The Windhovers: The Fledgling (8 of 8), Jack/Ianto
Title: The Fledgling
Series 'Verse: The Windhovers
Chapter: 8 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)
The Fledgling (7 of 8)
Ianto straightened his already-straight tie as he walked towards the TARDIS bridge and added a tug at his cuffs for good measure, feeling almost confined by his suit, the lack of slats in the back and the absence of his wings just making it feel off. He wasn't nervous; he swore to himself he wasn't nervous but rather it was just an adjustment of his facade, ensuring the front was as steady and nondescript as he felt, as there was absolutely nothing to be nervous about. He was simply bracing himself for his return to Torchwood Three.
And to face the Doctor one last time.
He'd tried to figure it out while showering; what he had done wrong, what he should have done differently, why the Doctor had behaved in that manner. It wasn't that his behavior was odd - shifting from top gear to reverse was fairly typical. But ...
Ianto supposed it was partially selfish. He wanted to know because he was being denied an information source when he had no other known options. Multiple information sources, if one included the TARDIS library as well.
Abrupt had nothing on how quickly the Doctor's mood had changed.
But Ianto had known the Doctor had been serious after he'd toweled off and went to the wardrobe and it simply ... wasn't there. His suit was on the chair he always used as a depository for dirty clothing at his flat. He'd never admit it but that stung. Just a bit. Not that Ianto had planned on wearing any of the clothing off the TARDIS when he returned to Torchwood, he wouldn't dream of being so rude. It just ... was final.
And he didn't understand why.
The root of it all was centered around the Doctor's claim that Ianto's information was wrong. Ianto knew that, he'd replayed their conversation while he'd washed until it became as well known to him as the Torchwood Manual. Perhaps he'd been an arse to respond to the Doctor with the truth, rather like answering honestly if the dress made a woman look fat. He could have lied; it wasn't as though Ianto was a complete failure at lying. But the Doctor had been expecting the answer. Or at least parts.
If parts were untrue, what of the massive list was legitimately applicable to the Doctor?
If parts were untrue, the Doctor had better hope he not run into other Windhover.
If they existed.
Ianto quietly observed the Doctor, who just for a fraction of a second appeared unaware of his arrival. To be sure, the Doctor went instantly manic, bouncing from station to station with a flurry of hand movements. The endless chatter that Ianto had grown accustomed to during his stay was absent, however. As was any form of eye contact.
But Ianto had seen it within that fraction of a second. Loneliness? More solitude, resolute and determined.
No, isolated.
He kept his observation to himself, stepping forward as the TARDIS began to shudder, though still well removed from the Doctor's space as he dashed back and forth. Really an inane design, the main console. Ianto touched a nearby column in apology for the mental slight, but who would build such a thing where one would need multiple hands to run without stress-
Ah.
Ianto felt the pieces slowly shuffle, bits of information reorganizing in new categories and filling old. He'd feel guilty for never having noticed before, but he had been wrapped in his own interests, selfish as that may have been. Observing others had held little priority, unless it involved fantasizing about arresting the Doctor and trying him for all the crimes which listed themselves endlessly in Ianto's mind (a short-lived fantasy, but one that had entertained Ianto when what he saw or read simply became too much).
And one fantasy which involved fucking Jack while the Doctor watched, but Ianto didn't count that one. He preferred not to even acknowledge its existence in public places.
But it made sense. Maybe.
"How many Time Lords are left?" Ianto didn't miss the way the Doctor's hand paused above a lever before it shoved the device with a little more force than necessary. So it was true. He kicked himself for not asking or realizing before; he was typically far more aware of others than this, but the Doctor was a challenging one to read. And his focus had been elsewhere, especially after witnessing the destruction of Halcyon. Which the Doctor had empathized.
He should have noticed. He was a better reader of nuance than that.
Where Ianto was the start of the next evolution of his kind, the Doctor was the last, or near last, of his.
Gallifrey was gone. Ianto had known this and the Doctor had appeared willing to accept responsibility for its destruction. But that was only a planet; he'd assumed there were others, like the Doctor, traveling about the Universe with their own TARDIS.
However, the TARDIS was to be operated by more than one. If more than one had survived, why travel alone on a ship designed for many?
Those questions didn't end Ianto's concerns, proving more instigators of thought and question rather than detractors. What of the incorrect assignments within the Windhover knowledge? The Doctor claimed he was not responsible for some. Perhaps more than some. Possibly many, many more.
Ianto blamed the lurch of the TARDIS, not the implications, for his sudden lack of balance, clinging to a column like a sailor setting foot on dry land. It wasn't possible. Ianto couldn't fathom a reason why it could be. But the Doctor had reached the same conclusion, Ianto realized with a start. The Windhover knowledge of the Time Lords was faulty. Broken, perhaps, but Ianto didn't know how to right it even if he could.
And it was quite possible that, somehow, the Doctor was the only Time Lord in it.
The TARDIS came to a halt, settling into a time and place Ianto assumed was present day Cardiff, if he was lucky within the Hub itself as he didn't have his keys, mobile, or anything else. That had all been left behind between the frantic moment when the Torchwood alarms had sounded and being kidnapped by the TARDIS. He'd find out soon enough, and Ianto was pretty sure that wasn't the most pressing thing at the moment.
Ianto waited, making no movement towards the doors of the TARDIS nor towards the hall, just stood there, waiting. And finally the Doctor met his eyes - didn't say anything, but at least met his eyes.
Maybe it wasn't that the scrolling list in his mind restarted every time he looked at the Doctor.
It was possible that the end had yet to be reached.
