The Windhovers (9 of 10)
Title: The Windhovers
Chapter: 9 of 10
Author: sarcasticchick
Pairing: Jack/Ianto
Rating: R
Spoilers: TW S1, S2
Fluffers/Betas: lilithilien
Summary: "A hallucination is a fact, not an error; what is erroneous is a judgement based upon it." - Bertrand Russell
A/N: Art! There is art!
Please see full A/N in Chapter 1 for story details, credits, and posting schedule.
Previous Chapters:
The Windhovers (1 of 10)
The Windhovers (2 of 10)
The Windhovers (3 of 10)
The Windhovers (4 of 10)
The Windhovers (5 of 10)
The Windhovers (6 of 10)
The Windhovers (7 of 10)
The Windhovers (8 of 10)
neo_star0114 has done what ya'll have been wanting. Bare-chested winged Ianto! *g* So absolutely lovely. If you need a visual image to go along what I have in my head, well, here ya go. And then when you're done staring, I included the link for commenting. :)
Comment Here!
So again, thanks to neo_star0114 for the lovely visuals!
And now, on with the fic...
***
If asked, Ianto would like to have said that he handled the unexpected developments with typical aplomb, embracing the new 'him' with a natural, curious enthusiasm tempered by Torchwood One-bred stolidity.
Ianto sipped his coffee, then cradled the mug in his hands, the empty kitchen providing the quiet backbone to his brooding.
He'd be lying, of course. Aplomb had miserably failed, and the fact that he observed himself mimicking Owen's behavior following his promotion from living to undead did nothing to buoy Ianto's thoughts. Not that he was as self-destructive as Owen had been, but he could now fully sympathize with the grief and rage, the depression and the questions for a life completely undone by factors far removed from control.
It'd taken thirty-eight hours before he'd finally emerged from his self-imposed isolation, mostly due to hunger thanks to what he assumed was Lester's personal kick-in-the-arse. Ianto had been granted the private time he'd needed, but he'd been neither coddled nor mothered. Not even Bree had stopped in with a cup of ginger tea.
Time had been divided between exploration and denial. One moment Ianto would be staring at himself in the mirror, analyzing every inch of himself and searching for even the slightest deviation from memory or studying the new. In the next, he'd have slammed the wardrobe door shut and curled in a ball on the bed, pretending the warmth covering him was a blanket and not wings.
He'd showered in the lavatory adjoining his bedroom, the first shower he'd actually given himself in well over a month, and he'd debated wanking just to see if his cock still functioned the same despite the black lines curling and twisting in patterns over the shaft.
The combined thought of touching the marks and the fear that somehow the wings had altered that prior form of entertainment killed any possible pleasure, so Ianto had instead focused on just how the fuck he was supposed to 'bathe' his wings, or if he even needed to.
Wings.
The name Windhovers blended with his coffee as Ianto drank, teasing his mind with possibility and questions. It was just a name, nothing more, and really Ianto hadn't the slightest notion what it meant or who they were, other than believing unequivocally that he was one. He'd yet to actually tell anyone what he knew, and Ianto wasn't exactly sure why he avoided saying anything at all. Dr. Ramamurthy drew blood samples and ran tests of all sorts, but no one seemed to know what race he was, so Ianto didn't feel inclined to proffer the information. The labs came back "off-the-charts alien," which the doctor found intriguing given both Ianto's previous human appearance and the humanoid form he possessed now, wings notwithstanding. In fact, Ianto looked so much like himself that he wanted to argue that the tests were wrong, that his DNA wasn't really unrecognizable, and that Dr. Ramamurthy was a shoddy doctor who shouldn't be practicing medicine.
Of course, none of that was true and he had the wings to prove it.
Despite knowing that Lester and Bree were alien and that Dr. Ramamurthy was not of this time, Ianto still found it difficult to finally open that bedroom door and venture out into the rest of the house, but the cries of his stomach and his personal loathing for self-pity drove him to seek the kitchen. It'd been empty at that late of hour and Ianto had taken full advantage by making his first mug of coffee in over a month.
He'd sipped it slowly, black and strong, luxuriating in the small fact that he once again had the freedom to enjoy coffee.
The coffee mug had a giant yellow smiley face on it, 'Be Happy!' printed in the bottom of the mug. Ianto tried not to think too much about the implications of his mug choice.
It had become habit, every night for nearly two weeks now, as Ianto discovered he slept far less than he had before. Most often his indulgences with the coffee were private; only once had Lester joined him with his glass of Tang, sharing a companionable silence with Ianto at the table shoved off to one corner of the kitchen. Like the rest of the house, the kitchen was enormous, cluttered with the oddest of trinkets amidst fine china and silver. Its extensively remodeled cooking area looked far more futuristic than modern.
And he was fairly sure the cookbooks had never been cracked.
It wasn't that the kitchen was never in use - no, the first time Ianto had ventured out during the day, he'd walked into the kitchen and faced an entire group of people. Alien, all of them. A Preocis from Andromeda, two Natuki siblings, a family of Clifftans, and one Dribite turned and stared.
Well, they hadn't stared, but that's what it'd felt like when Ianto had walked in the room, shirtless, in denims a size too small. ("Bree's picking up some clothes for you," Lester had said.) He would have retreated immediately but one of the Clifftan children (Ianto still wasn't sure on the name) had called out "bird man!" and thus began the awkward apologies from the parents and stilted conversation followed as he was dragged fully into the kitchen. Once he'd found something to eat from the array of foods, he secluded himself from the group.
He didn't intend to be rude, but he supposed it was. The two Clifftan children apparently were incapable of understanding subtle hints, climbing onto his lap to touch his hands, his arms, his face, his wings (and may grabby hands never pull on his wings again), basically anywhere they could.
It was like they'd never seen an alien before
New aliens came and went every day, some humans displaced in time, others as far from humanoid as was imaginable. Ianto couldn't quite figure how they knew Lester, but given what he knew of Lester's background in less than legal activities, he assumed it would be better not to ask. He really didn't give himself a chance to ask, preferring to wander the grounds, exploring the house or doing research in the surprisingly large library.
He wasn't avoiding contact with others, not really. Maybe a little, but definitely not to the point of true isolation. The number of visitors was just a bit overwhelming, and Ianto still felt the pressure of curiosity weighing on his shoulders. Or, rather, his wings. Or the marks. Or maybe he was just imagining it, a psychology transference of his own discomfort onto the presumed reactions of others.
Entirely possible, given the hours he'd wasted staring at the marks on his hand.
Ianto drained the last of his coffee and stared at the inscription fired into the bottom of the mug; he'd choose better, next mug. It reminded him too much of something his mother would have owned, along with an array of other silly things she found amusing, like the plastic frog salt and pepper shakers that croaked when one used them and the gilt-winged angels on her windowsill.
His mother had been on his mind a lot.
Unsurprising, given his recent stint at Providence Park.
With a scowl, Ianto stood and wandered to the sink to wash up the mug and scattered dishes collecting on the countertops. It wasn't only his stay that brought her to mind, it was everything, from seeing her outside the Information Center to Providence Park to this, whatever this was. He didn't understand it; his mother lacked wings or marks of any kind, so where did he fit in? The thought that they might not be his parents by blood made his heart race a little faster, his hands shake as he scrubbed dried tomato from a plate.
But they would always be his parents, even if they weren't by birth.
The far more terrifying thought, the one that left him nauseous and struggling for composure around the lump in his throat was the idea that he was her child by birth.
They'd both been sectioned. It couldn't be coincidence that they'd both ended up at Providence Park, could it?
And he'd signed her papers. Not that he'd really had any valid influence as he was still a youth and the doctors would have done it with or without his consent, but he'd been next of kin.
They'd both ended up at Providence Park.
