Ok, so this is my first foray into the Torchwood Fandom, and this fic was written for the Halloween fest over at tw-calender: (community./twcalender/ ) where there is a fic a day being posted throughout October. This was my offering for the 10th October and it is in 5 parts. I will put it up over 5 consecutive days baring any unforeseen problems.
Title: Friends in Dead Places
Characters/Pairings: Jack Harkness, Ianto Jones, Toshiko Sato, Owen Harper, Gwen Cooper, Jack/Ianto, Ianto/OMC, mentions Jack/OMC
Spoilers: Small ones for Cyberwoman, Countrycide, End of Days, Kiss Kiss Bang Bang and Exit Wounds but nothing major!
Prompt: Vampire
Warnings: M/M relationships, violence, blood, Character Death, angst. Don't like any of those - don't read!
Disclaimer: Torchwood belongs to RTD and the BBC, unfortunately. But if I owned them they'd have a lot more fun! This is a non-profit work of fiction and the only thing I lay claim to is the OMC and the plot (and I still have reservations on that one!)
CHAPTER ONE
The night was cold. It fogged up the windows so only the soft glow and shadows of the customers could be seen from outside the restaurant. From the inside, the starry night and scourging wind didn't exist. There was nothing more than the cosy room, the rich scent of garlic and tomato that pervaded the air, teasing the senses into hunger, and the heady feel of good times past and to come. It was a place of quiet intimacy and warm welcome and it sunk into the bones of anyone who walked through the door.
The restaurant was fairly quiet though, only five tables occupied, no one wanting to venture out into the unforgiving Cardiff night. Not even for hot food and good wine. All were couples, men treating women dressed in elegance and shine to a rare meal in select company. Whether they were wives and husbands or couples of no real distinction, they had all come with the purpose of a nice meal and a good time. A night of fine dining and then stars on the way home.
Only one couple was different. They had shunned the fine table in the centre of the room, near the open roaring fire, more interested in the shaded corner to the back. Lit by one worn candle and seeped in shadow, it was an intimate hollow. One for lovers, fresh and hot and in need of the quiet solitude, yet there was something wrong with their picture.
It was obviously not a meeting of friends or like minds. There was a palpable tension between the two that tasted of distrust and enmity. It was easy to dismiss it as nothing more than a business meeting, citing the younger man's well tailored suit, polished shoes and official black umbrella. But then you had to ignore his eyes. Old perhaps for his boyish face, as if they had seen too much, pain most possibly, hardened to a diamond edge of blue. And they kept flicking to the door. Not in the way one would were they waiting for someone, an eager light shining through the gloom; but guarded. Calculating. As if he'd already worked out exactly how many steps were between him and the outside.
His companion however, was relaxed. Elegantly sprawled in his chair. Casually blocking the way out. Silver jewellery glinted maliciously in the candlelight, like a hidden knife, and the flame turned strands of his hair a bloody sunset. Yet, there was nothing untoward about him. Fine linen shirt and well tailored trousers made him quite the compliment to his companion of black and wine. But the fit of them, together, was wrong. Too starched and stiff, like church at High Mass.
There was no comfort to this meeting. No sweet and welcome tension. There was nothing but winter's chill and the very pungent tang of fear masked behind indifference. Yet, in fraudulent imitation of the lovers they were surrounded by, their attentions were locked on one another, ignoring even the young waiter as he deposited their drinks.
"There's not much difference between you and I," Webb commented, pushing the goblet he'd just filled across the table towards his guest.
The younger man gave him a disbelieving look, one brow raised (in itself a sardonic answer to a question Webb hadn't posed). He ignored the look, inwardly delighted that the young man wasn't cowed by his presence enough to let his automatic response shutter and stop. A person was never as truthful as they were when they were reacting to a situation.
"No," Webb shook his head, soft fronds of hair flicking into his face, "Truly we are not.
"I think you'll find that there are many differences between us. The obvious not withstanding," there was a slight curve of a smile to his words and the young man gave a calm shake of his head, light from the flickering candles catching and tripping on his cheekbones as his head moved slowly, side to side. A soft, neat hand reached out and clasped the stem of the wine glass, drawing it closer.
"Shall I prove it to you?" Webb ran his finger slowly round the rim of his glass, enjoying the mournful cry it sang and the way the water rippled in the light. "Shall I name the many ways in which we are the same?"