And the Doctor knew it. Knew what Ianto saw, knew it wasn't because the Time Lords were an evil, horrible lot. Rather, the passage of time in combination with actions on such a grand scale, touching galaxies or destroying stars, resulted in a list that never seemed to end, when there was only one name linked to the race.
Where the other names were, or what became of them, Ianto didn't know, and it wasn't the time to ask.
But he understood, or at least he thought he did. The Doctor didn't travel to look the consequences of the Time Lords in the face, and Ianto was still fairly certain he was looking to absolve himself for whatever had transpired in the past.
Or the future.
Who knew with bloody Time Lords.
"There's a pack over there, just a few little trinkets." The Doctor gestured with his head towards the doors; Ianto could just make out the rounded shape, nothing overly large. "Be sure to pick it up on your way out."
Ianto nodded and tried to conceal his disappointment. The random objects the Doctor had picked up while out and bestowed on Ianto while he researched were nice, but he would give anything just to travel with the Doctor more, to learn more about the Windhovers, the R'te-phire, everything. He didn't even know the language, and how was he to know what was all written upon his skin if he couldn't read it? And all the books in the library ...
But he knew names: R'te-phire, Ishaan, Inaani. He had learned who'd hunted the Windhovers and who ultimately destroyed them. He had learned of their stories and their legends, their Laws and Proclamations.
And he'd learned that his Coterie had been good.
It wasn't much; but it was enough.
It had to be.
"A pleasure, Doctor." Ianto nodded his head once in respect and thanks he couldn't quite voice, apologies for the things he didn't know how to change and hope that the Doctor might find a time when he didn't feel quite so alone.
He turned on his heel without waiting for a response; even if the Doctor was big on goodbyes he was pretty sure he would be an exception to any rules and to linger would be an embarrassment. Ianto did pause as he reflected on a question, one he didn't know if the Doctor would answer given his hedging on the subject earlier. But he thought he'd try anyway, his resolve growing as he slung the light pouch over his shoulder. "What's Bad Wolf? That's the only information associated with Jack. 'Bad Wolf,' over and over."
The Doctor actually laughed, to Ianto's surprise, a bitter laugh that held no joviality. "The alpha and the omega, Ianto Jones of the R'te-phire. Seems she took care of more than just his mortality."
Ianto didn't miss the envy or the wistfulness, he supposed if this Bad Wolf, whatever it was, had intentionally wiped Jack's information, it was rather unfortunate that the Doctor's hadn't been cleared as well.
Or maybe it was intentional that the Doctor's name had remained, recording all the events resultant of Time Lord action.
Hardly seemed fair. But then, Ianto was being expelled from the TARDIS and that hardly seemed fair either.
Ianto looked around the TARDIS once more, admiring everything she was and could be. He did wonder what would happen to his room and to all the marvelous architecture. Recycled? Having someone else stay in it made him twitch, but he knew the TARDIS would take care of it, one way or the other. Thinking a 'goodbye' and a 'thank you,' Ianto rested his hand on the door as he had when he'd first approached and listened to her song of goodbye. And it was as beautiful a melody as before, singing deep within Ianto's bones, haunting and exhilarating. He couldn't describe it, but he felt it, pure and simple in its existence as it always had when the stars began and like it would when they dimmed.
He opened his eyes in surprise and a bit of wonder. And just maybe ... was it possible?
Perhaps. Ianto was learning nothing was impossible.
Resolutely, with shoulders squared and the pack slung over his shoulder, Ianto opened the door and stepped into the dim lighting of the Hub. He didn't look back and if he was honest with himself, it was to keep from returning to the Doctor and begging for more answers, for a longer trip. Not that he wasn't somewhat happy to be back, he was. Somewhat. On a functional level he was - he'd missed the team, missed Jack no matter his wariness, missed his job, missed home. On an intellectual level, he'd give anything to go off with the Doctor again.
One step into the Hub and that dramatically changed; fuck if he didn't feel weak-kneed from the overpowering sense of belonging curling warm and welcoming for all it lacked substance. Home, on such a deep-rooted level Ianto wondered how he'd ever not known it existed. Perhaps it was a product of what he was, or maybe it was just psychosomatic but it felt real and unquestionable. Home, more than Halcyon could ever be to him, more than the TARDIS could be or any planet she might take him to.
Two steps were all it took to approach Jack who stood but a few yards away, stony-faced with his arms crossed and lips thinned and twisted into the same expression Ianto couldn't read right before Jack had left with the team to find the ... Mellonians. That's what they had been. Blue slug-like creatures. Jack didn't move, barely even reacted when Ianto stopped just in front of him. Not that he expected hugs and kisses, but the whole thing was so eerily familiar that Ianto wondered if the TARDIS had made a mistake and he'd simply reappeared to a time before he'd left.
The thought made his head hurt.
A quick glance around told him that the others weren't there, so either it was evening or they were off on an errand or mission. Ianto's mind then leapt to another conclusion so off the rails it could be possible because it was Torchwood. Maybe the Doctor had taken him too far into the future, a time when they were long since dead. But Owen was already dead, just undead, so that didn't quite ring true. Could the undead become re-dead? He supposed it happened in zombie movies, and obviously anything that happened in a movie must be true.
"How long?" Ianto asked in a voice a bit more hoarse than he'd intended over the grinding sounds of the disappearing TARDIS, but Jack distracted him while she and the Doctor left, and he nearly forgot about his panic that he might not be in the time he'd left. Jack was unnerving, if not a bit threatening. Not threatening, that wasn't it. Angry. Angry for Ianto returning?
"Three days." Jack's response was short and a minor relief, but he didn't ask Ianto how long he'd been away, not that Ianto could answer as linear time in the TARDIS was a bit fuzzy. Then again, Ianto hadn't asked Jack either, upon his return months back, one of those things Ianto had just known he'd never receive an answer for. So Ianto hadn't asked. And this was what? Respect, he supposed. Grudging acknowledgment that Ianto possessed his own will and mind?