Ianto consciously stopped the furious scrubbing of the plate and took a deep breath, attempting to relax and shake the threatening guilt. If she had been one of them ... a Windhover ... and her illness had actually been ... whatever had happened to him. He still wasn't quite sure, but he was aware of differences, of knowing when he shouldn't know. Species. Some names. Odd impressions of danger or safety. It was never consistent and always surprised him when he realized what should have been an abnormality acted as accepted thought within his mind.
And his mother, she'd been locked up, same as he.
"Troubled thoughts again?"
Ianto couldn't help but startle as the sound of Lester's voice broke into his self-recrimination; hands jerking so hard that he dropped the dish back into the sink. Immediately he picked it up and examined the plate for chips or cracks, but thankfully the dish remained whole. The same couldn't be said for his nerves.
It was overwhelming, the awareness that he'd been caught by surprise and just how wrong that was. He'd let his guard down, drawn too far inward. Unnerving and disappointing.
Lester just smiled as he grabbed the plate from Ianto's hands, setting it on the drying rack. "Your wings are your worst tell right now. Too tied to your emotions and too visible."
With a snort, Ianto returned his focus to washing up the remaining dishes. "My poker game thanks you. Next time I play at the Empire, I'll be sure to create a suitable deflection to distract them from watching my wings for cues."
The next plate disappeared from Ianto's hands as well. He would have thanked Lester for expediting the process except once the dishes were clean, he'd need something else to occupy himself. Preferably something that distracted him from thinking. They washed in silence interspersed with side-glances from Lester that began grating on Ianto's nerves as much had the other been rambling aimlessly about the weather or the fear he was going to need a monocle soon for his third eye which was beginning to show signs of myopia.
All the dishes were clean and Lester wandered to the small, mobile island that functioned as a mini-bar. Ianto had to admit the ingenuity; anywhere the conversations took place within the kitchen, a few favored spirits were only a roll away. He did fear where this conversation might be headed as Lester brought the bar with him, pouring two glasses of whisky before setting the decanter aside but within reach.
"It's come to my attention that your employer, Jack Harkness -" Lester began as he handed Ianto a glass, a glass from which Ianto quickly took a drink given the subject matter, "- and his team have been tearing apart Cardiff looking for you. Seems convinced your disappearance was not voluntary."
"Neither was my sectioning," Ianto remarked before he could stop the words from bypassing every brain-mouth filter he possessed. He knew the full story now, of confusion among the doctors and mangled paperwork filing resulting in his transference to Providence Park on basis of no friends or family listed among his records, of Jack attempting to trump all involved by claiming Torchwood only to have Owen counter-trump as Ianto's physician that it might be in his best interests to remain at Providence for an evaluation period. Ianto didn't necessarily blame anyone in particular for the situation - hell, having someone else monitor his care meant that Torchwood was free to find out what was wrong with him - but that didn't mean he didn't feel betrayed.
Especially since they never did figure out what was wrong.
And now he realized he may have betrayed his mother in kind.
"Yes, that was most unfortunate. However, we still have the problem of Mr. Harkness tearing apart Cardiff." Lester eyed him over his glass and Ianto began to wonder just what were Lester's interests. "You won't go back, will you."
Statement, not even remotely a question. But Ianto incredulously couldn't believe Lester would consider the alternate possibility. "Are you mad?" Maybe madness was contagious. Ianto wouldn't even dare consider calling Jack, because Tosh would immediately trace the call to this location - a location even he wasn't sure of, just that it was outside of London and that Bree and Dr. Ramamurthy had brought him here. But he wasn't about to clue Jack in on someone who'd barely escaped Torchwood years ago, much less clue Jack in that he lived ... and 'oh, by the way, don't mind the wings.'
No way was he going back to Torchwood.
"Didn't think you would." Lester didn't appear to blame him, but Ianto felt the need to parse and judge every word before he spoke. Warily, he sipped his whisky and hoped the alcohol wouldn't addle his mind. "Do you think he'll stop looking?"
"Eventually," Ianto quickly responded, then stopped as the utter lack of truth in those words were realized. Memories from before Providence flooded his mind - of his flat and the scones, of the encounter with his mother, of arguing and amends, of Owen and the Weevil - and from during his stay at the institution - of seeing the light watching, there when he looked out the window, of the night the light joined him and wept for failure. They had no definition to their relationship, no grand declarations or commitments, but he knew with certainty that Jack would never stop. "Unlikely."
"Then we have a problem."
Ianto's eyes narrowed as he rapidly considered all the things Lester might be involved with in Cardiff that would be of concern. "They won't bust your parlors if that's what you're concerned about. They're looking for me, not illegal operations."
"They're looking for anything alien because they believe that's what was wrong. And not necessarily inaccurate." Lester gestured at Ianto's back with his glass, and Ianto bit his tongue to keep himself from saying anything disparaging about Lester in retaliation of the honesty. "Do you know how many aliens live in Cardiff?"
"At least two." Ianto really had no idea beyond that. He'd never really considered it, given that Torchwood was far more reactionary than preemptive. There were far more than that if one counted Weevils, which really was an undefined population.
"Try one thousand, six hundred and forty-two peaceful citizens registered with me." Ianto stared, he couldn't help it. Given his assumption that Weevils had not registered, it might be less than one percent of the population, but that was still a relatively large number for Cardiff. "Including three multi-generational families who have been here longer than you've breathed, ten additional families, and a smattering of couples, siblings, and the poor lot who end up here alone, all under Torchwood's radar. And your friends are going about with their tech looking for anyone who might know anything."
Ianto read between what Lester said and didn't say, that all those one thousand, six hundred and forty-two were in danger of being discovered. And that's with the ones who had registered. There were perhaps more, Ianto knew of a few that Jack himself had helped place and the ones who ended up at Flat Holm needing specific care. Jack had transformed Torchwood Three. Before his control, and with Torchwood One, those aliens wouldn't have stood a chance of living any kind of life. Even now, it made Ianto sick to consider how many lives could be affected if Torchwood discovered them. Not that Jack would harm them, but Torchwood had such a reputation the members of Torchwood Three would be lucky to survive a retaliation of one thousand, six hundred and forty-two if they thought their lives were at stake.
He opened his mouth to speak, intending to defend Torchwood Three, but his mind took a different track, latching onto information that he remembered. "But according to Galactic Law, they're well within their right to seek asylum if planetarily displaced so long as they adhere to current social regulations and do not engage in activity providing technology beyond the means of the current development. Torchwood can't interfere if they're not breaking the laws and customs."
"You don't say?" Lester took a casual sip of his drink but Ianto could sense the shift of interest, the honing of the concentration Ianto had seen at play during poker hands, only this was far more fierce and he swore he could almost touch the intensity emanating from Lester. He wasn't quite sure if he should be afraid of it. "What do you know of Galactic Law, lad?"
"I don't know." Ianto wasn't even sure how he knew. As much as it felt like he'd always known the rights of refugees of space and time, Ianto knew he hadn't some time ago. It had to be connected with the names, with knowing immediately when he saw an individual their species. But it made no sense how he knew. He certainly hadn't learned it at Torchwood One; knowing that place, they had probably broken every law possible.
"And the Judoon?"
"Mercenary thugs employed by corporations profiting off the corruption of the Shadow Proclamation." Ianto quite literally felt his lips curl in distaste, the thought of the Judoon so foul the stench turned his stomach. Maybe it wasn't the Judoon, maybe it was the corporations who purchased their services or maybe it was the abuse of the Shadow Proclamation. Something within his response, however, had him turning to his glass of whisky to wash away the utter revulsion.
And as the alcohol burned down his throat, Ianto against wondered how the hell he knew any of that.
"Ianto?"
