Here's a Thing.
I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.
That said... Blame this on a combination of lawford 's gorgeous fic, The Gift... which, though beautiful, brought me to a state of brokenness... Also, here's my sad tale.
At Chicago TARDIS, I bought a coffee mug that had a Tardis on it that dissappeared when hot things happened inside it. It's pretty rad. I told my roommates, this does NOT go in the dishwasher, it will break it and ruin it. .... Guess what happened. So I'm fairly devastated. Just cause... I mean, I got it at the con. It was special for that. I could rebuy it on Amazon.. but it would lose something... ya know? So yeah. I guess I channeled a bit of sariagray 's love of broken crockery a bit too.
This is a vent!fic of a different sort.
So. onto the mess.
Disclaimers: Jack belongs to Ianto... both belong to us. The fans. Cause we care. ... even if we do use them for our own pleasure. :)
Here's a Thing
Broken. Bits everywhere. Nothing to be done, really… just move along, nothing to see here. Nowwhatdoido. The words out in a rush. Falling from his brain, his mouth, his soul. Sighing crying thinking laughing hysterically. Slow progression into madness. Where to go? What to do? All a lie. Everything’s a lie. It won’t be ok. It’ll never be ok again. Ianto Jones knows what it’s like to lose everything. He does so on a near regular basis. It was about time, he should have expected this. This is why he doesn’t really ever allow himself any happiness. It all just gets taken away in the end. Ianto used to believe in a God. Sometimes he still does… but this one is a vengeful god. This is a God who sees the good in people and turns it around and twists it into something awful and terrible and throws it back at them threefold.
Or maybe that’s just Jack.
Jack. He rolls the name around on his tongue. Just as he once rolled the man around on his tongue. What a metaphor. Jack symbolizes everything that could’ve been would’ve been should’ve been. Always going, yet always coming. A despairing snicker at the innuendo. Jack would’ve liked that.
Jackjackjackjackjackjackjackjackjackjackjackjack.
The name repeats in his head till it becomes nonsense. Till everything is nonsense, and no one knows anything anymore. Or maybe that’s just Ianto. But he knows everything so it’s ok. He knows everything except what to do with himself.
He’s been dead. He knows he’s been dead. He was dead. Why’s he not dead? This doesn’t fit into Ianto’s world. In Ianto’s world when people die they stay dead.
Except Jack. Jack’s always the exception to the rule. And now, apparently Ianto was too. He was cold. Very cold. Opening his eyes, he realized why… he was in a cryochamber. Though disturbing, this did prove to him his earlier deadness. He felt his pulse… strong. Stronger than usual, actually.
Not a zombie. In a cryochamber. …..Oh shite. Ianto was rather claustrophobic.
shiteshiteshiteshiteshite shiteshiteshiteshite!
With each repetition he bangs on the wallsrooffloor. Whatever they all are. (coffin) Walls all boxed around him. He screams his throat ragged. He chokes on his own breath. None of it works. He’s in a cryochamber. Ianto knows that means he’s dead. So why isn’t he dead? Keep this up and he will be again. Oh now there’s a thought.
Calm, Jones. Calm. That’s what you need… calm. Slow the heartbeat down. Wow. Wait. There’s a problem here. Count the heartbeats. One. Two. … No now that’s not right. Count them again; it’s just the distraction from the closeness of the walls.
One… two.
Shite. He puts his right hand on his chest. It takes some doing, being in such a closed space… but he doesn’t think about that. Then he puts his left hand on the other side of his chest. A heartbeat beneath both. Shite. Just… shite. He knows what this means. And wouldn’t ya know it too. He wonders if he looks the same… he can’t reach his face.
Now that he’s calming down a bit… one thing Torchwood has taught him, it’s how to slow his heartbeat(s) down in a near meditation, he can think a bit more. Ianto knows these cryochambers. They’re Torchwood. His Torchwood, maybe. He slides a hand up the ‘roof’ over his head. The slightly steamy clear top (coffin lid) and moves it over just that way… just to the right. right there. Yep. There it is. A catch. This is why they have an external lock, because if one knows how, one can get out. That’s assuming that one would ever be in….
He’s out now. And damn, now he realizes just how cold he was… he shivers on the floor for a while. He does know this floor though. It’s the Torchwood HUB. But… yes. Yes he can see debris all around. Seems that the blast didn’t completely destroy it…. And seems its still in use, he thinks as he glances disdainfully at his cryochamber (coffin).