No. Fuck, he'd known.
Jack had known.
How he knew that Ianto was going to leave with the Doctor, Ianto had no idea. But before he'd left, the stare so similar to the one now, Jack had appeared like he'd wanted to say something. Like he'd wanted ... hell, Ianto had no clue, he'd graded shit on the Torchwood Psi scale, he couldn't read Jack's mind. But Jack had looked like he'd wanted him to. And it hardly seemed fair, Ianto had not even been aware that he was leaving till the TARDIS had kidnapped him and the Doctor both. He hadn't meant to leave, but Jack thought what, that he had chosen the Doctor over Jack?
Well, shit. It wasn't like Jack would probably believe him that he had been kidnapped by a ship. Maybe he would, but Ianto hadn't seen Jack this ... angry? Jealous?
No. Possessive.
Insecure?
Although Ianto supposed he could be reading more into it then Jack intended. The captain was protective of his team, and they had been short-staffed during the three days Ianto had been gone on what was the second disappearance act in Ianto's life when prior to he'd never even called in sick or took vacation. Maybe it was just karma-like and he was making up for lost time.
Ianto nodded in appreciation for the time stamp, brushing aside the thought that it was nice to be desired, even if it was just that in his absence he was missed.
Or maybe not. Ianto had been away for a time, but he could still read the restraint in Jack's eyes.
He would have asked if it was to slug or snog, but the sound of the TARDIS interrupted his thoughts, surprising him, and if the expression on Jack's face was any indication, surprised him as well.
The TARDIS emerged right where it had left not seconds before, confusing the hell out of Ianto and for a brief, fleeting moment, he thought that quite possibly, the Doctor had gotten something wrong with the whole time travel thing.
That would have amused Ianto, if it wouldn't have also made him terribly sad.
"Ianto!" The Doctor's head emerged from the TARDIS, sounding chipper as only the Doctor could, a broad smile on his face that wasn't as warm as Ianto had seen it. "Your mobile."
Confusion and surprise were the only thoughts Ianto could entertain; he hadn't left his mobile on the TARDIS, he hadn't had it on him when he'd stepped on. And even then, if he had forgotten it, why would the Doctor bother to return it?
"Here."
Ianto spun back about, curious until Jack withdrew a device from his pocket and extended it towards Ianto. Flipping it around in his hands, he realized it was his mobile. How had ... no, why ... no, didn't matter, Ianto decided as Jack shrugged in response to all of Ianto's unasked questions, shrugging in that elusive 'What? It's nothing' way that Ianto knew better than to trust entirely on face value.
But they had a guest, so Ianto's questions would have to wait till later.
Turning towards the Doctor, Ianto didn't even have time to open his mouth to form a question, much less ask it as the Doctor promptly removed the mobile from his hands without so much a by-your-leave. His sonic screwdriver was out just a second later, zapping Ianto's mobile twice before he pocketed them both with a flourish and a wink. "Just in case I need to phone someone. Martha! Do share the number with Martha as well!"
His brain caught up a second later and Ianto couldn't help but return the smile. Visions of the salmon-colored planet Trahgdar popped into his mind, where the Doctor's previous mobile had been bartered off for a fabulous cup of coffee, a banana, and no contact from or to Jack.
The Doctor could phone someone now, or someone could phone him.
If he needed to, Ianto realized, the Doctor had just given him a method of contacting him. Hell, he'd extended permission to phone him.
Ianto had to admit that he might like the Doctor, no matter what his instincts said.
"And Jack, go easy on the boy. It wasn't his choice to leave."
Jack's eyebrow arched in question and Ianto was the one to shrug this time as the Doctor dashed back into the TARDIS. The thrumming sounds of her springing into action reverberated around the Hub, and Ianto added over the beats, "The TARDIS sort of kidnapped us both."
"Did she?" Apparently Jack found this terribly amusing and as he laughed, the harsh demeanor melted away in a sound Ianto had missed even before he'd left. To Jack only three days had past, but Ianto knew he'd been away for longer. Even still, Ianto could hardly remember the last time he'd heard Jack truly laugh; quite possibly some time before Providence Park. Maybe even that day walking back to Torchwood from the pub, on that fateful day when Ianto had seen his mother standing next to the Information Center and everything had changed. For the better? Worse? Ianto still wasn't sure. He had questions for Jack that he wasn't sure he'd hear answers to, knowing full-well that if Jack did answer, he might not like the answers he received.
Plus he had some secrets of his own that he ought to tell Jack. The Doctor had said Jack would understand, reinforcing what Ianto had already believed no matter what may have happened in Jack's past.
It was just ... it had taken the TARDIS kidnapping him to a dead solar system to finally tell the Doctor. Actually, it took the TARDIS kidnapping him to a dead solar system to reveal enough to the Doctor (involuntary as it had been) for the Doctor to figure it out.
He ought to tell Jack.
He should.
But the instinct to trust only himself was so strong he wasn't even sure he could force the words from his mouth.
Jack still laughed as he abruptly pulled Ianto into a hug that he hadn't expected and had almost feared asking for. And if Ianto squeezed a little harder than was proper, he blamed TARDIS-lag. He may have been a bit happier to return home than he initially had thought, the intense sense of returning overwhelming. Returning home. To Earth, to his time. It was ridiculous and silly, but so was the almost giddiness with which Jack was acting, as though the Doctor's apparent 'approval' of Ianto had lifted a great weight from his shoulders. Approval in the health sense, approval in whatever distrust, maybe Jack had honestly left him alone with the Doctor with the intentions the Doctor had hinted at.