"I don't know." He held out his glass, begging a refill which Lester did without question. Silence stretched in comfortable familiarity after Lester returned the glass, and filled the space while Ianto swirled the whisky three times before taking a drink. "Some things," Ianto said finally, knowing full well he was playing into the basic interrogation trick but knew Lester would say nothing until Ianto spoke. For a moment of distraction, he tugged at the sleeve of one of two shirts now in his possession, crafted by some seamstress Lester knew. The back operated by a series of buttons, creating a seam down his spine with a wide hole in the upper back to allow for his wings. He appreciated the clothing immensely, but it was an embarrassment requesting assistance to dress in the morning. Ianto supposed he'd have to get used to either that or no shirt as he didn't have many options at his disposal. "Some things just are in my head and I don't know why."
"Like Naveen's origins."
"Yep." He refused to say any more on the subject, preferring to keep the information regarding his own personal revelations to himself. And Lester seemed perfectly aware that he was hiding something more, or perhaps even correctly assumed what the 'something' was, but he didn't push for it, for what reason Ianto couldn't quite figure out.
"Bit of wonder you are indeed." Lester smiled and raised his glass in toast; Ianto rolled his eyes in return but raised his glass, figuring it'd be better to play along than to argue. "But that still doesn't solve our Jack Harkness problem. Naveen's getting anxious the more reports come in."
"Reports?" His mind latched onto the word and Ianto looked at Lester with suspicion. "You're spying on Torchwood?"
He didn't think he'd ever seen a man (or alien) as smug as Lester looked as he leaned back against the counter, drink beside him and his hands clasped and resting on his ample middle.
"We always have been. Had to, really, for our own protection before Torchwood Three internally collapsed and Torchwood One fell. Quite relieved to hear you'd survived that, actually." Lester grabbed his glass again, waving it in Ianto's direction, looking rather pleased with himself if Ianto was to be asked. "What, you thought it was coincidence that Sabrina was your neighbor?"
Stunned speechless, Ianto had to admit that he had in fact either never considered it or had believed it coincidence. There was just one more piece to the puzzle, and once he found his tongue and the courage to confess to never having thought of it over the past two weeks, he spoke up. "And Dr. Ramamurthy?"
"Torchwood brings in one of their own, injured on the job? I assigned myself to your case immediately. Never can be too careful when it's Torchwood." Ianto turned to find Dr. Ramamurthy leaning against the door frame, legs casually crossed and looking as pleased with himself as Lester had. The idea that he'd been watched, for years by one and recently by another, left him extremely uneasy, almost anxious. It shouldn't matter, but it did, tickling every nerve ending until he felt as wound as he had that horrible day in the Hub when everyone had been watching, only this time he swore Ianto could feel it even in the tips of every feather. "In fact, I've been wondering if the injury and anti-psychotics may have delayed this development if as you say you'd been experiencing hallucinations for a time prior to the concussion."
Ianto tampered down the urge to irritably insult the doctor's skills and failure to realize something more had been in play during events at hospital. He and the doctor had worked to a tenuous relationship over the past two weeks, Dr. Ramamurthy still wary of Ianto's knowledge but ultimately his intrigue as to Ianto's biology and "metamorphosis" as he liked to call it triumphed.
The boyish glee Dr. Ramamurthy exhibited as he theorized and drew conjecture about this previously undiscovered species would have amused Ianto if he hadn't been the subject and focus of the doctor's enthusiasm. As it was, Ianto relied on him to figure out what had happened and Dr. Ramamurthy depended on Ianto for the genetic mystery. A symbiotic relationship, perhaps, but at least Lester was no longer defending Ianto's presence.
He even, sometimes, found it pleasant to be around Dr. Ramamurthy, even if Ianto would never admit it. But the man was a better chess player than Lester, and Ianto knew better than to challenge Lester to a card game.
Dr. Ramamurthy angled away from the door frame to look into the hall, beckoning to an individual to join them in the kitchen. Perhaps he'd brought Bree with him again; Ianto hadn't seen her for quite a time, and after Lester's statements regarding Jack and Torchwood he rather worried for her freedom. Though maybe she was just busy with her own life, or quite possibly in hiding at one of the safe houses, the ones that Dr. Ramamurthy had mentioned that first day but Ianto had never really considered until now.
He hoped she was safe; the other two chatted while he stared at his drink, considering his options or how best to deal with Jack. They could cover it up, fake Ianto's death; it wasn't like he hadn't ever done that in the past with Torchwood. It'd be more complicated given the technology Torchwood Three possessed, but it could be done.
Ianto simply didn't know if he was ready to completely give up his life just yet.
Even though it was technically gone already unless wings suddenly became the new fashion in Paris, Ianto was reluctant to have his old life ... killed. He hated to do that to the team, he hated the idea of never going back to everything he was and owned, and most of all, he hated to do that to Jack. Jack wouldn't kill him or even turn him over for study, Ianto was certain of this, but Ianto couldn't live a life constrained to the Hub. The idea of presenting the dead remains of "Ianto" to Jack, however ... he'd seen what Owen's death had done to Jack.
Though would it be more cruel for Jack to think he still lived?
Ianto realized his thoughts were circling back to arguments over the survivors living at Flat Holm and communicating their status to known relatives, and he nearly laughed at the irony.
"-crash near Abergavenny. Put up most of them at the safe house in Monmouth, but Celia and Mihouf offered to meet with you to discuss arrangements. Wesley's running from UNIT, encountered a squadron in London while out doing some independent investigation, fancies himself quite the journalist-"
He looked up when the sounds of hard-soled shoes scuffed the tiled floor, the pair Celia and Mihouf appearing battered but whole, though he wasn't sure if the Nertin race was naturally green in color or if it was a consequence of the crash as the shade reminded Ianto of Lester's Tang. Their returned looks made him uncomfortable, staring at both his wings and the markings on his face, their eyes a golden amber not dissimilar from the whisky he sipped. It was getting a bit ridiculous, and it was small wonder why he tended to avoid everyone who passed through Lester's place. Which was a rather incredible number; Ianto did have to wonder how the refugee process worked, and just how the hell Dr. Ramamurthy had gotten all of them out of the craft before Torchwood arrived.
Fuck, what if Torchwood Three was becoming lax in their duties due to their search for him?
The thought was as unpleasant as it was warming, but Ianto knew the dangers that lurked in the shadows. And while it was somewhat a comfort to know that Torchwood was turning Cardiff upside down looking for him, the fact that they would be derelict in their duties ratcheted the anxiety. Torchwood was there to protect the citizens of Britain, a service desperately needed.
But Jack wouldn't allow the team to lose sight of Torchwood's directive, would he?
Ianto grimaced behind his glass, realizing that it seemed just the thing Jack would do himself, let alone the entire team. Never ones for following protocol, not unless they believed him dead.
Squeaky, rubber-heeled footsteps on tiled floor distracted him from his thoughts and Ianto looked up from his glass to -
Species Profile
Species: Bandala
Origin: New Earth
Threat Priority Level: Low
---***---
Individual Profile
Name: Weslinoteth Lyone Braden Hartmew, Jr
Aliases: Archibald Douglass, Guy Lyone, Wesley
Previous Violations: NONE
Active Warrants: 6 (SIX) COUNTS Xenocide of Sentient Species in Violation of Section 4.6ac. 39 (THIRTY-NINE) COUNTS Xenocide of Non-Sentient Level Four Species in Violation of Section 4.7be. 14 (FOURTEEN) COUNTS Unlawful Use of Particle Disrupter: Class F in Willful Destruction of (d) New Atlos, (d) Marcedonia, (d) Camberin, and (d) Xyllythrns. 5 (FIVE) COUNTS Unlawful Use of Levitation Device Class B on Level Five Planet Sploe in Violation of Charter M-24 of Shadow Proclamation.
