The Windhovers (10 of 10 - Part 2)
Title: The Windhovers
Chapter: 10 of 10 (COMPLETE)
Author: sarcasticchick
Pairing: Jack/Ianto
Rating: NC17
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: You know that expression, eyes bigger than your stomach? Well, I swear my plot is bigger than my LJ word count limit. Or something. Long chapter, see endnotes for author blatherings.
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)
The Windhovers (9 of 10)
The Windhovers (10 of 10 - Part 1)
***
Three days later, Ianto stood on the pier stretching its wooden finger into the bay. Typically, he didn't venture out, but there was something freeing about standing over the water, land visible out of the corner of one's eyes but ahead, nothing but water.
After months of rather isolated living, the press of people was unnerving, winding its way inside like thousands of worms until he swore he could sense every single person living in Cardiff as easily as he breathed. And confinement within Torchwood had been even worse, though he smiled through it all seeing as how he had actually wanted to get out of the holding cell. Locked up, a captured prize through the looking (plexi)glass, Ianto developed a quick understanding of what could happen should he live as an alien among Torchwood.
Not an option.
The tests had all come back "human" with no signs of alien interference, much as Dr. Ramamurthy's tests had demonstrated. The psych questions all returned within the norms for someone who'd been through what he had in his life, though Owen was hardly the most qualified for quick determinations of mental health. He'd also been subjected to a lie detector test, a pitiful excuse of Maintok tech (cheap imitations of a similar device the Dabstoynes developed, sold for huge profits across the universe to unsuspecting fools).
Ianto had no problem lying when Jack asked him if he was an alien, though technically at that point in time he wasn't. Not exactly, at any rate. Enough doubt that Ianto could literally see how to work the test to maintain a green light.
He hadn't lied about anything else, however. Even if he hadn't told the complete truth. Stress was the reason for the visions, and Ianto certainly had been stressed. Owen didn't believe the stress argument, but the light remained green ("Stress? Bollocks to that." To which Ianto had quickly pointed and asked "Dead? Bullshit.").
The use of the mind probe was rejected immediately by Gwen who proceeded to berate everyone for considering using such a traumatic device on one who'd so recently been so severely traumatized. Perhaps a little over the top by way of delivery - Ianto didn't think he'd seen her so worked up since she refused to Retcon Rhys - but in the end, he didn't complain as the idea was dismissed.
Tosh ran her scanning device over his arm just to be on the safe side, no sense knowingly permitting a sleeper agent to continually broadcast from within the Hub. Not that he was, but he understood their fears and he couldn't exactly waylay them.
He'd been a bit concerned about the length of time he spent in the holding cells and his ability to control the alien side of him - there hadn't been much time to experiment if there was a fixed amount of time he could spend looking human as it hadn't gone well with the initial metamorphosis, but the anxiety was unnecessary. Ianto still did push-ups in the cell to work off some of that nervous energy, however, feeling like he truly belonged in a prison movie when he did so. Owen had mocked him, but Dr. Ramamurthy would have been pleased that Ianto had kept up the strengthening exercises.
Finally, after every test known to Torchwood had been run, Jack set him free and declared that he no longer posed a security threat. Ianto watched as Jack remained where he was, hands stuffed in his trouser pockets - Captain, not partner - as Tosh gave him a happy, tearful hug that Ianto had returned with equal joy.
For her ears only, he quietly thanked her for the wonderful coffee, all those many days.
Gwen had given him a hug as well, hesitant. But once Ianto thanked her for taking over for him while he'd been gone, she sagged in relief, laughing that she was never doing it again because she didn't actually enjoy working.
He did, but maybe he simply had a different perspective.
Owen had surprised them all, a hug so quick if Ianto blinked he would have missed it, then welcomed the tea-boy back to the Hub by demanding coffee cause Gwen's wasn't bad, but it wasn't perfect.