Did it matter?
Ianto still had his secrets. With his arms wound tightly around Jack's waist, his face pressed into a 51st century pheromones-smelling neck, Ianto knew the time would come when he'd have to address the truths he was keeping from Jack. But only, he resolved, when he could assure his own safety, if for some reason the Doctor had been mistaken. He had a responsibility, he felt; even if he didn't know how to develop the numbers of the Children of the Windhovers, as the Doctor liked to call him, he had a responsibility to live.
Or exist, as the Windhovers would have it.
"Did he fix you?" Jack asked, talking more into Ianto's hair than actually vocalizing. Ianto chuckled, more a couple puffs of air into Jack's neck that tickled against his lips. He remembered Owen saying that, when Jack had returned from his trip with the Doctor, and it sounded as foolish now as it did then. But maybe that's how Jack intended it, a serious question buried in a silly package.
Ianto felt Jack toying with the pouch looped over his shoulder, but he was pretty sure Jack wasn't prying. Just .. touching. "What's to fix?"
Neither spoke, Ianto's quote of Jack double-edged at best and he knew it. He knew it as much as Jack had meant it upon his return, and he knew precisely what it meant now. There hadn't been a problem when Ianto had left, and there still wasn't a problem now. He was keeping things from Jack, knowingly and willingly, things which had affected him, terrified him, sectioned him. And Jack wasn't an idiot.
He should tell Jack. He really should.
Jack had laughed. That meant something.
It had to.
R'te-phire, Ianto repeated once more.
***
Later that night, Ianto returned to his flat. Without hesitation, he went to each of the three cameras tucked away in the obvious spaces and removed them, dropping them in with his keys to return to Torchwood later. It wasn't that Jack had said he could, or even that he'd removed the authorization of spying on one Torchwood Agent Ianto Jones. But he simply didn't care. His privacy was his privacy, and if Jack disagreed then, well, Ianto would set up cameras in Jack's underground bedroom and broadcast it on Torchwood's internal CCTV. Gwen, Tosh and Owen, too. See how long it lasted before they agreed.
He didn't think he'd have any trouble, though. It wasn't that he and Jack had really talked, not about anything important. Just what had transpired over the past three days, the field reports and a bit of gossip over Gwen and Owen's latest spat. Ianto simply thought the time for the monitoring was well past and he was inclined to believe that Jack wouldn't argue.
Jack had laughed.
And that was something.
Ianto set the pouch the Doctor had given him on the bed, curious what trinkets rested inside. He could probably show Jack some of the knick-knacks, he might even recognize some.
The first thing Ianto noticed was that it was a lot bigger on the inside. He picked it up and looked under the bag to make sure, realizing he was being ridiculous but bags like these were impossible.
Except when they weren't.
Rather like the Doctor's overcoat pockets.
The second thing he noticed was the book, a rather large tome in thick bindings etched in an artful script which seemed to glow upon the surface. Highest Jolar Sabien of the R'te-phire. Just to make sure, Ianto traced the name, afraid that if he looked away, it might disappear into something else entirely. He hadn't read this in the library, hadn't even seen it. Eagerly flipping through it, he realized it was a book of stories, made up or real he wasn't sure - some of the tales he'd read on board the TARDIS had seemed so implausible but as Ianto skimmed the text, he grinned. The adventures of a Windhover traveling with a Time Lord, with scribbles in the margins of 'what really happened' according to a second pen.
Ianto was fairly sure this book had never been published, nor mass produced, not given the two races' history. Didn't matter now, he supposed, but perhaps ...
He closed the book, running a reverent hand over the cover as though he could eke some sense of the Windhover who wrote it out of the material.
Didn't work, but that didn't mean he couldn't pretend, just for a moment.
The third thing Ianto noticed within the pouch was clothing.
Lots and lots of clothing.
Fin.
***
Final Thoughts (in case anyone cares ... ;) )
1. My supreme thanks to my wonderful beta Lilithilien who defies all natural laws of patience, understanding and awesomeness in order to get me to finish as well as smacking me with a grammar stick when I need it. Which is ... oh, always. And she puts up with my plot babble, which is a shiny in and of itself. And to my cheerleader coffee_kris who never failed to chear me on and make me smile when I wanted to pull my hair out and throttle the damned piece. Sometimes, that brain-to-fingers link just isn't quite as open and functional as I want it to be!
2. neo_star0114 has done something amazingly fabulous - she's audiorecorded the first "The Windhovers!" It's truly brilliant. If you're into audiofics, check it out the audiofic link, d/l and leave a comment for her! Really, this is so cool and such an honor! It's like 5.5 hours long! *is a bit in awe and a lot humbled*
3. As you can imagine, there's more to the 'verse! Ianto's got to tell Jack ... or does he? And are there more Windhovers? Will the team find out? What about the underground? And I know the question that you're all asking/waiting for ... ZOMG WHERE'S THE WING!PORN?!?!?!! Okay, maybe you're not. But it makes me giggle. Yeah, I know. I'm such a tease. *smirks* But if I don't tease, ya'll won't come back for the next story!
4. If there's stuff you're curious about re: the Windhovers in general, feel free to ask away in the comments. I reserve the right to not specifically answer if I know it's a major plot spoiler ;) But I want to make sure the concepts and ideas are coming across, and if they're not, I can readdress in the next story if I need to. It all makes sense in my head, why aren't ya'll reading my mind?
5. And finally... pie. I'm obsessed with the pie! But thank you, everyone, for reading! Your support while I dealt with family issues was wonderful and I'm so glad for it. So big mega janto *smooches*.
And ... speaking of janto smooches - I may actually have smut planned for the next story. *whistles innocently* Evil, I say, evil!!