Threat Priority Level: HIGH
Original Status: New Earth, ERCY 4346370
Current Status: Earth, ERCY2008
- only have the glass slip from numb fingers, crashing to the floor and shattering into a hundred pieces as the previous anxiety exploded in intensity. Wesley was small in stature but carried a violent arrogance that would have left Ianto shaking had he not already been so distraught at the unthinkable horrors the man had wrought. "You ... " Ianto could barely speak the words as shock stole his breath. "You destroyed four planets."
"Ianto?"
"Look, kid, I don't know what you're on about."
Lester and Wesley's voices both rang out in the kitchen but Ianto chose to ignore Lester as his question failed to dent Ianto's growing anger. "You ... obliterated entire species." It was unconscionable. The weight of all the lives lost both suffocated and enraged him, so many lives, and how many species were lost that failed to meet warrant scripts?
"You've got me confused-"
"Weslinoteth Lyone Braden Hartmew, Junior!" Ianto all but roared, noting with satisfaction that Wesley's face blanched entirely and blue spots rose to the surface as an odor most foul filled the room. Panic. A defense mechanism, perhaps, native to the Bandalans. He caught movement from the corner of his eye, but he pushed it aside as he stood tall, straightening as he squared his shoulders on Wesley, perfect parallel stance to the diminutive Bandalan who was frantically searching for an exit.
Wouldn't happen. Every fiber of his being felt attuned to Wesley's breath, the stench of his sweat and frantic syncopated beat of the Bandalan's heart. He wouldn't escape; there was no where he could run on Earth that Ianto couldn't find him. "You've sixty-four counts of acts in direct violation of Galactic Law, including five counts against the Shadow Proclamation." Ianto advanced as one of the Nertins slammed the door to the kitchen shut behind Wesley, preventing his escape. "You will not walk free on Earth while she is mine to protect."
Wesley crouched low and snarled, springing forward to rush Ianto - and Ianto was more than ready - but the Bandalan's momentum was suddenly halted as Mihouf tackled him to the ground. Dr. Ramamurthy engaged as well, shoving what appeared to Ianto to be a pressurized syringe against Wesley's neck, within seconds rendering him unconscious.
Ianto watched it all, noting that the doctor seemed remarkably unruffled as he checked Wesley's pulse before slipping a plastic binding around his wrists. Dr. Ramamurthy looked up with a mixture of relief and revulsion. "Knew something was off about him. Couldn't deny him asylum without knowing for sure though."
But Ianto didn't move, couldn't really, frozen in place as his eyes drifted from Dr. Ramamurthy to Wesley, to the Nertin pair and back to Wesley again. He wondered if he should find it alarming that he was taken at his word in regards to the violations of Galactic Law, it wasn't like the others could see into his head. Hell, he didn't even know if it was actually truth, though he hadn't been incorrect yet. The rage, very real and not wrong, still lingered despite it being wasted on the unconscious form; rage more at such inhumane destruction and loss of life than the actual criminal himself.
"Calm yourself, lad. We'll take care of him, now."
Lester partnered his words with a touch on Ianto's shoulder; when Lester had moved to stand in front of him he wasn't precisely sure and Ianto flinched in surprise. The jolt of awareness was all it took for Ianto to discover just how far removed from calm he was, tension twisting around every muscle, every joint, every nerve until all were coiled and bound, waiting for the depression of the hair-trigger. Even his wings waited poised and anxious, half-flared in warning and causing quite the spectacle from the looks on Celia and Mouhif's faces.
Ianto realized immediately how very not normal this was.
The anger vanished, leaving Ianto physically deflated and stumbling backwards until he collided with the sink. If there was any question remaining as to whether the wings were truly his or belonging to some parasitic creature, Ianto had his answer. Not debilitating, but painful enough to remind Ianto to avoid further such action in the future. He'd have to look at them later, make sure none of the feathers were permanently damaged. Even if they were, he wasn't exactly sure what he would do about it.
Fuck, would he molt?
And he thought early balding was something to fear.
"What will you do with him?" Ianto asked to get his mind off everything abnormal transpiring just now ... and in the past few weeks.
Had he really said he was protecting Earth? Then again, through Torchwood Ianto was, so there was truth in the statement. Perhaps he wasn't completely megalomaniacal.
"We have a few sections of land with facilities to house the criminal and the few who can't survive Earth's atmosphere." Lester smirked as Ianto blinked in surprise. There were no records of such facilities existing at all in Torchwood's records, and if they were large enough and housed aliens, Torchwood would know, wouldn't they? "He'll be given the chance to defend himself, we'll check what records we have, and if it's determined he's a threat to Earth, we'll ensure he doesn't set a free foot upon the soil."
To Ianto, that sounded a lot like Torchwood's duties. "But, Torchwood -"
"Your Torchwood is far different than the Torchwood of old." Lester sharply rebuked Ianto, crossing his arms while he watched Dr. Ramamurthy gather his few things (Ianto wasn't quite sure where that med kit had come from). "I also know the conditions of your holding cells and I have to say ours are more suited to long-term stay. They may be criminals, but on this planet, they're one of us. Naveen!"
Ianto frowned as Lester and Dr. Ramamurthy exchanged pointed looks; Ianto followed their eyes from the Netrins, to Wesley, and then to Ianto himself before the 'conversation' ended. The doctor nodded, then with Moutif's assistance carried Wesley out the door; Celia waved, albeit hesitantly, then exited as well, leaving Lester and Ianto alone in the kitchen.
"Naveen will make sure those three don't remember anything of this night," Lester said after the footsteps disappeared down the hall and he'd opened the closest windows to alleviate the stench of the Bandalan defense. "I think it's best we keep this between the three of us."
"Wesley?" His frown morphed into a scowl, whether his displeasure stemmed from the whisky on the floor making his shoes sticky or the man who'd killed countless, Ianto wasn't sure. As much as he didn't want Wesley roaming free on Earth risking all if the Judoon showed to serve the warrants, he wanted due process, not injustice.
"You, idiot child." A damp flannel struck Ianto in the face, surprising him but not so much that he didn't catch it before it could fall to the floor. Lester's boisterous laughter filled the room as he swept the broken glass into a pan; Ianto barely resisted the urge to throw it back at him, instead mopping up the spilt alcohol while mindful not to drag his wings on the floor. "You're one of us now, and that includes our protection. And I'd wager everything I own that there's a reason why we don't know much of anything about your kind."
Ianto didn't have an answer, but then, he didn't think Lester really expected a response. Seemed he didn't know a lot of things lately, and the things he did know he didn't know how. And he'd just cited an individual's violations of Galactic Law, condemning him though he really wasn't sure what he would have done had Mouhif and Dr. Ramamurthy not stepped in. Fought Wesley? With wings? How awkward would that have been?
And how ridiculous. It most certainly would not have been graceful. Owen would have mocked him. Which reminded Ianto. "We still have the Jack problem."
"Well, we won't solve it tonight. Think about it a while, maybe something will pop into that head of yours." Lester gestured with the broom, using the handle to emphasize his point. "You could just tell him, you know. From what I hear, you were quite close. Might be nice to have someone right now."
"Oh, so you're matchmaking now?" Ianto grabbed the broom away from Lester, throwing the flannel in the sink before tucking the broom away in its closet, anything to keep from looking him in the eyes; Ianto feared the truth might just be a little too apparent. It was so easy to pretend and ignore when no one knew to ask. "We'll talk in the morning."
Lester was right; it'd be really nice to have someone right now. Someone named Jack, as aplomb was failing miserably the more normal abnormal became.
***
A/N: One chapter left! Just how will this be resolved? Will he contact Jack? Anyone's guess!