Ianto took that for the compliment it was, all the while watching Jack who never once moved. He didn't know what that meant, what Jack was saying, hell, if Jack was saying anything at all by it. He could have been carved in marble for all Ianto could tell. All of a sudden it felt too much, too real, too many secrets, too normal when he knew how truly abnormal it was, then guilt for even thinking his race could be considered abnormal. The Windhovers weren't abnormal, the Earth simply wasn't built for them, not now, nor possibly ever.
But thinking that didn't stop the shame and Ianto excused himself with the need for fresh air, escaping to the pier.
Lester was disappointed that Ianto had been so quick to return, to run away from the truths secreted away in the eclectically decorated house in the country. But really, Torchwood was as much Ianto as any Windhover heritage or purpose. And here, Ianto felt at home in ways he hadn't since he was five years old and his father would step through the front door at the end of his workday with a flower for his mother's hair.
Torchwood Three, the most dysfunctional collective of disparate characters that somehow worked itself into normal.
Normal was relative, Ianto supposed.
"I'm sorry." Jack's voice didn't startle him - even if he hadn't heard the foot treads, he felt the vibrations in the planks of the pier. But Ianto was a bit surprised Jack had joined him on the pier, standing so close behind him he could feel Jack's breath blow warm apologies into his ear. "I'm so sorry I couldn't ..."
Ianto leaned back into Jack as his voice tapered off into nothing but the swish of the waves lapping against the pier. Hands curled around his waist, seeking the warmth of his skin, the permission to touch granted by Ianto's simple action. Jack's chin followed, resting on Ianto's shoulder. Fuck, he couldn't remember the last time they'd touched when it hadn't been connected to something tragic or extreme.
He couldn't imagine what it'd been like for Jack, although Ianto had some idea what lengths he'd go to when he'd started calling UNIT help for the search effort. Bit ridiculous, if one would ask Ianto, all that effort for just one person.
One not-quite-human person, and Ianto hated the idea of keeping more secrets from Jack. But now was not the time, nor was it his right to share, now when doing so could possibly spill the secrets of the hundreds living free in Cardiff.
Jack wouldn't care, Ianto knew he wouldn't. But Torchwood would know. And that was too much to debate at the moment.
"You have every reason to hate me, to hate all of Torchwood. We... I failed ... you ended up at ... " Jack stopped himself, and Ianto didn't blame him - the rambled half-phrases seemed far too scattered for even Jack. But the silence didn't last with Jack picking up the thread from where he'd left off. "If you want to leave, I won't stop you or Retcon you. We owe you that much. Unless you want to Retcon the last few months, which I could arrange. Whatever you want."
Fuck, if only he could forget the last few months. "I'm not leaving, Jack. And I'm not chasing these memories with a bottle of whisky and a couple amnesia pills, though I may yet try the bottle of whisky idea."
"So, we're good?" Loaded question: Torchwood, Jack, their relationship, all the funny little details shredded by the last few months rolled into a tiny little query.
Sighing, Ianto closed his eyes and relaxed against Jack, wrapped in the great coat and protected from the wind whipping about the Bay. Good? Ianto didn't know that they'd ever return to good. Maybe they could, or maybe they were already. He supposed another argument was primed for the future, one where Ianto unleashed about Providence and Jack railed on Ianto for keeping secrets to which Ianto would retaliate with 'Badwolf?'. But hopefully, that would be a long time down the Torchwood road. Maybe it'd never happen. Ianto was skilled at maintaining secrets, though he really did wonder how long he could keep his heritage from Jack. He still wondered if he even needed to, or if the guilt would consume him for denying it.
Or maybe he'd wake up from a dream, in Jack's bed, with wings protruding from his back.
He'd been wrong about so many things, all of them had, from his vision of his mother until Jack freed him from the cell as he was deemed not a security threat that he didn't know what was actually right anymore and anything was possible.
"Yup, we're good." He didn't lie, not really.
Jack huffed in amusement, cheeks rubbing as they stared out over the Bay. The hands wrapped about his sides turned decidedly naughty as they seduced more than warmed, and Ianto had to resist the urge to stomp on Jack's foot for doing any such thing in public.