Fin^2
Series 'Verse: The Windhovers
Chapter: 8 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)
The Fledgling (7 of 8)
Ianto straightened his already-straight tie as he walked towards the TARDIS bridge and added a tug at his cuffs for good measure, feeling almost confined by his suit, the lack of slats in the back and the absence of his wings just making it feel off. He wasn't nervous; he swore to himself he wasn't nervous but rather it was just an adjustment of his facade, ensuring the front was as steady and nondescript as he felt, as there was absolutely nothing to be nervous about. He was simply bracing himself for his return to Torchwood Three.
And to face the Doctor one last time.
He'd tried to figure it out while showering; what he had done wrong, what he should have done differently, why the Doctor had behaved in that manner. It wasn't that his behavior was odd - shifting from top gear to reverse was fairly typical. But ...
Ianto supposed it was partially selfish. He wanted to know because he was being denied an information source when he had no other known options. Multiple information sources, if one included the TARDIS library as well.
Abrupt had nothing on how quickly the Doctor's mood had changed.
But Ianto had known the Doctor had been serious after he'd toweled off and went to the wardrobe and it simply ... wasn't there. His suit was on the chair he always used as a depository for dirty clothing at his flat. He'd never admit it but that stung. Just a bit. Not that Ianto had planned on wearing any of the clothing off the TARDIS when he returned to Torchwood, he wouldn't dream of being so rude. It just ... was final.
And he didn't understand why.
The root of it all was centered around the Doctor's claim that Ianto's information was wrong. Ianto knew that, he'd replayed their conversation while he'd washed until it became as well known to him as the Torchwood Manual. Perhaps he'd been an arse to respond to the Doctor with the truth, rather like answering honestly if the dress made a woman look fat. He could have lied; it wasn't as though Ianto was a complete failure at lying. But the Doctor had been expecting the answer. Or at least parts.
If parts were untrue, what of the massive list was legitimately applicable to the Doctor?
If parts were untrue, the Doctor had better hope he not run into other Windhover.
If they existed.
Ianto quietly observed the Doctor, who just for a fraction of a second appeared unaware of his arrival. To be sure, the Doctor went instantly manic, bouncing from station to station with a flurry of hand movements. The endless chatter that Ianto had grown accustomed to during his stay was absent, however. As was any form of eye contact.
But Ianto had seen it within that fraction of a second. Loneliness? More solitude, resolute and determined.
No, isolated.
He kept his observation to himself, stepping forward as the TARDIS began to shudder, though still well removed from the Doctor's space as he dashed back and forth. Really an inane design, the main console. Ianto touched a nearby column in apology for the mental slight, but who would build such a thing where one would need multiple hands to run without stress-
Ah.
Ianto felt the pieces slowly shuffle, bits of information reorganizing in new categories and filling old. He'd feel guilty for never having noticed before, but he had been wrapped in his own interests, selfish as that may have been. Observing others had held little priority, unless it involved fantasizing about arresting the Doctor and trying him for all the crimes which listed themselves endlessly in Ianto's mind (a short-lived fantasy, but one that had entertained Ianto when what he saw or read simply became too much).
And one fantasy which involved fucking Jack while the Doctor watched, but Ianto didn't count that one. He preferred not to even acknowledge its existence in public places.
But it made sense. Maybe.
"How many Time Lords are left?" Ianto didn't miss the way the Doctor's hand paused above a lever before it shoved the device with a little more force than necessary. So it was true. He kicked himself for not asking or realizing before; he was typically far more aware of others than this, but the Doctor was a challenging one to read. And his focus had been elsewhere, especially after witnessing the destruction of Halcyon. Which the Doctor had empathized.
He should have noticed. He was a better reader of nuance than that.
Where Ianto was the start of the next evolution of his kind, the Doctor was the last, or near last, of his.
Gallifrey was gone. Ianto had known this and the Doctor had appeared willing to accept responsibility for its destruction. But that was only a planet; he'd assumed there were others, like the Doctor, traveling about the Universe with their own TARDIS.
However, the TARDIS was to be operated by more than one. If more than one had survived, why travel alone on a ship designed for many?
Those questions didn't end Ianto's concerns, proving more instigators of thought and question rather than detractors. What of the incorrect assignments within the Windhover knowledge? The Doctor claimed he was not responsible for some. Perhaps more than some. Possibly many, many more.
Ianto blamed the lurch of the TARDIS, not the implications, for his sudden lack of balance, clinging to a column like a sailor setting foot on dry land. It wasn't possible. Ianto couldn't fathom a reason why it could be. But the Doctor had reached the same conclusion, Ianto realized with a start. The Windhover knowledge of the Time Lords was faulty. Broken, perhaps, but Ianto didn't know how to right it even if he could.
And it was quite possible that, somehow, the Doctor was the only Time Lord in it.
The TARDIS came to a halt, settling into a time and place Ianto assumed was present day Cardiff, if he was lucky within the Hub itself as he didn't have his keys, mobile, or anything else. That had all been left behind between the frantic moment when the Torchwood alarms had sounded and being kidnapped by the TARDIS. He'd find out soon enough, and Ianto was pretty sure that wasn't the most pressing thing at the moment.
Ianto waited, making no movement towards the doors of the TARDIS nor towards the hall, just stood there, waiting. And finally the Doctor met his eyes - didn't say anything, but at least met his eyes.
Maybe it wasn't that the scrolling list in his mind restarted every time he looked at the Doctor.
It was possible that the end had yet to be reached.
And the Doctor knew it. Knew what Ianto saw, knew it wasn't because the Time Lords were an evil, horrible lot. Rather, the passage of time in combination with actions on such a grand scale, touching galaxies or destroying stars, resulted in a list that never seemed to end, when there was only one name linked to the race.