And can I say my relief that DW didn't joss my idea too terribly much? At least not yet. It would figure a sometimes-mentioned plot device I decided to incorporate (and oh, you have no idea yet. Or maybe you do. :) ) because it's only sometimes-mentioned ... would then be mentioned. *headdesks*
Next Chapter
Chapter: 9 of 10
Author: sarcasticchick
Pairing: Jack/Ianto
Rating: R
Spoilers: TW S1, S2
Fluffers/Betas: lilithilien
Summary: "A hallucination is a fact, not an error; what is erroneous is a judgement based upon it." - Bertrand Russell
A/N: Art! There is art!
Please see full A/N in Chapter 1 for story details, credits, and posting schedule.
Previous Chapters:
The Windhovers (1 of 10)
The Windhovers (2 of 10)
The Windhovers (3 of 10)
The Windhovers (4 of 10)
The Windhovers (5 of 10)
The Windhovers (6 of 10)
The Windhovers (7 of 10)
The Windhovers (8 of 10)
neo_star0114 has done what ya'll have been wanting. Bare-chested winged Ianto! *g* So absolutely lovely. If you need a visual image to go along what I have in my head, well, here ya go. And then when you're done staring, I included the link for commenting. :)
Comment Here!
So again, thanks to neo_star0114 for the lovely visuals!
And now, on with the fic...
***
If asked, Ianto would like to have said that he handled the unexpected developments with typical aplomb, embracing the new 'him' with a natural, curious enthusiasm tempered by Torchwood One-bred stolidity.
Ianto sipped his coffee, then cradled the mug in his hands, the empty kitchen providing the quiet backbone to his brooding.
He'd be lying, of course. Aplomb had miserably failed, and the fact that he observed himself mimicking Owen's behavior following his promotion from living to undead did nothing to buoy Ianto's thoughts. Not that he was as self-destructive as Owen had been, but he could now fully sympathize with the grief and rage, the depression and the questions for a life completely undone by factors far removed from control.
It'd taken thirty-eight hours before he'd finally emerged from his self-imposed isolation, mostly due to hunger thanks to what he assumed was Lester's personal kick-in-the-arse. Ianto had been granted the private time he'd needed, but he'd been neither coddled nor mothered. Not even Bree had stopped in with a cup of ginger tea.
Time had been divided between exploration and denial. One moment Ianto would be staring at himself in the mirror, analyzing every inch of himself and searching for even the slightest deviation from memory or studying the new. In the next, he'd have slammed the wardrobe door shut and curled in a ball on the bed, pretending the warmth covering him was a blanket and not wings.
He'd showered in the lavatory adjoining his bedroom, the first shower he'd actually given himself in well over a month, and he'd debated wanking just to see if his cock still functioned the same despite the black lines curling and twisting in patterns over the shaft.
The combined thought of touching the marks and the fear that somehow the wings had altered that prior form of entertainment killed any possible pleasure, so Ianto had instead focused on just how the fuck he was supposed to 'bathe' his wings, or if he even needed to.
Wings.
The name Windhovers blended with his coffee as Ianto drank, teasing his mind with possibility and questions. It was just a name, nothing more, and really Ianto hadn't the slightest notion what it meant or who they were, other than believing unequivocally that he was one. He'd yet to actually tell anyone what he knew, and Ianto wasn't exactly sure why he avoided saying anything at all. Dr. Ramamurthy drew blood samples and ran tests of all sorts, but no one seemed to know what race he was, so Ianto didn't feel inclined to proffer the information. The labs came back "off-the-charts alien," which the doctor found intriguing given both Ianto's previous human appearance and the humanoid form he possessed now, wings notwithstanding. In fact, Ianto looked so much like himself that he wanted to argue that the tests were wrong, that his DNA wasn't really unrecognizable, and that Dr. Ramamurthy was a shoddy doctor who shouldn't be practicing medicine.
Of course, none of that was true and he had the wings to prove it.
Despite knowing that Lester and Bree were alien and that Dr. Ramamurthy was not of this time, Ianto still found it difficult to finally open that bedroom door and venture out into the rest of the house, but the cries of his stomach and his personal loathing for self-pity drove him to seek the kitchen. It'd been empty at that late of hour and Ianto had taken full advantage by making his first mug of coffee in over a month.
He'd sipped it slowly, black and strong, luxuriating in the small fact that he once again had the freedom to enjoy coffee.
The coffee mug had a giant yellow smiley face on it, 'Be Happy!' printed in the bottom of the mug. Ianto tried not to think too much about the implications of his mug choice.
It had become habit, every night for nearly two weeks now, as Ianto discovered he slept far less than he had before. Most often his indulgences with the coffee were private; only once had Lester joined him with his glass of Tang, sharing a companionable silence with Ianto at the table shoved off to one corner of the kitchen. Like the rest of the house, the kitchen was enormous, cluttered with the oddest of trinkets amidst fine china and silver. Its extensively remodeled cooking area looked far more futuristic than modern.
And he was fairly sure the cookbooks had never been cracked.
It wasn't that the kitchen was never in use - no, the first time Ianto had ventured out during the day, he'd walked into the kitchen and faced an entire group of people. Alien, all of them. A Preocis from Andromeda, two Natuki siblings, a family of Clifftans, and one Dribite turned and stared.
Well, they hadn't stared, but that's what it'd felt like when Ianto had walked in the room, shirtless, in denims a size too small. ("Bree's picking up some clothes for you," Lester had said.) He would have retreated immediately but one of the Clifftan children (Ianto still wasn't sure on the name) had called out "bird man!" and thus began the awkward apologies from the parents and stilted conversation followed as he was dragged fully into the kitchen. Once he'd found something to eat from the array of foods, he secluded himself from the group.
He didn't intend to be rude, but he supposed it was. The two Clifftan children apparently were incapable of understanding subtle hints, climbing onto his lap to touch his hands, his arms, his face, his wings (and may grabby hands never pull on his wings again), basically anywhere they could.
It was like they'd never seen an alien before
New aliens came and went every day, some humans displaced in time, others as far from humanoid as was imaginable. Ianto couldn't quite figure how they knew Lester, but given what he knew of Lester's background in less than legal activities, he assumed it would be better not to ask. He really didn't give himself a chance to ask, preferring to wander the grounds, exploring the house or doing research in the surprisingly large library.
He wasn't avoiding contact with others, not really. Maybe a little, but definitely not to the point of true isolation. The number of visitors was just a bit overwhelming, and Ianto still felt the pressure of curiosity weighing on his shoulders. Or, rather, his wings. Or the marks. Or maybe he was just imagining it, a psychology transference of his own discomfort onto the presumed reactions of others.
Entirely possible, given the hours he'd wasted staring at the marks on his hand.
Ianto drained the last of his coffee and stared at the inscription fired into the bottom of the mug; he'd choose better, next mug. It reminded him too much of something his mother would have owned, along with an array of other silly things she found amusing, like the plastic frog salt and pepper shakers that croaked when one used them and the gilt-winged angels on her windowsill.
His mother had been on his mind a lot.
Unsurprising, given his recent stint at Providence Park.
With a scowl, Ianto stood and wandered to the sink to wash up the mug and scattered dishes collecting on the countertops. It wasn't only his stay that brought her to mind, it was everything, from seeing her outside the Information Center to Providence Park to this, whatever this was. He didn't understand it; his mother lacked wings or marks of any kind, so where did he fit in? The thought that they might not be his parents by blood made his heart race a little faster, his hands shake as he scrubbed dried tomato from a plate.
But they would always be his parents, even if they weren't by birth.
The far more terrifying thought, the one that left him nauseous and struggling for composure around the lump in his throat was the idea that he was her child by birth.
They'd both been sectioned. It couldn't be coincidence that they'd both ended up at Providence Park, could it?
And he'd signed her papers. Not that he'd really had any valid influence as he was still a youth and the doctors would have done it with or without his consent, but he'd been next of kin.
They'd both ended up at Providence Park.