"You know, I dreamt about having sex with you right here," Jack mused, his fingers teasing a pattern on Ianto's skin that was so distractingly familiar he almost missed what Jack had said. But his attention fully snapped on Jack's words, even if he didn't outwardly move. "Both of us naked, me riding you, and fuck, the things you were doing with your hands..."
Fin
...and the 'verse now continues with the new story in the series, The Fledgling
***
Endnotes:
1. It's done! Clocks in at over 50k words. What do you think, did I take back the plot? *g*
First off, mucho mega super thanks to my wonderful beta lilithilien who kept kicking my ass to get this thing written. Despite it being wing!fic. *g* And then she took it and made all my funky, rambled writing into a beautiful, grammar-friendly piece.
Then to cs_whitewolf, kel_reiley and demotu who provided some much needed reassurance after the first third of the fic or so when I was struggling with the concepts. *blows kisses*
Thank you to the artists, love_jackianto and neo_star0114 who honored me with some amazing art to complement the fic. Beautiful!!
And thanks to everyone who put up with the storms, floods, tornados, sometimes all combined for a wedding, while I attempted to write/post this fic. Mother nature, she's not one to go down without a fight, is she?
2. A sincere *hug* and thanks to all of you who shared personal stories of dealing with mental illness with me - they were all so touching and my heart goes out to each of you for the day-to-day struggles and tiny battles.
One of the things I was trying to accomplish through this fic was to get the other side, to see things from an altered perspective (like "Requiem for a Dream" which, hands down, kicks the ass of most if not all who attempt to compete with it in the 'seriously disturbing but oh so brilliant' category). Hopefully if there's one impression you walk away w/ (if anything) is that schizophrenia does NOT equal multiple personalities/dissociative identity disorder, no matter what the media tries to tell you (while Ianto's case was obviously alien in origin, I based a lot of the writing/symptoms on my studies of/family experiences w/ schizophrenia). And, while that "crazy lady down the street" who talks to herself and wears a tinhat may seem funny, to them, it's very, very real.
3. On a lighter note, this has laid the groundwork for a series of follow-up fics within the 'verse (cha, what a tease I know). So, expect more! Will Jack find out? Will the team? Just what is a Windhover, what's with this sometimes being human? What was it with that dream? And most importantly, WILL THERE BE WINGSMUT?!?!!? Okay, that last one was added almost as a joke. Almost. I may have been serious about it. Hush, I did write smut! It just ... wasn't wingsmut.
4. On a second lighter but hopefully more financially profitable note - for anyone who's interested, during the next few months, I'll be refocusing most of my writing efforts on my original fic which I hope to have published (hence the two 'verse creations that I can play in as I want ;) No more re-creating the wheel! except for possibly a post-DW Journey Ends fic that's plaguing me right now). I plan on posting daily to my main journal (sarcasticchick) all the trials, tribulations and successes as I go through what is essentially a 2nd rewrite of the novel, and then hopefully what process I go through to actually attempt to get it published - mostly so I can look back when I'm done and say 'wow, I did that.' I'm not promising anything entertaining or educational *g* But, I figured I'd let ya'll know in case you were interested/wished to throw peanuts from the gallery.
5. And finally, the poem from which the title came. Trust me - read the poem outloud to really get the rhythm of the piece - it's just brilliant.
The Windhover - Hopkins
I caught this morning morning's minion, king-
dom of daylight's dauphin, dapple-dawn-drawn Falcon, in his riding
Of the rolling level underneath him steady air, and striding
High there, how he rung upon the rein of a wimpling wing
In his ecstasy! then off, off forth on swing,
As a skate's heel sweeps smooth on a bow-bend: the hurl and gliding
Rebuffed the big wind. My heart in hiding
Stirred for a bird,--the achieve of, the mastery of the thing!
Brute beauty and valour and act, oh, air, pride, plume, here
Buckle! AND the fire that breaks from thee then, a billion
Times told lovelier, more dangerous, O my chevalier!
No wonder of it: sheer plod makes plough down sillion
Shine, and blue-bleak embers, ah my dear,
Fall, gall themselves, and gash gold-vermillion.
That's it! Gods, it's done! *phibbles* I fear completion. Thank you everyone for reading!