Where the other names were, or what became of them, Ianto didn't know, and it wasn't the time to ask.
But he understood, or at least he thought he did. The Doctor didn't travel to look the consequences of the Time Lords in the face, and Ianto was still fairly certain he was looking to absolve himself for whatever had transpired in the past.
Or the future.
Who knew with bloody Time Lords.
"There's a pack over there, just a few little trinkets." The Doctor gestured with his head towards the doors; Ianto could just make out the rounded shape, nothing overly large. "Be sure to pick it up on your way out."
Ianto nodded and tried to conceal his disappointment. The random objects the Doctor had picked up while out and bestowed on Ianto while he researched were nice, but he would give anything just to travel with the Doctor more, to learn more about the Windhovers, the R'te-phire, everything. He didn't even know the language, and how was he to know what was all written upon his skin if he couldn't read it? And all the books in the library ...
But he knew names: R'te-phire, Ishaan, Inaani. He had learned who'd hunted the Windhovers and who ultimately destroyed them. He had learned of their stories and their legends, their Laws and Proclamations.
And he'd learned that his Coterie had been good.
It wasn't much; but it was enough.
It had to be.
"A pleasure, Doctor." Ianto nodded his head once in respect and thanks he couldn't quite voice, apologies for the things he didn't know how to change and hope that the Doctor might find a time when he didn't feel quite so alone.
He turned on his heel without waiting for a response; even if the Doctor was big on goodbyes he was pretty sure he would be an exception to any rules and to linger would be an embarrassment. Ianto did pause as he reflected on a question, one he didn't know if the Doctor would answer given his hedging on the subject earlier. But he thought he'd try anyway, his resolve growing as he slung the light pouch over his shoulder. "What's Bad Wolf? That's the only information associated with Jack. 'Bad Wolf,' over and over."
The Doctor actually laughed, to Ianto's surprise, a bitter laugh that held no joviality. "The alpha and the omega, Ianto Jones of the R'te-phire. Seems she took care of more than just his mortality."
Ianto didn't miss the envy or the wistfulness, he supposed if this Bad Wolf, whatever it was, had intentionally wiped Jack's information, it was rather unfortunate that the Doctor's hadn't been cleared as well.
Or maybe it was intentional that the Doctor's name had remained, recording all the events resultant of Time Lord action.
Hardly seemed fair. But then, Ianto was being expelled from the TARDIS and that hardly seemed fair either.
Ianto looked around the TARDIS once more, admiring everything she was and could be. He did wonder what would happen to his room and to all the marvelous architecture. Recycled? Having someone else stay in it made him twitch, but he knew the TARDIS would take care of it, one way or the other. Thinking a 'goodbye' and a 'thank you,' Ianto rested his hand on the door as he had when he'd first approached and listened to her song of goodbye. And it was as beautiful a melody as before, singing deep within Ianto's bones, haunting and exhilarating. He couldn't describe it, but he felt it, pure and simple in its existence as it always had when the stars began and like it would when they dimmed.
He opened his eyes in surprise and a bit of wonder. And just maybe ... was it possible?
Perhaps. Ianto was learning nothing was impossible.
Resolutely, with shoulders squared and the pack slung over his shoulder, Ianto opened the door and stepped into the dim lighting of the Hub. He didn't look back and if he was honest with himself, it was to keep from returning to the Doctor and begging for more answers, for a longer trip. Not that he wasn't somewhat happy to be back, he was. Somewhat. On a functional level he was - he'd missed the team, missed Jack no matter his wariness, missed his job, missed home. On an intellectual level, he'd give anything to go off with the Doctor again.
One step into the Hub and that dramatically changed; fuck if he didn't feel weak-kneed from the overpowering sense of belonging curling warm and welcoming for all it lacked substance. Home, on such a deep-rooted level Ianto wondered how he'd ever not known it existed. Perhaps it was a product of what he was, or maybe it was just psychosomatic but it felt real and unquestionable. Home, more than Halcyon could ever be to him, more than the TARDIS could be or any planet she might take him to.
Two steps were all it took to approach Jack who stood but a few yards away, stony-faced with his arms crossed and lips thinned and twisted into the same expression Ianto couldn't read right before Jack had left with the team to find the ... Mellonians. That's what they had been. Blue slug-like creatures. Jack didn't move, barely even reacted when Ianto stopped just in front of him. Not that he expected hugs and kisses, but the whole thing was so eerily familiar that Ianto wondered if the TARDIS had made a mistake and he'd simply reappeared to a time before he'd left.
The thought made his head hurt.
A quick glance around told him that the others weren't there, so either it was evening or they were off on an errand or mission. Ianto's mind then leapt to another conclusion so off the rails it could be possible because it was Torchwood. Maybe the Doctor had taken him too far into the future, a time when they were long since dead. But Owen was already dead, just undead, so that didn't quite ring true. Could the undead become re-dead? He supposed it happened in zombie movies, and obviously anything that happened in a movie must be true.
"How long?" Ianto asked in a voice a bit more hoarse than he'd intended over the grinding sounds of the disappearing TARDIS, but Jack distracted him while she and the Doctor left, and he nearly forgot about his panic that he might not be in the time he'd left. Jack was unnerving, if not a bit threatening. Not threatening, that wasn't it. Angry. Angry for Ianto returning?
"Three days." Jack's response was short and a minor relief, but he didn't ask Ianto how long he'd been away, not that Ianto could answer as linear time in the TARDIS was a bit fuzzy. Then again, Ianto hadn't asked Jack either, upon his return months back, one of those things Ianto had just known he'd never receive an answer for. So Ianto hadn't asked. And this was what? Respect, he supposed. Grudging acknowledgment that Ianto possessed his own will and mind?