"Why would I need to know?" Worry seeped on to the edge of his words, just the slightest amount of fear. But his fortitude held.
"Because, you are, at heart, a seeker; you search out knowledge and the ways to trap it: in your mind, in your books, in your little data chips and computers. You sit there, calm as an isolated lake, and yet there is a rip beneath your starched, pressed exterior. Perhaps I should start there." He waved an idle hand towards the man seated opposite him. "You have an appreciation for the finer things in life. As do I."
"That hardly reassures me that you have no intentions of killing me."
"If I had wanted to kill you Ianto Jones, I would have taken you in that little alley. I wouldn't have revealed myself and you would have been dead before you were even aware of my presence."
"Comforting." Ianto leaned back in his chair.
"I suppose its not, from your point of view." Webb conceded defeat gracefully, taking a sip of his water. He winced and removed the lemon slice from his glass and the jug on the table. "Is there anything I can do to relieve you of your tensions?"
Had such a comment come from Jack (or even Owen – he could be just as driven to play innuendo charades as his boss), Ianto would have been in no doubt of the underlying offer. Neither of them had mastered the art of subtlety. But Webb seemed genuine in his offer to put Ianto at his ease.
"You expect me to trust you?"
"What do you have to lose?"
Ianto glared incredulously at the glib response, and laughed out "My life."
"Perhaps. But then again… Maybe you have something to gain?"
The offer was thin and deceptively veiled. Webb could, of course, just be offering to teach Ianto something. Tell him secrets that had been buried under the dirt of time. But there was so much more that he could be offering him.
"Tell me how we are the same." Ianto offered. "Convince me."
"Are you sure that is what you want?" Again it was a dual offer. One which Ianto chose to ignore.
"I'm sure." And Ianto was. There was nothing but firm resolve in his words, a harsh line to his mouth. All the fear had bled from his eyes, replaced with a spark. A gauntlet had been thrown down.
Their gazes locked and held. Not even the gentle wave of the candle between them distracted their impromptu staring contest. Blue met amber unflinchingly, and Ianto smiled slightly. If there was one thing Ianto was it was patient. Webb smirked and a fire lit behind his eyes. Ianto saw the flame strike and catch and he knew, somewhere, deep in the darkness of his mind, that he should fear the flame. That he should back off, get up and leave the seductive warmth of the restaurant.
But he was caught.
That smouldering glint deep in the amber eyes, staring out at him, called to him. Like a magnet, it called out and snared him. Webb, how very appropriate, Ianto thought, even as those eyes mesmerised and lured him in. Like a fish on a line, he was helpless and all his mind could do was thrash and flounder, struggling for freedom, whilst he was reeled in.
There was a discreet cough, breaking the trance and both men turned. Ianto, mortified that he was now only a whisper from Webb, sank back into his chair and the shadows. He didn't see the vicious look Webb shot the waiter, nor the way the waiter shrank back. All Ianto saw was a young man, black and white and finely turned out, shoes shined and waistcoat of fine black cotton, the low light just picking up the fine pinstripes, holding a discreet pad and shiny silver pen and wearing an expectant expression. With a rush of embarrassment, Ianto realised that he hadn't even glanced at the menu. He wasn't usually so rude.
"Are you ready to order gentlemen?"
Webb flashed Ianto a reassuring smile. "I am not dining, but my friend will have the bruschetta to start and the truffle and wild mushroom risotto."
The boy didn't even blink at one man ordering for the other. He'd already been cowed into submissive servitude, by a vicious glare and a flash of pure white teeth that had seemed wrong. "Very good sir. Can I get you any more drinks?"
Webb glanced at the carafe of wine he had ordered for Ianto when they arrived, amused that only half a glass was missing. His water was mostly untouched; the ice had melted slightly and replenished the small amount he had removed.
"No, thank you. We'll call if we need anything."
The waiter nodded, tucking his pad and pen into the little pocket on the waistcoat and hurried away. Ianto was gratified to see that he clicked the pen off before putting it into his pocket. Biro ink was devilish to remove from cotton, and the high weave on his coat would make it harder. Once he was out of earshot, Ianto turned to his companion. Webb was smiling idly at him.
"You are annoyed."
Momentarily wrong-footed by the amusement and forthright nature of the man opposite, Ianto's mouth snapped shut and Webb chuckled.