Chapter: 10 of 10 (COMPLETE)
Author: sarcasticchick
Pairing: Jack/Ianto
Rating: NC17
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: You know that expression, eyes bigger than your stomach? Well, I swear my plot is bigger than my LJ word count limit. Or something. Long chapter, see endnotes for author blatherings.
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)
The Windhovers (9 of 10)
The Windhovers (10 of 10 - Part 1)
***
Three days later, Ianto stood on the pier stretching its wooden finger into the bay. Typically, he didn't venture out, but there was something freeing about standing over the water, land visible out of the corner of one's eyes but ahead, nothing but water.
After months of rather isolated living, the press of people was unnerving, winding its way inside like thousands of worms until he swore he could sense every single person living in Cardiff as easily as he breathed. And confinement within Torchwood had been even worse, though he smiled through it all seeing as how he had actually wanted to get out of the holding cell. Locked up, a captured prize through the looking (plexi)glass, Ianto developed a quick understanding of what could happen should he live as an alien among Torchwood.
Not an option.
The tests had all come back "human" with no signs of alien interference, much as Dr. Ramamurthy's tests had demonstrated. The psych questions all returned within the norms for someone who'd been through what he had in his life, though Owen was hardly the most qualified for quick determinations of mental health. He'd also been subjected to a lie detector test, a pitiful excuse of Maintok tech (cheap imitations of a similar device the Dabstoynes developed, sold for huge profits across the universe to unsuspecting fools).
Ianto had no problem lying when Jack asked him if he was an alien, though technically at that point in time he wasn't. Not exactly, at any rate. Enough doubt that Ianto could literally see how to work the test to maintain a green light.
He hadn't lied about anything else, however. Even if he hadn't told the complete truth. Stress was the reason for the visions, and Ianto certainly had been stressed. Owen didn't believe the stress argument, but the light remained green ("Stress? Bollocks to that." To which Ianto had quickly pointed and asked "Dead? Bullshit.").
The use of the mind probe was rejected immediately by Gwen who proceeded to berate everyone for considering using such a traumatic device on one who'd so recently been so severely traumatized. Perhaps a little over the top by way of delivery - Ianto didn't think he'd seen her so worked up since she refused to Retcon Rhys - but in the end, he didn't complain as the idea was dismissed.
Tosh ran her scanning device over his arm just to be on the safe side, no sense knowingly permitting a sleeper agent to continually broadcast from within the Hub. Not that he was, but he understood their fears and he couldn't exactly waylay them.
He'd been a bit concerned about the length of time he spent in the holding cells and his ability to control the alien side of him - there hadn't been much time to experiment if there was a fixed amount of time he could spend looking human as it hadn't gone well with the initial metamorphosis, but the anxiety was unnecessary. Ianto still did push-ups in the cell to work off some of that nervous energy, however, feeling like he truly belonged in a prison movie when he did so. Owen had mocked him, but Dr. Ramamurthy would have been pleased that Ianto had kept up the strengthening exercises.
Finally, after every test known to Torchwood had been run, Jack set him free and declared that he no longer posed a security threat. Ianto watched as Jack remained where he was, hands stuffed in his trouser pockets - Captain, not partner - as Tosh gave him a happy, tearful hug that Ianto had returned with equal joy.
For her ears only, he quietly thanked her for the wonderful coffee, all those many days.
Gwen had given him a hug as well, hesitant. But once Ianto thanked her for taking over for him while he'd been gone, she sagged in relief, laughing that she was never doing it again because she didn't actually enjoy working.
He did, but maybe he simply had a different perspective.
Owen had surprised them all, a hug so quick if Ianto blinked he would have missed it, then welcomed the tea-boy back to the Hub by demanding coffee cause Gwen's wasn't bad, but it wasn't perfect.
Ianto took that for the compliment it was, all the while watching Jack who never once moved. He didn't know what that meant, what Jack was saying, hell, if Jack was saying anything at all by it. He could have been carved in marble for all Ianto could tell. All of a sudden it felt too much, too real, too many secrets, too normal when he knew how truly abnormal it was, then guilt for even thinking his race could be considered abnormal. The Windhovers weren't abnormal, the Earth simply wasn't built for them, not now, nor possibly ever.