No. Fuck, he'd known.
Jack had known.
How he knew that Ianto was going to leave with the Doctor, Ianto had no idea. But before he'd left, the stare so similar to the one now, Jack had appeared like he'd wanted to say something. Like he'd wanted ... hell, Ianto had no clue, he'd graded shit on the Torchwood Psi scale, he couldn't read Jack's mind. But Jack had looked like he'd wanted him to. And it hardly seemed fair, Ianto had not even been aware that he was leaving till the TARDIS had kidnapped him and the Doctor both. He hadn't meant to leave, but Jack thought what, that he had chosen the Doctor over Jack?
Well, shit. It wasn't like Jack would probably believe him that he had been kidnapped by a ship. Maybe he would, but Ianto hadn't seen Jack this ... angry? Jealous?
No. Possessive.
Insecure?
Although Ianto supposed he could be reading more into it then Jack intended. The captain was protective of his team, and they had been short-staffed during the three days Ianto had been gone on what was the second disappearance act in Ianto's life when prior to he'd never even called in sick or took vacation. Maybe it was just karma-like and he was making up for lost time.
Ianto nodded in appreciation for the time stamp, brushing aside the thought that it was nice to be desired, even if it was just that in his absence he was missed.
Or maybe not. Ianto had been away for a time, but he could still read the restraint in Jack's eyes.
He would have asked if it was to slug or snog, but the sound of the TARDIS interrupted his thoughts, surprising him, and if the expression on Jack's face was any indication, surprised him as well.
The TARDIS emerged right where it had left not seconds before, confusing the hell out of Ianto and for a brief, fleeting moment, he thought that quite possibly, the Doctor had gotten something wrong with the whole time travel thing.
That would have amused Ianto, if it wouldn't have also made him terribly sad.
"Ianto!" The Doctor's head emerged from the TARDIS, sounding chipper as only the Doctor could, a broad smile on his face that wasn't as warm as Ianto had seen it. "Your mobile."
Confusion and surprise were the only thoughts Ianto could entertain; he hadn't left his mobile on the TARDIS, he hadn't had it on him when he'd stepped on. And even then, if he had forgotten it, why would the Doctor bother to return it?
"Here."
Ianto spun back about, curious until Jack withdrew a device from his pocket and extended it towards Ianto. Flipping it around in his hands, he realized it was his mobile. How had ... no, why ... no, didn't matter, Ianto decided as Jack shrugged in response to all of Ianto's unasked questions, shrugging in that elusive 'What? It's nothing' way that Ianto knew better than to trust entirely on face value.
But they had a guest, so Ianto's questions would have to wait till later.
Turning towards the Doctor, Ianto didn't even have time to open his mouth to form a question, much less ask it as the Doctor promptly removed the mobile from his hands without so much a by-your-leave. His sonic screwdriver was out just a second later, zapping Ianto's mobile twice before he pocketed them both with a flourish and a wink. "Just in case I need to phone someone. Martha! Do share the number with Martha as well!"
His brain caught up a second later and Ianto couldn't help but return the smile. Visions of the salmon-colored planet Trahgdar popped into his mind, where the Doctor's previous mobile had been bartered off for a fabulous cup of coffee, a banana, and no contact from or to Jack.
The Doctor could phone someone now, or someone could phone him.
If he needed to, Ianto realized, the Doctor had just given him a method of contacting him. Hell, he'd extended permission to phone him.
Ianto had to admit that he might like the Doctor, no matter what his instincts said.
"And Jack, go easy on the boy. It wasn't his choice to leave."
Jack's eyebrow arched in question and Ianto was the one to shrug this time as the Doctor dashed back into the TARDIS. The thrumming sounds of her springing into action reverberated around the Hub, and Ianto added over the beats, "The TARDIS sort of kidnapped us both."
"Did she?" Apparently Jack found this terribly amusing and as he laughed, the harsh demeanor melted away in a sound Ianto had missed even before he'd left. To Jack only three days had past, but Ianto knew he'd been away for longer. Even still, Ianto could hardly remember the last time he'd heard Jack truly laugh; quite possibly some time before Providence Park. Maybe even that day walking back to Torchwood from the pub, on that fateful day when Ianto had seen his mother standing next to the Information Center and everything had changed. For the better? Worse? Ianto still wasn't sure. He had questions for Jack that he wasn't sure he'd hear answers to, knowing full-well that if Jack did answer, he might not like the answers he received.
Plus he had some secrets of his own that he ought to tell Jack. The Doctor had said Jack would understand, reinforcing what Ianto had already believed no matter what may have happened in Jack's past.
It was just ... it had taken the TARDIS kidnapping him to a dead solar system to finally tell the Doctor. Actually, it took the TARDIS kidnapping him to a dead solar system to reveal enough to the Doctor (involuntary as it had been) for the Doctor to figure it out.
He ought to tell Jack.
He should.
But the instinct to trust only himself was so strong he wasn't even sure he could force the words from his mouth.
Jack still laughed as he abruptly pulled Ianto into a hug that he hadn't expected and had almost feared asking for. And if Ianto squeezed a little harder than was proper, he blamed TARDIS-lag. He may have been a bit happier to return home than he initially had thought, the intense sense of returning overwhelming. Returning home. To Earth, to his time. It was ridiculous and silly, but so was the almost giddiness with which Jack was acting, as though the Doctor's apparent 'approval' of Ianto had lifted a great weight from his shoulders. Approval in the health sense, approval in whatever distrust, maybe Jack had honestly left him alone with the Doctor with the intentions the Doctor had hinted at.
Did it matter?