Ianto pulls himself to his feet, shaky as he is, and stumbles through the well-known and well-loved passageways back to the main floor. Tears assault his eyes as he reaches the top, and sees the dark starry sky above. He breaks down … all of a sudden. Sobs wrack his still healing (regenerating) frame and he collapses to his knees. Falling falling falling falling apart at the seams. He doesn’t realize (though he will soon enough) that this is the suit he died in. And when he does realize it, the tears come hotter and harder.
His brain doesn’t really read the innuendo in that one yet either… but it would if Jack were around.
Jack. It’s a word again. He wonders where Jack is. He composes himself slowly and heads to his Archives. One of the few places he felt safe. He checks his Archives… and they’re in disarray. He takes a step forward, but before his foot can even hit the ground, he’s pirouetted oh the ball of his grounded foot, and is off like a shot. If the Archives are ok, then the bunker must be too. It has to be.
He races through hallways and passageways, no need to check where he’s going… he could do this in his sleep. Has in fact. And now his new body… so much energy. Explains a lot…
Running
Running
Running.
….He wonders idly if this is a trend.
Then he’s in the remains of Jack’s office…. Tears threaten again, and he steels himself against them, nearly throwing himself down the stairs into the bunker. And bunker is right. It has survived better then nearly everywhere else in the ruined Hub. (his ruined home) No Jack though. Still no Jack. Nothing looks like it’s moved since the blast. Many things moved in the blast. Ianto shudders and makes his way into the bathroom. The tiny bathroom that he spent so much time in. somehow the lights are still working. Must be the same tech that allows the water to work with no piping.
He looks into the mirror. Rather, he faces in the general direction of the mirror… he sees a few shards on the ground, but it looks like the majority should still be up there, judging by the amount of glass that has fallen.
Eyes rise to meet shattered eyes. Though whether it’s just the glass that’s making them shattered, he’s not yet sure. Hmm. He’s still Ianto. High forehead. Button nose. High cheekbones. All still there. He’s relieved … not sure he could have dealt with changing.
Now. Jack. Put the words together, take out the period… and so many times has he uttered that phrase in so many different voices.
He’s gotta find Jack. Tell him he’s a….. Tell him about this. Ianto can’t bring himself to think the word yet. Let alone think it… oh dear lord. …NO.. Not going there. He sits heavily on the bed and is assaulted by the smell of pheromones. 51st century pheromones…. Familiar… so familiar. He fights the urge to break again. Must find Jack. He turns it into a mantra.
Must find Jack. Must find Jack. Must find Jack.
The words nearly lose their meaning. He doesn’t allow that to happen this time… he stops before they do. How to find Jack. How does one find an immortal time traveler? …. Mobile, maybe? Every immortal time travelers gotta have their mobile with them. It’s a long shot... now what did Ianto do with his? Oh right, he was dead. He didn’t have service anymore. It’d have been cancelled… but by whom… and furthermore, who put him into the chamber? Have to think about that later. Not now though. It’s not important now. (It’s probably the most important thing now, but Ianto’s pushing that though aside too)
Back up the stairs to find a phone. You’re in Cardiff… there’s phones around. He checks the glance that would have been at the tourist’s office. Nope. Not gonna do that. Bad plan, Jones. Keep going forward. Find a phone.
Now he’s running again.
Yep. Must be a trait of… this. This thing that he now is. He still can’t say the word. If he says it … it’ll come true. Phone. Find a phone. He finds a petrol station with a pay phone. Picks up the receiver …. Oh. He needs change. He has no change. Hmm. This is a problem…
Then he realizes. And the realization hits him like a brick. He wonders if his flat is still in existence. He swallows and then drops the receiver to dangle where it is, not even looking back. He runs to his flat. “His” flat? Shyte. Keys. Well… he has broken into places before… whats the harm. He does live here, after all.
Swift kick, just above the knob, and he’s in.
And it’s there. It’s all there. Hell, it’s more there now then it was when he lived here. Ianto peeks into his home. He walks in, tentatively. Instinctively, he knows there’s no one here, but he’s tentative all the same. He walks through rooms remembering thinking looking…. Ianto doesn’t have a photographic memory, but near enough. He hears moans and laughter and even the stray giggle… it’s all memory. Jack. Oh Jack. Where are you Jack?
Ianto picks up his phone, there’s a dial tone. Why is there a dial tone? Ianto Jones is dead, why does he still have an apartment and a dial tone?