But thinking that didn't stop the shame and Ianto excused himself with the need for fresh air, escaping to the pier.
Lester was disappointed that Ianto had been so quick to return, to run away from the truths secreted away in the eclectically decorated house in the country. But really, Torchwood was as much Ianto as any Windhover heritage or purpose. And here, Ianto felt at home in ways he hadn't since he was five years old and his father would step through the front door at the end of his workday with a flower for his mother's hair.
Torchwood Three, the most dysfunctional collective of disparate characters that somehow worked itself into normal.
Normal was relative, Ianto supposed.
"I'm sorry." Jack's voice didn't startle him - even if he hadn't heard the foot treads, he felt the vibrations in the planks of the pier. But Ianto was a bit surprised Jack had joined him on the pier, standing so close behind him he could feel Jack's breath blow warm apologies into his ear. "I'm so sorry I couldn't ..."
Ianto leaned back into Jack as his voice tapered off into nothing but the swish of the waves lapping against the pier. Hands curled around his waist, seeking the warmth of his skin, the permission to touch granted by Ianto's simple action. Jack's chin followed, resting on Ianto's shoulder. Fuck, he couldn't remember the last time they'd touched when it hadn't been connected to something tragic or extreme.
He couldn't imagine what it'd been like for Jack, although Ianto had some idea what lengths he'd go to when he'd started calling UNIT help for the search effort. Bit ridiculous, if one would ask Ianto, all that effort for just one person.
One not-quite-human person, and Ianto hated the idea of keeping more secrets from Jack. But now was not the time, nor was it his right to share, now when doing so could possibly spill the secrets of the hundreds living free in Cardiff.
Jack wouldn't care, Ianto knew he wouldn't. But Torchwood would know. And that was too much to debate at the moment.
"You have every reason to hate me, to hate all of Torchwood. We... I failed ... you ended up at ... " Jack stopped himself, and Ianto didn't blame him - the rambled half-phrases seemed far too scattered for even Jack. But the silence didn't last with Jack picking up the thread from where he'd left off. "If you want to leave, I won't stop you or Retcon you. We owe you that much. Unless you want to Retcon the last few months, which I could arrange. Whatever you want."
Fuck, if only he could forget the last few months. "I'm not leaving, Jack. And I'm not chasing these memories with a bottle of whisky and a couple amnesia pills, though I may yet try the bottle of whisky idea."
"So, we're good?" Loaded question: Torchwood, Jack, their relationship, all the funny little details shredded by the last few months rolled into a tiny little query.
Sighing, Ianto closed his eyes and relaxed against Jack, wrapped in the great coat and protected from the wind whipping about the Bay. Good? Ianto didn't know that they'd ever return to good. Maybe they could, or maybe they were already. He supposed another argument was primed for the future, one where Ianto unleashed about Providence and Jack railed on Ianto for keeping secrets to which Ianto would retaliate with 'Badwolf?'. But hopefully, that would be a long time down the Torchwood road. Maybe it'd never happen. Ianto was skilled at maintaining secrets, though he really did wonder how long he could keep his heritage from Jack. He still wondered if he even needed to, or if the guilt would consume him for denying it.
Or maybe he'd wake up from a dream, in Jack's bed, with wings protruding from his back.
He'd been wrong about so many things, all of them had, from his vision of his mother until Jack freed him from the cell as he was deemed not a security threat that he didn't know what was actually right anymore and anything was possible.
"Yup, we're good." He didn't lie, not really.
Jack huffed in amusement, cheeks rubbing as they stared out over the Bay. The hands wrapped about his sides turned decidedly naughty as they seduced more than warmed, and Ianto had to resist the urge to stomp on Jack's foot for doing any such thing in public.
