty hardness Ianto saw so often on Jack's face in the field. Something was terribly wrong. And apparently his information was faulty. How was that possible? The notion was terrifying in its promise - that Ianto couldn't rely on it so dependently as he had in the past. And when he saw others, new faces with their own personal records (if they had one) could he trust what he saw? What if it was wrong too? Or was it, like the Doctor said, just him? "You should get washed up, still have a bit of dust on you from the Hall of Government and we wouldn't want to face the wrath of Jack dirty now, would we?"
The Doctor smiled and retrieved the glasses and the decanter of Meentak wine and left the garden. Ianto wouldn't say he fled but it was definitely in haste. And left little time for Ianto to question the instructions or what was happening or even what he had done and how he could fix it. Topsy-turvy, every which-way and that, Ianto's thoughts tumbled about as he tried to find some order. Some explanation. And mostly, a way to stay, even though he knew staying was most likely not a choice left to him.
It wasn't hardly fair.
Frustrated, Ianto turned to look at the beautiful gardens once more, enjoying the languid setting which was in such contrast to the abrupt mannerisms of the Doctor just now. The water in the fountain still flowed up, diagonally, even parallel to the ground as it was framed spectacularly by millions of stars and galaxies Ianto might know the name of if he ventured closer, but for now, the simplicity pleased him, washed over him, left him feeling refreshed if not a little more calm.
He raised and lowered his wings once, stretching them out to their full width before drawing them close to his body, just because he could.
Here, in the quiet, safe gardens of the TARDIS, he was Windhover.
He was supposed to hate the Doctor, loathe him for all the horrible things Ianto's mind said he'd done, apprehend him so he wouldn't commit any others.
Now, Ianto wasn't so sure.
And for someone who existed outside of time, Ianto mocked himself, he had simply run out.
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