"I have insulted you."
Aware that he was sitting across from a creature that could rip his throat out in seconds, Ianto bit back on the first comment that fluttered into his head and chose the path of silence.
"Truly Ianto, do not take this as some threat to your masculinity. My reasons for ordering are simply that the bruschetta and risotto are the best items on the menu. And, unless I am mistaken, they are the best you'll find in this city – and in most others."
"So you decided to order them for me?" Ianto's voice was carefully neutral, each word weighed and measured before spoken.
"Yes."
"And how can I be sure that they won't be compromised?" he asked, no hint of anything other than genuine belief that such a thing was possible.
It amused Webb greatly and his amusement coloured his voice fabulous shades of magenta, "You mortals and your paranoia," he laughed. "I could have compromised anything you order if you want to think that way."
Ianto rolled his eyes. "Honestly, I'd rather not. But still –"
"Oh do stop." The tone was meant to be friendly, but there was a finality to it that Ianto obeyed instantly. "I meant no harm in ordering for you and thought to save you some embarrassment. You hadn't even picked up the menu, and if my instincts about you are right – and they usually are – not only would admitting that have mortified you, it would also have deeply shamed you."
Reaching over the table, Webb lightly stroked his finger pads over the back of Ianto's hand. A trail of fine hairs rose and quivered at the touch, as if someone was walking over his grave, and as much as he wanted to, something told Ianto that pulling away was the wrong move.
Abruptly Webb's mood shifted. In the space between heartbeats, that deafening silence of death and ending, he went from seductive to astute. "You value manners above all things."
Ianto pulled his hand back, rubbing his own fingers over the ice track Webb had scored into him. He was cold. It felt as though his flesh had withered under the threat of frostbite, and Ianto was sure that his skin had to have been marked. Burned. But it was still the same pale, smooth limb it had been before, although he feared it was stained forever.
"What makes you say that?" Ianto asked, still rubbing at his hand, genuinely curious at such an assessment of himself.
Webb took a sip of his water, his eyes fixed on Ianto's. He gave no sign that he'd seen Ianto rubbing at his hand, Lady Macbeth in his vigour to cleanse. Instead, he casually carried on as though they were sharing amusing anecdotes and his wasn't dissecting Ianto's psyche. "It's in your every action. You held the door for the couple that were leaving as we arrived. You say please and thank you without conscious thought. You automatically moved your glass to the right when the waiter placed it on your left. It's automatic and deeply engrained."
Ianto flushed and hope the low lights covered it. Red stained his skin so easily. He was both flattered and disturbed that Webb had picked so much up about him in the short while they had been together. They had had to undergo extensive training at Torchwood One to eliminate any noticeable idiosyncrasies. He'd never even considered his manners as a defining trait. But he should have. His father had been a true gentleman and had brought Ianto up to have those same values. He shook his head slightly, banishing the ghosts of his childhood to another time.
"It's nothing to be embarrassed or ashamed of. In fact, I find it rather charming." Webb leaned forward, his grin bright and conspiratorial. "It reminds me of a simpler time."
Ianto laughed quietly at the compliment.
"You are quite fetching when you blush Mr Jones. "
Ianto ducked his head. He was used to Jack's patented flirting and constant innuendo. He was even used to the touching, inappropriate for the workplace. He could parry anything Jack threw at him with the skill of a practiced fencer, using his wit and dry humour as epee or foil depending on what he needed. His suit was his armour, his wit his rapier and the Hub his bailiwick.
Jack was to flirting as Shakespeare was to literature. But Ianto was a Master at his own arts, deadpan repartee being just one of them.
But Webb's subtle complements were something different. They pierced his armour like shrapnel, dodging through the weakest points and Ianto couldn't defend himself against such an onslaught. His foil was unsuitable to parry such attacks and would be totally out of place in such a skirmish. Like using a butcher knife to chop vegetables, it would be rude and brash to act as he would with Jack.
So he took the only route left open to him. Diversion. "Webb, you said that was your name."
"I did." Webb's smile told Ianto he was merely indulging this game, and he suddenly seemed very much the predator he was. He was like a tamed wild animal. It was friendly, but you hadn't removed its claws and would only tolerate so much. Perhaps that wasn't quite the analogy Ianto wanted, but it was all he could think of whilst fear clutched at his gut with icy fingers. It really impeded the thought process.