He punches in a number from memory. It rings.
This is Jack Harkness. Leave a message and I’ll get back to you.
Beep.
The beep fills Ianto’s head. He manages to stammer… Ja… J… Jack. I think I’m me. I mean... I think, I’m... something happened and I died and now I’m alive but now I’m more then alive and I have two heartbeats and jack come home please jack come home please please jack.
And as if hearing Jack’s voice again opens a breach Ianto talks for a full 30 seconds just repeating and not punctuating.
After hanging up, Ianto realizes that Jack will never believe it’s him. The only time Ianto ever speaks without punctuation is when he’s close to eruption. He calls back again.
This is Jack Harkness. Leave a message and I’ll get back to you.
Beep.
Oh that infernal beep! Ianto stutters again a bit. Then calms himself and speaks again. “Jack, hi, it’s Ianto. I know I’m supposed to be dead, but you see, that seems to be a lie. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to lie to you and be dead. Um there’s something else and it seems a little too important to say over a voicemail message. So um. Call me back. I’m home. Because for some reason, even though I’m dead, I still have a home.”
He hangs up.
Without realizing he’s doing it, he’s redialed the phone.
This is Jack Harkness. Leave a message and I’ll get back to you.
Beep.
“Hey again Jack… I just wanted to hear your voice again. I miss hearing your voice, so even listening to a recording is ok. Um. Sorry… Bye.”
Again, he replaces the receiver on its cradle.
He makes coffee. He looks at the phone. He realizes that he’s still wearing the suit he died in, and this disturbs him greatly. He showers, changes, and throws that suit into the garbage bin. He looks at the phone. Traitorous hands retrieve the phone and dial again.
This is Jack Harkness….
…Ianto waits.
The message doesn’t finish. And Ianto is confused.
“Who is this?”
Ianto’s heart stops. It’s ok, cause now he has a spare. He barks a laugh at that… a spare heart. A spare Hart. Nope. Another line of thought to ignore. Moving right along… the pregnant pause on the phone is about to give birth.
“Jack?” Ianto says the name that is a name again. “Jack…. Jack… I … Jack… “Ianto realizes that he’s in danger of losing Jack... both the name and the man. “It’s Ianto.”
“Ianto’s dead. And this is a terrible joke. Don’t call again.”
“nojackdonthangupimiantojackpleasedonthangup!” The words all fall as one, shattering on the floor. They fall from his lips into the ear of the man on the other end. There’s desperation. Ianto falls to the floor with his words. “Jack don’t leave me.” He knows that the phone hasn’t been hung up. He also knows that Jack is waiting. He has spoken without punctuation again. He tries again.
“I’m… I’m… I can’t Jack. I can’t say it. I can’t make it real. I have… two.”
“Two what? And who is this. And why are you at Ianto’s flat?” Tires squeal on the phone. And outside. Funny how they sound like the same tires.
“Jack don’t make me say it.” Oh… those words. Don’t make me say… I love you. Don’t make me say… I need you… So many things could follow that.
“Tell me.” Boots thudding over the phone. Sound so much like the boots that thud up the stairs outside Ianto’s door.
The door flies open, and Ianto cringes. At least he showered. And has new clothing on.
Jack walks in and Ianto drops the phone for real. It thuds on the ground, and he can see Jack wince as it thuds in his ear. He touches the Bluetooth to shut it off, and with a whining noise, it does.
Jack stops and stares and Ianto sits and stares. Blue eyes meet familiar blue eyes and neither one speaks. Then one of them speaks, and neither knows who it is.
“How?”
Ianto stands and approaches Jack cautiously, as one might approach a tiger or perhaps a scared child. Or a scared baby tiger. He didn’t care, and threw the metaphor out the window. He approaches Jack. He takes Jack’s hands, holding back a shiver, as electricity flies between them. He places Jack’s hands on his own chest. One on the right and one on the left. Finally, he places his own hands on top of Jacks, and sees the look of excitementhorrorlovehateterror that flies across Jack’s face.
“You’re a Timelord.”
And then it’s real. And then each sensation is heightened, and the knowledge of ages is in his head. At that moment, the word is spoken, the spell is broken. Ianto Jones, Archivist, teaboy, part time shag, and dead lover becomes Ianto Jones, Timelord.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Chapter 2: And Another Thing
I am considering continuing. Had I kept going last night... this would've been like 6874645 words... thoughts? I dunno.