Ianto consciously stopped the furious scrubbing of the plate and took a deep breath, attempting to relax and shake the threatening guilt. If she had been one of them ... a Windhover ... and her illness had actually been ... whatever had happened to him. He still wasn't quite sure, but he was aware of differences, of knowing when he shouldn't know. Species. Some names. Odd impressions of danger or safety. It was never consistent and always surprised him when he realized what should have been an abnormality acted as accepted thought within his mind.
And his mother, she'd been locked up, same as he.
"Troubled thoughts again?"
Ianto couldn't help but startle as the sound of Lester's voice broke into his self-recrimination; hands jerking so hard that he dropped the dish back into the sink. Immediately he picked it up and examined the plate for chips or cracks, but thankfully the dish remained whole. The same couldn't be said for his nerves.
It was overwhelming, the awareness that he'd been caught by surprise and just how wrong that was. He'd let his guard down, drawn too far inward. Unnerving and disappointing.
Lester just smiled as he grabbed the plate from Ianto's hands, setting it on the drying rack. "Your wings are your worst tell right now. Too tied to your emotions and too visible."
With a snort, Ianto returned his focus to washing up the remaining dishes. "My poker game thanks you. Next time I play at the Empire, I'll be sure to create a suitable deflection to distract them from watching my wings for cues."
The next plate disappeared from Ianto's hands as well. He would have thanked Lester for expediting the process except once the dishes were clean, he'd need something else to occupy himself. Preferably something that distracted him from thinking. They washed in silence interspersed with side-glances from Lester that began grating on Ianto's nerves as much had the other been rambling aimlessly about the weather or the fear he was going to need a monocle soon for his third eye which was beginning to show signs of myopia.
All the dishes were clean and Lester wandered to the small, mobile island that functioned as a mini-bar. Ianto had to admit the ingenuity; anywhere the conversations took place within the kitchen, a few favored spirits were only a roll away. He did fear where this conversation might be headed as Lester brought the bar with him, pouring two glasses of whisky before setting the decanter aside but within reach.
"It's come to my attention that your employer, Jack Harkness -" Lester began as he handed Ianto a glass, a glass from which Ianto quickly took a drink given the subject matter, "- and his team have been tearing apart Cardiff looking for you. Seems convinced your disappearance was not voluntary."
"Neither was my sectioning," Ianto remarked before he could stop the words from bypassing every brain-mouth filter he possessed. He knew the full story now, of confusion among the doctors and mangled paperwork filing resulting in his transference to Providence Park on basis of no friends or family listed among his records, of Jack attempting to trump all involved by claiming Torchwood only to have Owen counter-trump as Ianto's physician that it might be in his best interests to remain at Providence for an evaluation period. Ianto didn't necessarily blame anyone in particular for the situation - hell, having someone else monitor his care meant that Torchwood was free to find out what was wrong with him - but that didn't mean he didn't feel betrayed.
Especially since they never did figure out what was wrong.
And now he realized he may have betrayed his mother in kind.
"Yes, that was most unfortunate. However, we still have the problem of Mr. Harkness tearing apart Cardiff." Lester eyed him over his glass and Ianto began to wonder just what were Lester's interests. "You won't go back, will you."
Statement, not even remotely a question. But Ianto incredulously couldn't believe Lester would consider the alternate possibility. "Are you mad?" Maybe madness was contagious. Ianto wouldn't even dare consider calling Jack, because Tosh would immediately trace the call to this location - a location even he wasn't sure of, just that it was outside of London and that Bree and Dr. Ramamurthy had brought him here. But he wasn't about to clue Jack in on someone who'd barely escaped Torchwood years ago, much less clue Jack in that he lived ... and 'oh, by the way, don't mind the wings.'
No way was he going back to Torchwood.
"Didn't think you would." Lester didn't appear to blame him, but Ianto felt the need to parse and judge every word before he spoke. Warily, he sipped his whisky and hoped the alcohol wouldn't addle his mind. "Do you think he'll stop looking?"
"Eventually," Ianto quickly responded, then stopped as the utter lack of truth in those words were realized. Memories from before Providence flooded his mind - of his flat and the scones, of the encounter with his mother, of arguing and amends, of Owen and the Weevil - and from during his stay at the institution - of seeing the light watching, there when he looked out the window, of the night the light joined him and wept for failure. They had no definition to their relationship, no grand declarations or commitments, but he knew with certainty that Jack would never stop. "Unlikely."
"Then we have a problem."
Ianto's eyes narrowed as he rapidly considered all the things Lester might be involved with in Cardiff that would be of concern. "They won't bust your parlors if that's what you're concerned about. They're looking for me, not illegal operations."
"They're looking for anything alien because they believe that's what was wrong. And not necessarily inaccurate." Lester gestured at Ianto's back with his glass, and Ianto bit his tongue to keep himself from saying anything disparaging about Lester in retaliation of the honesty. "Do you know how many aliens live in Cardiff?"
"At least two." Ianto really had no idea beyond that. He'd never really considered it, given that Torchwood was far more reactionary than preemptive. There were far more than that if one counted Weevils, which really was an undefined population.
"Try one thousand, six hundred and forty-two peaceful citizens registered with me." Ianto stared, he couldn't help it. Given his assumption that Weevils had not registered, it might be less than one percent of the population, but that was still a relatively large number for Cardiff. "Including three multi-generational families who have been here longer than you've breathed, ten additional families, and a smattering of couples, siblings, and the poor lot who end up here alone, all under Torchwood's radar. And your friends are going about with their tech looking for anyone who might know anything."
Ianto read between what Lester said and didn't say, that all those one thousand, six hundred and forty-two were in danger of being discovered. And that's with the ones who had registered. There were perhaps more, Ianto knew of a few that Jack himself had helped place and the ones who ended up at Flat Holm needing specific care. Jack had transformed Torchwood Three. Before his control, and with Torchwood One, those aliens wouldn't have stood a chance of living any kind of life. Even now, it made Ianto sick to consider how many lives could be affected if Torchwood discovered them. Not that Jack would harm them, but Torchwood had such a reputation the members of Torchwood Three would be lucky to survive a retaliation of one thousand, six hundred and forty-two if they thought their lives were at stake.
He opened his mouth to speak, intending to defend Torchwood Three, but his mind took a different track, latching onto information that he remembered. "But according to Galactic Law, they're well within their right to seek asylum if planetarily displaced so long as they adhere to current social regulations and do not engage in activity providing technology beyond the means of the current development. Torchwood can't interfere if they're not breaking the laws and customs."
"You don't say?" Lester took a casual sip of his drink but Ianto could sense the shift of interest, the honing of the concentration Ianto had seen at play during poker hands, only this was far more fierce and he swore he could almost touch the intensity emanating from Lester. He wasn't quite sure if he should be afraid of it. "What do you know of Galactic Law, lad?"
"I don't know." Ianto wasn't even sure how he knew. As much as it felt like he'd always known the rights of refugees of space and time, Ianto knew he hadn't some time ago. It had to be connected with the names, with knowing immediately when he saw an individual their species. But it made no sense how he knew. He certainly hadn't learned it at Torchwood One; knowing that place, they had probably broken every law possible.
"And the Judoon?"
"Mercenary thugs employed by corporations profiting off the corruption of the Shadow Proclamation." Ianto quite literally felt his lips curl in distaste, the thought of the Judoon so foul the stench turned his stomach. Maybe it wasn't the Judoon, maybe it was the corporations who purchased their services or maybe it was the abuse of the Shadow Proclamation. Something within his response, however, had him turning to his glass of whisky to wash away the utter revulsion.
And as the alcohol burned down his throat, Ianto against wondered how the hell he knew any of that.
"Ianto?"