He coughed, desperately fighting to get back on track. "Is it your real name or a pseudonym?"
"An interesting question; I have to admit, you're the first to ask it." He rolled his mouth into some strange hybrid of a pout and a smirk. And then, gracefully, he answered. "It's my real name." He paused, laughed, then spoke again, "Well, no, that is not strictly true."
Ianto raised an eyebrow.
"It was my surname. My first name," Webb paused and looked deep into the candle in the middle of their table. The flame was bright, weaving softly from side to side. The bottle holding it was caked with wax, another drop idly tricking down the side as Webb watched. "I'm not sure I really remember it. It's been so long since anyone has called me it."
"How long?" Ianto asked gently, sipping his wine.
Webb didn't seem to hear him, reaching forward and passing his hand through the flame. Like a bored child. Although Ianto wondered how he could do it. Vampires, from all he had read and the countless movie marathons at university, were supposedly quite flammable. Like a human soaked in gasoline. One spark and they were dust. Webb didn't seem too bothered though, merely watching as his palm passed over and through the flickering light.
"Long enough. A millennia at least."
Ianto closed his mouth. He'd guessed the vampire was old. Vampires always were. But he'd assumed a hundred years. Five, if he wanted to be exotic. But older than a thousand? Older than Jack?
Webb's voice spoke to him as if from years ago, obscured by the veils of time, "I clearly remember thinking that my name, my first name, wouldn't stand the test of time. I don't think it was typical even then. But Webb, well, it seemed harmless. Timeless." He smiled, though it was bleak. "People seem to enjoy it now though."
"I bet." Ianto imagined they did, unusual names were fashionable. To be named something solid and staid like George or Mary was a grievous insult, sometimes more so to the parent than the child.
Webb smiled, a blinding flash of teeth and Ianto caught the flicker of light on sharp canines. It was Jack's grin almost, but it wasn't nearly as reassuring. Idly Ianto wondered how, given he was a thousand years old, Webb had such beautiful white teeth. Did vampires grow new ones? His thoughts were stopped though before they could really gather momentum.
"But, that isn't the reason we're here." Webb rolled his shoulders, tilting his head from one side to the other, cracking out his spine, before lolling back into his chair. Big cat, Ianto's mind supplied. Lion in the savannah, lounging in the sun. So easy, so relaxed… so arrogant. Apex predator.
"You were telling me how we're similar."
Webb nodded, "I was. But perhaps you should move your napkin."
Ianto frowned, but did as he was told. He was so used to following Jack's orders that it was second nature to him. Automatic reflex. Like his manners.
A plate of thick ciabatta bread slices covered in juicy chunks of fresh tomatoes, basil and mozzarella was set before him, and his mouth watered as the smell of fresh tomatoes and garlic assaulted his senses. The vibrant red of the fruit and green of the fresh herbs, stood out against the pure crisp white of the plate. Like Christmas presents against snow.
For a moment he stared, "Please, eat." Webb prompted and Ianto woke from his trance. He snapped his napkin out before laying it over his lap and reached for the cutlery. The knife and fork were weighty in his palm, obviously expensive.
As he cut into the bread, feeling it crack under his knife, Webb started talking. "I meant it when I said that we were not all that different. The differences between a vampire and a human are quite minimal. The myths are just that. Myths, idle tales to pass the night away: to scare children, prevent grave robbing, keep young maiden's virtue safe. Monsters are more effective at that then truth."
Ianto swallowed his first bite. He'd almost moaned when the warm bread and tomato had hit his tongue, so fresh and flavoursome. It was like biting into Italy.
"So what is the truth?"
"Simply, that whilst we are faster, stronger and live much longer, we are just like you. We're flesh and blood. Things that kill you, kill us. We walk, we talk, we live, we love. At the very root of it, we are just like you." Webb sipped, rolling the water round in his mouth for a second before swallowing. "It's more a question of morality than mortality."
The surprise showed on Ianto's face, but he covered, raising the loaded fork to his lips. His silence invited Webb to continue his tale.
"The real challenge of being a vampire is food. We are so similar to you, stood side by side there are no discernable differences."