That said... Blame this on a combination of lawford 's gorgeous fic, The Gift... which, though beautiful, brought me to a state of brokenness... Also, here's my sad tale.
At Chicago TARDIS, I bought a coffee mug that had a Tardis on it that dissappeared when hot things happened inside it. It's pretty rad. I told my roommates, this does NOT go in the dishwasher, it will break it and ruin it. .... Guess what happened. So I'm fairly devastated. Just cause... I mean, I got it at the con. It was special for that. I could rebuy it on Amazon.. but it would lose something... ya know? So yeah. I guess I channeled a bit of sariagray 's love of broken crockery a bit too.
This is a vent!fic of a different sort.
So. onto the mess.
Disclaimers: Jack belongs to Ianto... both belong to us. The fans. Cause we care. ... even if we do use them for our own pleasure. :)
Here's a Thing
Broken. Bits everywhere. Nothing to be done, really… just move along, nothing to see here. Nowwhatdoido. The words out in a rush. Falling from his brain, his mouth, his soul. Sighing crying thinking laughing hysterically. Slow progression into madness. Where to go? What to do? All a lie. Everything’s a lie. It won’t be ok. It’ll never be ok again. Ianto Jones knows what it’s like to lose everything. He does so on a near regular basis. It was about time, he should have expected this. This is why he doesn’t really ever allow himself any happiness. It all just gets taken away in the end. Ianto used to believe in a God. Sometimes he still does… but this one is a vengeful god. This is a God who sees the good in people and turns it around and twists it into something awful and terrible and throws it back at them threefold.
Or maybe that’s just Jack.
Jack. He rolls the name around on his tongue. Just as he once rolled the man around on his tongue. What a metaphor. Jack symbolizes everything that could’ve been would’ve been should’ve been. Always going, yet always coming. A despairing snicker at the innuendo. Jack would’ve liked that.
Jackjackjackjackjackjackjackjackjackjackjackjack.
The name repeats in his head till it becomes nonsense. Till everything is nonsense, and no one knows anything anymore. Or maybe that’s just Ianto. But he knows everything so it’s ok. He knows everything except what to do with himself.
He’s been dead. He knows he’s been dead. He was dead. Why’s he not dead? This doesn’t fit into Ianto’s world. In Ianto’s world when people die they stay dead.
Except Jack. Jack’s always the exception to the rule. And now, apparently Ianto was too. He was cold. Very cold. Opening his eyes, he realized why… he was in a cryochamber. Though disturbing, this did prove to him his earlier deadness. He felt his pulse… strong. Stronger than usual, actually.
Not a zombie. In a cryochamber. …..Oh shite. Ianto was rather claustrophobic.
shiteshiteshiteshiteshite shiteshiteshiteshite!
With each repetition he bangs on the wallsrooffloor. Whatever they all are. (coffin) Walls all boxed around him. He screams his throat ragged. He chokes on his own breath. None of it works. He’s in a cryochamber. Ianto knows that means he’s dead. So why isn’t he dead? Keep this up and he will be again. Oh now there’s a thought.
Calm, Jones. Calm. That’s what you need… calm. Slow the heartbeat down. Wow. Wait. There’s a problem here. Count the heartbeats. One. Two. … No now that’s not right. Count them again; it’s just the distraction from the closeness of the walls.
One… two.
Shite. He puts his right hand on his chest. It takes some doing, being in such a closed space… but he doesn’t think about that. Then he puts his left hand on the other side of his chest. A heartbeat beneath both. Shite. Just… shite. He knows what this means. And wouldn’t ya know it too. He wonders if he looks the same… he can’t reach his face.
Now that he’s calming down a bit… one thing Torchwood has taught him, it’s how to slow his heartbeat(s) down in a near meditation, he can think a bit more. Ianto knows these cryochambers. They’re Torchwood. His Torchwood, maybe. He slides a hand up the ‘roof’ over his head. The slightly steamy clear top (coffin lid) and moves it over just that way… just to the right. right there. Yep. There it is. A catch. This is why they have an external lock, because if one knows how, one can get out. That’s assuming that one would ever be in….
He’s out now. And damn, now he realizes just how cold he was… he shivers on the floor for a while. He does know this floor though. It’s the Torchwood HUB. But… yes. Yes he can see debris all around. Seems that the blast didn’t completely destroy it…. And seems its still in use, he thinks as he glances disdainfully at his cryochamber (coffin).