Ianto still had his secrets. With his arms wound tightly around Jack's waist, his face pressed into a 51st century pheromones-smelling neck, Ianto knew the time would come when he'd have to address the truths he was keeping from Jack. But only, he resolved, when he could assure his own safety, if for some reason the Doctor had been mistaken. He had a responsibility, he felt; even if he didn't know how to develop the numbers of the Children of the Windhovers, as the Doctor liked to call him, he had a responsibility to live.
Or exist, as the Windhovers would have it.
"Did he fix you?" Jack asked, talking more into Ianto's hair than actually vocalizing. Ianto chuckled, more a couple puffs of air into Jack's neck that tickled against his lips. He remembered Owen saying that, when Jack had returned from his trip with the Doctor, and it sounded as foolish now as it did then. But maybe that's how Jack intended it, a serious question buried in a silly package.
Ianto felt Jack toying with the pouch looped over his shoulder, but he was pretty sure Jack wasn't prying. Just .. touching. "What's to fix?"
Neither spoke, Ianto's quote of Jack double-edged at best and he knew it. He knew it as much as Jack had meant it upon his return, and he knew precisely what it meant now. There hadn't been a problem when Ianto had left, and there still wasn't a problem now. He was keeping things from Jack, knowingly and willingly, things which had affected him, terrified him, sectioned him. And Jack wasn't an idiot.
He should tell Jack. He really should.
Jack had laughed. That meant something.
It had to.
R'te-phire, Ianto repeated once more.
***
Later that night, Ianto returned to his flat. Without hesitation, he went to each of the three cameras tucked away in the obvious spaces and removed them, dropping them in with his keys to return to Torchwood later. It wasn't that Jack had said he could, or even that he'd removed the authorization of spying on one Torchwood Agent Ianto Jones. But he simply didn't care. His privacy was his privacy, and if Jack disagreed then, well, Ianto would set up cameras in Jack's underground bedroom and broadcast it on Torchwood's internal CCTV. Gwen, Tosh and Owen, too. See how long it lasted before they agreed.
He didn't think he'd have any trouble, though. It wasn't that he and Jack had really talked, not about anything important. Just what had transpired over the past three days, the field reports and a bit of gossip over Gwen and Owen's latest spat. Ianto simply thought the time for the monitoring was well past and he was inclined to believe that Jack wouldn't argue.
Jack had laughed.
And that was something.
Ianto set the pouch the Doctor had given him on the bed, curious what trinkets rested inside. He could probably show Jack some of the knick-knacks, he might even recognize some.
The first thing Ianto noticed was that it was a lot bigger on the inside. He picked it up and looked under the bag to make sure, realizing he was being ridiculous but bags like these were impossible.
Except when they weren't.
Rather like the Doctor's overcoat pockets.
The second thing he noticed was the book, a rather large tome in thick bindings etched in an artful script which seemed to glow upon the surface. Highest Jolar Sabien of the R'te-phire. Just to make sure, Ianto traced the name, afraid that if he looked away, it might disappear into something else entirely. He hadn't read this in the library, hadn't even seen it. Eagerly flipping through it, he realized it was a book of stories, made up or real he wasn't sure - some of the tales he'd read on board the TARDIS had seemed so implausible but as Ianto skimmed the text, he grinned. The adventures of a Windhover traveling with a Time Lord, with scribbles in the margins of 'what really happened' according to a second pen.
Ianto was fairly sure this book had never been published, nor mass produced, not given the two races' history. Didn't matter now, he supposed, but perhaps ...
He closed the book, running a reverent hand over the cover as though he could eke some sense of the Windhover who wrote it out of the material.
Didn't work, but that didn't mean he couldn't pretend, just for a moment.
The third thing Ianto noticed within the pouch was clothing.
Lots and lots of clothing.
Fin.
***
Final Thoughts (in case anyone cares ... ;) )
1. My supreme thanks to my wonderful beta Lilithilien who defies all natural laws of patience, understanding and awesomeness in order to get me to finish as well as smacking me with a grammar stick when I need it. Which is ... oh, always. And she puts up with my plot babble, which is a shiny in and of itself. And to my cheerleader coffee_kris who never failed to chear me on and make me smile when I wanted to pull my hair out and throttle the damned piece. Sometimes, that brain-to-fingers link just isn't quite as open and functional as I want it to be!
2. neo_star0114 has done something amazingly fabulous - she's audiorecorded the first "The Windhovers!" It's truly brilliant. If you're into audiofics, check it out the audiofic link, d/l and leave a comment for her! Really, this is so cool and such an honor! It's like 5.5 hours long! *is a bit in awe and a lot humbled*
3. As you can imagine, there's more to the 'verse! Ianto's got to tell Jack ... or does he? And are there more Windhovers? Will the team find out? What about the underground? And I know the question that you're all asking/waiting for ... ZOMG WHERE'S THE WING!PORN?!?!?!! Okay, maybe you're not. But it makes me giggle. Yeah, I know. I'm such a tease. *smirks* But if I don't tease, ya'll won't come back for the next story!
4. If there's stuff you're curious about re: the Windhovers in general, feel free to ask away in the comments. I reserve the right to not specifically answer if I know it's a major plot spoiler ;) But I want to make sure the concepts and ideas are coming across, and if they're not, I can readdress in the next story if I need to. It all makes sense in my head, why aren't ya'll reading my mind?
5. And finally... pie. I'm obsessed with the pie! But thank you, everyone, for reading! Your support while I dealt with family issues was wonderful and I'm so glad for it. So big mega janto *smooches*.
And ... speaking of janto smooches - I may actually have smut planned for the next story. *whistles innocently* Evil, I say, evil!!
Fin^2