Ianto disagreed as he watched the candle's glow in Webb's eyes. Webb was so very different to him. The way he moved, the way he talked even, it was calculated. Controlled. Like someone pretending to be normal. They'd had training on that too at One. How to spot the abnormal. Aliens could look human but they would always give themselves away by simply being too human. The constant effort and thought showed eventually and the charade collapsed.
Webb had shown himself up the moment he'd approached Ianto. The night was wet and dirty, the smell of bonfire and burning leaves hanging heavy in the air and giving October that perpetual haze; too many fireworks leaving gunpowder in the air. But Webb, Webb had been too perfect for an October night. Ianto prided himself on his appearance. His suits were always dry-cleaned, his trousers placed in the press the night before. His shoes always shined and left on the mat. Clothes make the man. Then man never makes the clothes. His tad had firmly believed that and Ianto had learned from him. But even Ianto's suit was damp and slightly mudded. Spackled from the rain and splashes from the puddle.
Webb's shoes hadn't even been scuffed. The hems of his trousers were dry, despite the numerous puddles that littered the alley. Ianto had noticed these things almost immediately. He was trained, both as a tailor and as an investigator, even though he had ended up as an Archivist. (Better suited to the rigours of the job. Excellent memory, almost perfect recall. Eye for detail. His report had said.)
Webb was too neat to be human. He glided down the alley rather than walked. Everyone moved differently. Jack was like a force of nature, striding and billowing and filling up all the space with his sheer presence. Webb tried to be unassuming and soft, but he drew the eye. Like a magnet. Or a diamond.
Webb was still talking though, still explaining. "Yet we have to kill you. We have to look at you and look like you but we have to take your lives to survive."
"Human's kill one another all the time." Ianto pointed out, ignoring the chill that was gripping on to his spine and worming into his muscles. He'd almost forgotten what Webb was, lulled by food and wine and conversation and the companionship he was desperate for from Jack.
"Ah yes. And, except for those extreme cases, they know they are wrong. Deep down inside, they know its wrong and eventually the guilt eats at them. Gnawing and whispering and driving them quite mad." Webb paused. "Unless of course they are true monsters and feel nothing for those of their kind."
Ianto was in the Beacons, meat clever at his throat, the hungry grin and fatty fingers of a mad man digging into his head and his face. They'd already tasted him, licked up sweat and blood from his "tenderising". Called him sweet, tasty… veal.
"Ianto?"
Ianto blinked. Dull blue eyes relit as he returned from that madness of a village left to itself. He doubted they'd ever felt guilt.
"I'm sorry." He took a big bite of his food, letting the rich mix of flavours wash away the tears and blood and mucus. "Please, go on."
Webb narrowed his eyes and assessed Ianto critically. Pale and pained but determined to be distracted. "A vampire who feels guilt is a dangerous creature. They don't feed, seeing the faces of their victims everywhere they go. They drive themselves mad with the guilt and eventually, after months, years, centuries perhaps of denial, they snap. Like elastic coming back on you, it's so vicious. They take out entire villages, gorging on their guilt and madness. And they doom us all." Webb's voice was sad and distant, as if he too was haunted by things he'd rather forget.
"So you just see us as food?" Ianto asked; voice hard. He'd felt comfortable for a time despite the constant awareness of just who he was with. The fact that he knew what the danger was made it easier for him to relax. But still, the casual dismissal of feeling things for humans hit him like a punch to the gut. Bile rose in his throat.
Webb laughed and Ianto glared, his face stone and ice and as unforgiving as Snowden in January. "Oh, don't look at me like that young one. You eat animals indiscriminately. Fried or poached or drenched in creamy sauce. Yet you keep pets and pat cows in the fields and teach your children what noise they each make. You really can't judge."
"So that's all we are then? Meat?" Ianto felt sick.
A voice rang in his ears 'He's meat. Afraid, we're all just meat.' It had hurt Ianto to hear it then, but despite his terror he'd seen the madness in the man's eyes: isolated from the real world, insular and distrusting and so very very lost. And somehow that had excused it, in the days that followed, when the world was rational once more, Ianto couldn't understand it, nor could he condone it, but he could see why it had happened.
But there was no such madness in Webb's eyes. They were wolf sharp; that spark of the wild still there even after all the years of domesticity. Whatever happened, Ianto knew that Webb's actions wouldn't be excused by madness or fear. He was in control of his every decision, cool, rational and deadly. And it was terrifying.