Ianto pulls himself to his feet, shaky as he is, and stumbles through the well-known and well-loved passageways back to the main floor. Tears assault his eyes as he reaches the top, and sees the dark starry sky above. He breaks down … all of a sudden. Sobs wrack his still healing (regenerating) frame and he collapses to his knees. Falling falling falling falling apart at the seams. He doesn’t realize (though he will soon enough) that this is the suit he died in. And when he does realize it, the tears come hotter and harder.
His brain doesn’t really read the innuendo in that one yet either… but it would if Jack were around.
Jack. It’s a word again. He wonders where Jack is. He composes himself slowly and heads to his Archives. One of the few places he felt safe. He checks his Archives… and they’re in disarray. He takes a step forward, but before his foot can even hit the ground, he’s pirouetted oh the ball of his grounded foot, and is off like a shot. If the Archives are ok, then the bunker must be too. It has to be.
He races through hallways and passageways, no need to check where he’s going… he could do this in his sleep. Has in fact. And now his new body… so much energy. Explains a lot…
Running
Running
Running.
….He wonders idly if this is a trend.
Then he’s in the remains of Jack’s office…. Tears threaten again, and he steels himself against them, nearly throwing himself down the stairs into the bunker. And bunker is right. It has survived better then nearly everywhere else in the ruined Hub. (his ruined home) No Jack though. Still no Jack. Nothing looks like it’s moved since the blast. Many things moved in the blast. Ianto shudders and makes his way into the bathroom. The tiny bathroom that he spent so much time in. somehow the lights are still working. Must be the same tech that allows the water to work with no piping.
He looks into the mirror. Rather, he faces in the general direction of the mirror… he sees a few shards on the ground, but it looks like the majority should still be up there, judging by the amount of glass that has fallen.
Eyes rise to meet shattered eyes. Though whether it’s just the glass that’s making them shattered, he’s not yet sure. Hmm. He’s still Ianto. High forehead. Button nose. High cheekbones. All still there. He’s relieved … not sure he could have dealt with changing.
Now. Jack. Put the words together, take out the period… and so many times has he uttered that phrase in so many different voices.
He’s gotta find Jack. Tell him he’s a….. Tell him about this. Ianto can’t bring himself to think the word yet. Let alone think it… oh dear lord. …NO.. Not going there. He sits heavily on the bed and is assaulted by the smell of pheromones. 51st century pheromones…. Familiar… so familiar. He fights the urge to break again. Must find Jack. He turns it into a mantra.
Must find Jack. Must find Jack. Must find Jack.
The words nearly lose their meaning. He doesn’t allow that to happen this time… he stops before they do. How to find Jack. How does one find an immortal time traveler? …. Mobile, maybe? Every immortal time travelers gotta have their mobile with them. It’s a long shot... now what did Ianto do with his? Oh right, he was dead. He didn’t have service anymore. It’d have been cancelled… but by whom… and furthermore, who put him into the chamber? Have to think about that later. Not now though. It’s not important now. (It’s probably the most important thing now, but Ianto’s pushing that though aside too)
Back up the stairs to find a phone. You’re in Cardiff… there’s phones around. He checks the glance that would have been at the tourist’s office. Nope. Not gonna do that. Bad plan, Jones. Keep going forward. Find a phone.
Now he’s running again.
Yep. Must be a trait of… this. This thing that he now is. He still can’t say the word. If he says it … it’ll come true. Phone. Find a phone. He finds a petrol station with a pay phone. Picks up the receiver …. Oh. He needs change. He has no change. Hmm. This is a problem…
Then he realizes. And the realization hits him like a brick. He wonders if his flat is still in existence. He swallows and then drops the receiver to dangle where it is, not even looking back. He runs to his flat. “His” flat? Shyte. Keys. Well… he has broken into places before… whats the harm. He does live here, after all.
Swift kick, just above the knob, and he’s in.
And it’s there. It’s all there. Hell, it’s more there now then it was when he lived here. Ianto peeks into his home. He walks in, tentatively. Instinctively, he knows there’s no one here, but he’s tentative all the same. He walks through rooms remembering thinking looking…. Ianto doesn’t have a photographic memory, but near enough. He hears moans and laughter and even the stray giggle… it’s all memory. Jack. Oh Jack. Where are you Jack?
Ianto picks up his phone, there’s a dial tone. Why is there a dial tone? Ianto Jones is dead, why does he still have an apartment and a dial tone?