"I don't know." He held out his glass, begging a refill which Lester did without question. Silence stretched in comfortable familiarity after Lester returned the glass, and filled the space while Ianto swirled the whisky three times before taking a drink. "Some things," Ianto said finally, knowing full well he was playing into the basic interrogation trick but knew Lester would say nothing until Ianto spoke. For a moment of distraction, he tugged at the sleeve of one of two shirts now in his possession, crafted by some seamstress Lester knew. The back operated by a series of buttons, creating a seam down his spine with a wide hole in the upper back to allow for his wings. He appreciated the clothing immensely, but it was an embarrassment requesting assistance to dress in the morning. Ianto supposed he'd have to get used to either that or no shirt as he didn't have many options at his disposal. "Some things just are in my head and I don't know why."
"Like Naveen's origins."
"Yep." He refused to say any more on the subject, preferring to keep the information regarding his own personal revelations to himself. And Lester seemed perfectly aware that he was hiding something more, or perhaps even correctly assumed what the 'something' was, but he didn't push for it, for what reason Ianto couldn't quite figure out.
"Bit of wonder you are indeed." Lester smiled and raised his glass in toast; Ianto rolled his eyes in return but raised his glass, figuring it'd be better to play along than to argue. "But that still doesn't solve our Jack Harkness problem. Naveen's getting anxious the more reports come in."
"Reports?" His mind latched onto the word and Ianto looked at Lester with suspicion. "You're spying on Torchwood?"
He didn't think he'd ever seen a man (or alien) as smug as Lester looked as he leaned back against the counter, drink beside him and his hands clasped and resting on his ample middle.
"We always have been. Had to, really, for our own protection before Torchwood Three internally collapsed and Torchwood One fell. Quite relieved to hear you'd survived that, actually." Lester grabbed his glass again, waving it in Ianto's direction, looking rather pleased with himself if Ianto was to be asked. "What, you thought it was coincidence that Sabrina was your neighbor?"
Stunned speechless, Ianto had to admit that he had in fact either never considered it or had believed it coincidence. There was just one more piece to the puzzle, and once he found his tongue and the courage to confess to never having thought of it over the past two weeks, he spoke up. "And Dr. Ramamurthy?"
"Torchwood brings in one of their own, injured on the job? I assigned myself to your case immediately. Never can be too careful when it's Torchwood." Ianto turned to find Dr. Ramamurthy leaning against the door frame, legs casually crossed and looking as pleased with himself as Lester had. The idea that he'd been watched, for years by one and recently by another, left him extremely uneasy, almost anxious. It shouldn't matter, but it did, tickling every nerve ending until he felt as wound as he had that horrible day in the Hub when everyone had been watching, only this time he swore Ianto could feel it even in the tips of every feather. "In fact, I've been wondering if the injury and anti-psychotics may have delayed this development if as you say you'd been experiencing hallucinations for a time prior to the concussion."
Ianto tampered down the urge to irritably insult the doctor's skills and failure to realize something more had been in play during events at hospital. He and the doctor had worked to a tenuous relationship over the past two weeks, Dr. Ramamurthy still wary of Ianto's knowledge but ultimately his intrigue as to Ianto's biology and "metamorphosis" as he liked to call it triumphed.
The boyish glee Dr. Ramamurthy exhibited as he theorized and drew conjecture about this previously undiscovered species would have amused Ianto if he hadn't been the subject and focus of the doctor's enthusiasm. As it was, Ianto relied on him to figure out what had happened and Dr. Ramamurthy depended on Ianto for the genetic mystery. A symbiotic relationship, perhaps, but at least Lester was no longer defending Ianto's presence.
He even, sometimes, found it pleasant to be around Dr. Ramamurthy, even if Ianto would never admit it. But the man was a better chess player than Lester, and Ianto knew better than to challenge Lester to a card game.
Dr. Ramamurthy angled away from the door frame to look into the hall, beckoning to an individual to join them in the kitchen. Perhaps he'd brought Bree with him again; Ianto hadn't seen her for quite a time, and after Lester's statements regarding Jack and Torchwood he rather worried for her freedom. Though maybe she was just busy with her own life, or quite possibly in hiding at one of the safe houses, the ones that Dr. Ramamurthy had mentioned that first day but Ianto had never really considered until now.
He hoped she was safe; the other two chatted while he stared at his drink, considering his options or how best to deal with Jack. They could cover it up, fake Ianto's death; it wasn't like he hadn't ever done that in the past with Torchwood. It'd be more complicated given the technology Torchwood Three possessed, but it could be done.
Ianto simply didn't know if he was ready to completely give up his life just yet.
Even though it was technically gone already unless wings suddenly became the new fashion in Paris, Ianto was reluctant to have his old life ... killed. He hated to do that to the team, he hated the idea of never going back to everything he was and owned, and most of all, he hated to do that to Jack. Jack wouldn't kill him or even turn him over for study, Ianto was certain of this, but Ianto couldn't live a life constrained to the Hub. The idea of presenting the dead remains of "Ianto" to Jack, however ... he'd seen what Owen's death had done to Jack.
Though would it be more cruel for Jack to think he still lived?
Ianto realized his thoughts were circling back to arguments over the survivors living at Flat Holm and communicating their status to known relatives, and he nearly laughed at the irony.
"-crash near Abergavenny. Put up most of them at the safe house in Monmouth, but Celia and Mihouf offered to meet with you to discuss arrangements. Wesley's running from UNIT, encountered a squadron in London while out doing some independent investigation, fancies himself quite the journalist-"
He looked up when the sounds of hard-soled shoes scuffed the tiled floor, the pair Celia and Mihouf appearing battered but whole, though he wasn't sure if the Nertin race was naturally green in color or if it was a consequence of the crash as the shade reminded Ianto of Lester's Tang. Their returned looks made him uncomfortable, staring at both his wings and the markings on his face, their eyes a golden amber not dissimilar from the whisky he sipped. It was getting a bit ridiculous, and it was small wonder why he tended to avoid everyone who passed through Lester's place. Which was a rather incredible number; Ianto did have to wonder how the refugee process worked, and just how the hell Dr. Ramamurthy had gotten all of them out of the craft before Torchwood arrived.
Fuck, what if Torchwood Three was becoming lax in their duties due to their search for him?
The thought was as unpleasant as it was warming, but Ianto knew the dangers that lurked in the shadows. And while it was somewhat a comfort to know that Torchwood was turning Cardiff upside down looking for him, the fact that they would be derelict in their duties ratcheted the anxiety. Torchwood was there to protect the citizens of Britain, a service desperately needed.
But Jack wouldn't allow the team to lose sight of Torchwood's directive, would he?
Ianto grimaced behind his glass, realizing that it seemed just the thing Jack would do himself, let alone the entire team. Never ones for following protocol, not unless they believed him dead.
Squeaky, rubber-heeled footsteps on tiled floor distracted him from his thoughts and Ianto looked up from his glass to -
Species Profile
Species: Bandala
Origin: New Earth
Threat Priority Level: Low
---***---
Individual Profile
Name: Weslinoteth Lyone Braden Hartmew, Jr
Aliases: Archibald Douglass, Guy Lyone, Wesley
Previous Violations: NONE
Active Warrants: 6 (SIX) COUNTS Xenocide of Sentient Species in Violation of Section 4.6ac. 39 (THIRTY-NINE) COUNTS Xenocide of Non-Sentient Level Four Species in Violation of Section 4.7be. 14 (FOURTEEN) COUNTS Unlawful Use of Particle Disrupter: Class F in Willful Destruction of (d) New Atlos, (d) Marcedonia, (d) Camberin, and (d) Xyllythrns. 5 (FIVE) COUNTS Unlawful Use of Levitation Device Class B on Level Five Planet Sploe in Violation of Charter M-24 of Shadow Proclamation.