"You know, I dreamt about having sex with you right here," Jack mused, his fingers teasing a pattern on Ianto's skin that was so distractingly familiar he almost missed what Jack had said. But his attention fully snapped on Jack's words, even if he didn't outwardly move. "Both of us naked, me riding you, and fuck, the things you were doing with your hands..."
Fin
...and the 'verse now continues with the new story in the series, The Fledgling
***
Endnotes:
1. It's done! Clocks in at over 50k words. What do you think, did I take back the plot? *g*
First off, mucho mega super thanks to my wonderful beta lilithilien who kept kicking my ass to get this thing written. Despite it being wing!fic. *g* And then she took it and made all my funky, rambled writing into a beautiful, grammar-friendly piece.
Then to cs_whitewolf, kel_reiley and demotu who provided some much needed reassurance after the first third of the fic or so when I was struggling with the concepts. *blows kisses*
Thank you to the artists, love_jackianto and neo_star0114 who honored me with some amazing art to complement the fic. Beautiful!!
And thanks to everyone who put up with the storms, floods, tornados, sometimes all combined for a wedding, while I attempted to write/post this fic. Mother nature, she's not one to go down without a fight, is she?
2. A sincere *hug* and thanks to all of you who shared personal stories of dealing with mental illness with me - they were all so touching and my heart goes out to each of you for the day-to-day struggles and tiny battles.
One of the things I was trying to accomplish through this fic was to get the other side, to see things from an altered perspective (like "Requiem for a Dream" which, hands down, kicks the ass of most if not all who attempt to compete with it in the 'seriously disturbing but oh so brilliant' category). Hopefully if there's one impression you walk away w/ (if anything) is that schizophrenia does NOT equal multiple personalities/dissociative identity disorder, no matter what the media tries to tell you (while Ianto's case was obviously alien in origin, I based a lot of the writing/symptoms on my studies of/family experiences w/ schizophrenia). And, while that "crazy lady down the street" who talks to herself and wears a tinhat may seem funny, to them, it's very, very real.
3. On a lighter note, this has laid the groundwork for a series of follow-up fics within the 'verse (cha, what a tease I know). So, expect more! Will Jack find out? Will the team? Just what is a Windhover, what's with this sometimes being human? What was it with that dream? And most importantly, WILL THERE BE WINGSMUT?!?!!? Okay, that last one was added almost as a joke. Almost. I may have been serious about it. Hush, I did write smut! It just ... wasn't wingsmut.
4. On a second lighter but hopefully more financially profitable note - for anyone who's interested, during the next few months, I'll be refocusing most of my writing efforts on my original fic which I hope to have published (hence the two 'verse creations that I can play in as I want ;) No more re-creating the wheel! except for possibly a post-DW Journey Ends fic that's plaguing me right now). I plan on posting daily to my main journal (sarcasticchick) all the trials, tribulations and successes as I go through what is essentially a 2nd rewrite of the novel, and then hopefully what process I go through to actually attempt to get it published - mostly so I can look back when I'm done and say 'wow, I did that.' I'm not promising anything entertaining or educational *g* But, I figured I'd let ya'll know in case you were interested/wished to throw peanuts from the gallery.
5. And finally, the poem from which the title came. Trust me - read the poem outloud to really get the rhythm of the piece - it's just brilliant.
The Windhover - Hopkins
I caught this morning morning's minion, king-
dom of daylight's dauphin, dapple-dawn-drawn Falcon, in his riding
Of the rolling level underneath him steady air, and striding
High there, how he rung upon the rein of a wimpling wing
In his ecstasy! then off, off forth on swing,
As a skate's heel sweeps smooth on a bow-bend: the hurl and gliding
Rebuffed the big wind. My heart in hiding
Stirred for a bird,--the achieve of, the mastery of the thing!
Brute beauty and valour and act, oh, air, pride, plume, here
Buckle! AND the fire that breaks from thee then, a billion
Times told lovelier, more dangerous, O my chevalier!
No wonder of it: sheer plod makes plough down sillion
Shine, and blue-bleak embers, ah my dear,
Fall, gall themselves, and gash gold-vermillion.
That's it! Gods, it's done! *phibbles* I fear completion. Thank you everyone for reading!