"No. Not at all." Webb reached out and took one of Ianto's hand, rubbing it soothingly as he spoke. "You are so much more than that. If you weren't then the guilt wouldn't be a danger to us." Webb's voice was calm and appeasing. Ianto didn't feel any better.
Were they really all just animals? Did death mean so very little that a hamburger had nothing to do with the pig it came from? Ianto wasn't sure he knew anymore. Wasn't sure he wanted to know.
"Tell me something else," he begged; eyes wide, voice soft. "Anything else."
Child, Webb thought gently. Lost little boy.
He considered for a bit, hunting for something to use. A tool, a tale, to win back shy smiles and sweet intrigue. Something to chase away the demons in the dark. "We can move fast. Very fast. Overtake cars on the motorway fast. I can hear a pin drop across the room. I know the man over there, sitting with the blonde is having an affair."
Webb pointed to the couple by the window, a middle-aged man sporting middle-aged spread and thinning hair and a woman, slight and blonde, dour looking but still attractive. Wedding rings glinted in the light.
"How?" intrigued, Ianto had cut Webb off mid flow.
"He smells of another woman's perfume."
"He might just work with someone who wears a lot of the stuff," Ianto argued, clearly recalling Gwen and her short lived addiction to some flowery scent or other. It had stuck in the back of his throat for days.
"Not that type of perfume." Webb grinned and it was dirtily human in its brightness.
"Oh," he could feel the blush rising again. Webb's smile grew and he waggled his eyebrows. "That's not really any of our concern is it?"
"I suppose not. But you did ask."
"I did. Forgive me. It won't happen again." Ianto was firm on that. No potential flirting with the vampire.
"We have other talents too." Webb continued, having distracted Ianto successfully from the nightmares that had been floating in his eyes. "We can see in the dark."
"Well, that would probably be of benefit," Ianto pointed out snidely. Webb ignored him.
"We can hear pitches beyond human capabilities. Like dogs or maybe bats. We can see for miles. I can see the individual stitching on your jacket and every crumb on your plate.
Ianto glanced down at his meal. There was still one slice of bruschetta left and he found that his appetite was returning.
"Would you like some?" He felt bad, sitting and eating whilst Webb just nursed his glass of water. The bruschetta was divine. He loved the salty weight of the tomatoes on his tongue, the tang of basil and garlic that hit the back of his throat and the comforting solidity of the toasted bread against his teeth. It was made to be shared, even just a bite. The slick slide of the mozzarella had to be felt, experienced. Loved.
He wanted to share it with someone, and Webb was here.
"No, but thank you for the offer."
"Vampire's don't eat?"
"No we do. Well, we can. It's simply that our senses are so much more refined. I can taste the garlic from here. I can hear ever crumb of caibatta as it hits your teeth and is ground down. I don't need to eat because I wouldn't benefit from actually putting the food in my mouth anymore than I am now."
Ianto nodded, weighing what he heard. It was a unique outlook to be sure. But, he still felt that Webb was missing out. "But, surely food this good should be tasted?" he argued, not quite willing to let the opportunity to share slip through his fingers.
Jack never had gotten round to taking him out, and although Webb wasn't Jack, he was there.
"Honestly, it would probably be too strong for my taste-buds. It's why I stick to water. It's bland enough to do nothing more than quench a thirst. It's all I drink."
Ianto paused, fork half-way to his mouth. "What about coffee?" His tone reflected the gravity of the question.
"Can't stand the stuff. It smells wonderful, so enticing, but it's too bitter. Too thick. Sometimes it feels like swallowing tar."
Carefully Ianto laid his fork back down, food untouched. "Where did you get the coffee from?"
Giving him a curious look, Webb answered slowly, "At a small café in London." His words were careful, as if he expected his answer to be earth shattering and wrong.
Which, it was; if the slack jawed expression quickly chased away by indignant fury, was anything to go by.
"That," Ianto enounced carefully, "Is not coffee."
"No, it was foul."
"You should taste real coffee."
Webb smiled, "Is that an offer?"
Ianto ignored him. "And what about sunlight?"
"What about it?" Webb was smiling.
"Does it kill you?"
"You'll find my friend, that most things you know about vampires aren't true at all. Take sunlight. Given what I've already said about our senses and abilities what do you think it does to us?"