Threat Priority Level: HIGH
Original Status: New Earth, ERCY 4346370
Current Status: Earth, ERCY2008
- only have the glass slip from numb fingers, crashing to the floor and shattering into a hundred pieces as the previous anxiety exploded in intensity. Wesley was small in stature but carried a violent arrogance that would have left Ianto shaking had he not already been so distraught at the unthinkable horrors the man had wrought. "You ... " Ianto could barely speak the words as shock stole his breath. "You destroyed four planets."
"Ianto?"
"Look, kid, I don't know what you're on about."
Lester and Wesley's voices both rang out in the kitchen but Ianto chose to ignore Lester as his question failed to dent Ianto's growing anger. "You ... obliterated entire species." It was unconscionable. The weight of all the lives lost both suffocated and enraged him, so many lives, and how many species were lost that failed to meet warrant scripts?
"You've got me confused-"
"Weslinoteth Lyone Braden Hartmew, Junior!" Ianto all but roared, noting with satisfaction that Wesley's face blanched entirely and blue spots rose to the surface as an odor most foul filled the room. Panic. A defense mechanism, perhaps, native to the Bandalans. He caught movement from the corner of his eye, but he pushed it aside as he stood tall, straightening as he squared his shoulders on Wesley, perfect parallel stance to the diminutive Bandalan who was frantically searching for an exit.
Wouldn't happen. Every fiber of his being felt attuned to Wesley's breath, the stench of his sweat and frantic syncopated beat of the Bandalan's heart. He wouldn't escape; there was no where he could run on Earth that Ianto couldn't find him. "You've sixty-four counts of acts in direct violation of Galactic Law, including five counts against the Shadow Proclamation." Ianto advanced as one of the Nertins slammed the door to the kitchen shut behind Wesley, preventing his escape. "You will not walk free on Earth while she is mine to protect."
Wesley crouched low and snarled, springing forward to rush Ianto - and Ianto was more than ready - but the Bandalan's momentum was suddenly halted as Mihouf tackled him to the ground. Dr. Ramamurthy engaged as well, shoving what appeared to Ianto to be a pressurized syringe against Wesley's neck, within seconds rendering him unconscious.
Ianto watched it all, noting that the doctor seemed remarkably unruffled as he checked Wesley's pulse before slipping a plastic binding around his wrists. Dr. Ramamurthy looked up with a mixture of relief and revulsion. "Knew something was off about him. Couldn't deny him asylum without knowing for sure though."
But Ianto didn't move, couldn't really, frozen in place as his eyes drifted from Dr. Ramamurthy to Wesley, to the Nertin pair and back to Wesley again. He wondered if he should find it alarming that he was taken at his word in regards to the violations of Galactic Law, it wasn't like the others could see into his head. Hell, he didn't even know if it was actually truth, though he hadn't been incorrect yet. The rage, very real and not wrong, still lingered despite it being wasted on the unconscious form; rage more at such inhumane destruction and loss of life than the actual criminal himself.
"Calm yourself, lad. We'll take care of him, now."
Lester partnered his words with a touch on Ianto's shoulder; when Lester had moved to stand in front of him he wasn't precisely sure and Ianto flinched in surprise. The jolt of awareness was all it took for Ianto to discover just how far removed from calm he was, tension twisting around every muscle, every joint, every nerve until all were coiled and bound, waiting for the depression of the hair-trigger. Even his wings waited poised and anxious, half-flared in warning and causing quite the spectacle from the looks on Celia and Mouhif's faces.
Ianto realized immediately how very not normal this was.
The anger vanished, leaving Ianto physically deflated and stumbling backwards until he collided with the sink. If there was any question remaining as to whether the wings were truly his or belonging to some parasitic creature, Ianto had his answer. Not debilitating, but painful enough to remind Ianto to avoid further such action in the future. He'd have to look at them later, make sure none of the feathers were permanently damaged. Even if they were, he wasn't exactly sure what he would do about it.
Fuck, would he molt?
And he thought early balding was something to fear.
"What will you do with him?" Ianto asked to get his mind off everything abnormal transpiring just now ... and in the past few weeks.
Had he really said he was protecting Earth? Then again, through Torchwood Ianto was, so there was truth in the statement. Perhaps he wasn't completely megalomaniacal.
"We have a few sections of land with facilities to house the criminal and the few who can't survive Earth's atmosphere." Lester smirked as Ianto blinked in surprise. There were no records of such facilities existing at all in Torchwood's records, and if they were large enough and housed aliens, Torchwood would know, wouldn't they? "He'll be given the chance to defend himself, we'll check what records we have, and if it's determined he's a threat to Earth, we'll ensure he doesn't set a free foot upon the soil."
To Ianto, that sounded a lot like Torchwood's duties. "But, Torchwood -"
"Your Torchwood is far different than the Torchwood of old." Lester sharply rebuked Ianto, crossing his arms while he watched Dr. Ramamurthy gather his few things (Ianto wasn't quite sure where that med kit had come from). "I also know the conditions of your holding cells and I have to say ours are more suited to long-term stay. They may be criminals, but on this planet, they're one of us. Naveen!"
Ianto frowned as Lester and Dr. Ramamurthy exchanged pointed looks; Ianto followed their eyes from the Netrins, to Wesley, and then to Ianto himself before the 'conversation' ended. The doctor nodded, then with Moutif's assistance carried Wesley out the door; Celia waved, albeit hesitantly, then exited as well, leaving Lester and Ianto alone in the kitchen.
"Naveen will make sure those three don't remember anything of this night," Lester said after the footsteps disappeared down the hall and he'd opened the closest windows to alleviate the stench of the Bandalan defense. "I think it's best we keep this between the three of us."
"Wesley?" His frown morphed into a scowl, whether his displeasure stemmed from the whisky on the floor making his shoes sticky or the man who'd killed countless, Ianto wasn't sure. As much as he didn't want Wesley roaming free on Earth risking all if the Judoon showed to serve the warrants, he wanted due process, not injustice.
"You, idiot child." A damp flannel struck Ianto in the face, surprising him but not so much that he didn't catch it before it could fall to the floor. Lester's boisterous laughter filled the room as he swept the broken glass into a pan; Ianto barely resisted the urge to throw it back at him, instead mopping up the spilt alcohol while mindful not to drag his wings on the floor. "You're one of us now, and that includes our protection. And I'd wager everything I own that there's a reason why we don't know much of anything about your kind."
Ianto didn't have an answer, but then, he didn't think Lester really expected a response. Seemed he didn't know a lot of things lately, and the things he did know he didn't know how. And he'd just cited an individual's violations of Galactic Law, condemning him though he really wasn't sure what he would have done had Mouhif and Dr. Ramamurthy not stepped in. Fought Wesley? With wings? How awkward would that have been?
And how ridiculous. It most certainly would not have been graceful. Owen would have mocked him. Which reminded Ianto. "We still have the Jack problem."
"Well, we won't solve it tonight. Think about it a while, maybe something will pop into that head of yours." Lester gestured with the broom, using the handle to emphasize his point. "You could just tell him, you know. From what I hear, you were quite close. Might be nice to have someone right now."
"Oh, so you're matchmaking now?" Ianto grabbed the broom away from Lester, throwing the flannel in the sink before tucking the broom away in its closet, anything to keep from looking him in the eyes; Ianto feared the truth might just be a little too apparent. It was so easy to pretend and ignore when no one knew to ask. "We'll talk in the morning."
Lester was right; it'd be really nice to have someone right now. Someone named Jack, as aplomb was failing miserably the more normal abnormal became.
***
A/N: One chapter left! Just how will this be resolved? Will he contact Jack? Anyone's guess!
And can I say my relief that DW didn't joss my idea too terribly much? At least not yet. It would figure a sometimes-mentioned plot device I decided to incorporate (and oh, you have no idea yet. Or maybe you do. :) ) because it's only sometimes-mentioned ... would then be mentioned. *headdesks*
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