He punches in a number from memory. It rings.
This is Jack Harkness. Leave a message and I’ll get back to you.
Beep.
The beep fills Ianto’s head. He manages to stammer… Ja… J… Jack. I think I’m me. I mean... I think, I’m... something happened and I died and now I’m alive but now I’m more then alive and I have two heartbeats and jack come home please jack come home please please jack.
And as if hearing Jack’s voice again opens a breach Ianto talks for a full 30 seconds just repeating and not punctuating.
After hanging up, Ianto realizes that Jack will never believe it’s him. The only time Ianto ever speaks without punctuation is when he’s close to eruption. He calls back again.
This is Jack Harkness. Leave a message and I’ll get back to you.
Beep.
Oh that infernal beep! Ianto stutters again a bit. Then calms himself and speaks again. “Jack, hi, it’s Ianto. I know I’m supposed to be dead, but you see, that seems to be a lie. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to lie to you and be dead. Um there’s something else and it seems a little too important to say over a voicemail message. So um. Call me back. I’m home. Because for some reason, even though I’m dead, I still have a home.”
He hangs up.
Without realizing he’s doing it, he’s redialed the phone.
This is Jack Harkness. Leave a message and I’ll get back to you.
Beep.
“Hey again Jack… I just wanted to hear your voice again. I miss hearing your voice, so even listening to a recording is ok. Um. Sorry… Bye.”
Again, he replaces the receiver on its cradle.
He makes coffee. He looks at the phone. He realizes that he’s still wearing the suit he died in, and this disturbs him greatly. He showers, changes, and throws that suit into the garbage bin. He looks at the phone. Traitorous hands retrieve the phone and dial again.
This is Jack Harkness….
…Ianto waits.
The message doesn’t finish. And Ianto is confused.
“Who is this?”
Ianto’s heart stops. It’s ok, cause now he has a spare. He barks a laugh at that… a spare heart. A spare Hart. Nope. Another line of thought to ignore. Moving right along… the pregnant pause on the phone is about to give birth.
“Jack?” Ianto says the name that is a name again. “Jack…. Jack… I … Jack… “Ianto realizes that he’s in danger of losing Jack... both the name and the man. “It’s Ianto.”
“Ianto’s dead. And this is a terrible joke. Don’t call again.”
“nojackdonthangupimiantojackpleasedonthangup!” The words all fall as one, shattering on the floor. They fall from his lips into the ear of the man on the other end. There’s desperation. Ianto falls to the floor with his words. “Jack don’t leave me.” He knows that the phone hasn’t been hung up. He also knows that Jack is waiting. He has spoken without punctuation again. He tries again.
“I’m… I’m… I can’t Jack. I can’t say it. I can’t make it real. I have… two.”
“Two what? And who is this. And why are you at Ianto’s flat?” Tires squeal on the phone. And outside. Funny how they sound like the same tires.
“Jack don’t make me say it.” Oh… those words. Don’t make me say… I love you. Don’t make me say… I need you… So many things could follow that.
“Tell me.” Boots thudding over the phone. Sound so much like the boots that thud up the stairs outside Ianto’s door.
The door flies open, and Ianto cringes. At least he showered. And has new clothing on.
Jack walks in and Ianto drops the phone for real. It thuds on the ground, and he can see Jack wince as it thuds in his ear. He touches the Bluetooth to shut it off, and with a whining noise, it does.
Jack stops and stares and Ianto sits and stares. Blue eyes meet familiar blue eyes and neither one speaks. Then one of them speaks, and neither knows who it is.
“How?”
Ianto stands and approaches Jack cautiously, as one might approach a tiger or perhaps a scared child. Or a scared baby tiger. He didn’t care, and threw the metaphor out the window. He approaches Jack. He takes Jack’s hands, holding back a shiver, as electricity flies between them. He places Jack’s hands on his own chest. One on the right and one on the left. Finally, he places his own hands on top of Jacks, and sees the look of excitementhorrorlovehateterror that flies across Jack’s face.
“You’re a Timelord.”
And then it’s real. And then each sensation is heightened, and the knowledge of ages is in his head. At that moment, the word is spoken, the spell is broken. Ianto Jones, Archivist, teaboy, part time shag, and dead lover becomes Ianto Jones, Timelord.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Chapter 2: And Another Thing
I am considering continuing. Had I kept going last night... this would've been like 6874645 words... thoughts? I dunno.