"Well, I doubt that the UV rays actually cause you to burn in any way, otherwise fluorescent lighting would have the same effect. So it isn't the light at all." He considered it for a moment. The Sun provided the Earth with energy essential for life. Light and –- "The heat. You feel the heat more than we do."
"You are quite something. It would take most people much longer and more prompting to work that out. I am impressed."
Ianto flushed under the praise. His stomach fluttered. It was nice having someone see you that way.
"I imagine then that Holy Water and the Cross do very little. Other than make you wet and slightly annoyed."
Webb laughed and shook his head, "No more than superstitions. Otherwise one would assume that the Star of David would have a similar effect. After all, a Jewish vampire would hardly revere and fear a Christian icon."
"Quite. And you have already mentioned tasting the garlic I'm eating."
"I hope that's not why you seem to be savouring every bite?" Webb teased.
Ianto blushed.
"Oh my dear Mr Jones, you are quite the treasure. So young and innocent on one hand. And so very wise and learned on the other. I imagine that I wouldn't tire of your company for a long while."
Ianto coughed and took a deep drink of his wine. "And the death thing? Animated corpses?"
"A muddle of fact and fiction," Webb waved his hand dismissively. "We do die, when we are turned. The exchange of blood shuts the body down temporarily whilst the metamorphosis occurs. But once it is over, then we are as alive as you are. It's simply quantified differently."
Ianto considered this carefully. His mind was like a filing cabinet, very much like the Archives he tended. He automatically sifted and sorted the information he received, placing it where it belonged, cross referencing it with what he already knew.
"So, that's why people thought vampires rose from the grave. Everyone is different, you said so yourself, so everyone would take a different length of time to… metamorphose?"
"You can use the term Turn if you wish," Webb offered magnanimously, tilting his water glass towards Ianto.
"Turn then." Ianto wasn't too sure about the terminology. It sounded far too much like a horror film for his liking. His brain carried on with the maths of his thought. "So, if each Turning takes a different amount of time, some people would stay dead longer than the others." Like Jack after Abaddon, his mind supplied, unable to refrain from cross-referencing and comparing the lengths of Jack's deaths with the damage sustained prior to his death.
Webb nodded, "Once again my young friend, you are quite correct. The mind is an amazing thing, and you Ianto, have a very gifted one."
Ianto ducked his head, determined not to blush this time, and focused instead on cutting the remaining ciabatta up into six bite-size pieces. Spearing one with his fork, he placed it carefully in his mouth, suddenly more aware of everything he felt, tasted, did. The garlic stood out the most. Not because it was strong, if anything it was mild, but he was very aware he was with a vampire.
He chewed carefully, now that he knew the titian man across from him could hear everything. It put Ianto on edge. He hated the sound of another person chewing; he could just tolerate watching someone eat with their mouth open, food mashed and masticated and rolling around in a great big mess of saliva and mush. But the sound, the sound repulsed him. The sloppy slap of their mouth and tongue, and sucking noise as tongue separated from palate or cheeks. Then the snapping and grinding of teeth, followed by that audible gulp that forced you to watch the throat muscles work and squeeze and push the food down the oesophagus. It made him squirm, like fingernails on the chalkboard or plastic forks on polystyrene plates. It made his insides quiver and his teeth grit and he hated it. The very idea that a stranger could hear him chewing was horrific.
So he chewed slowly and silently, a conscientious effort not to make a sound, sliding his fork slowly in and out so that it couldn't clack against his teeth.
By the time he'd finished his food and dabbed away any remaining olive oil and crumbs he'd thought of another question. Looking up, he found Webb gazing at him intently through the candle. His amber eyes were fixed on the knot of Ianto's tie, or so Ianto told himself, and his face was peaceful. As if he'd finally found an answer to a question he'd deliberated over for hours. Yet, there was melancholy there too. A sweet sadness that seemed etched into every shadow on his fine-boned face.
The expression bit at Ianto, wormed through him and into his gut.
"You have a heartbeat?"
Webb didn't startle at the question as Ianto had hoped he would. Despite the appearance of being lost in thought, it was obvious that it took more than mere memories and introspection to truly distract a vampire.
"Of course I do. If I didn't, I imagine that all my blood would pool in my feet, and all you would be left with is a body with swollen blue feet." Webb's voice was teasing and light and drew a laugh from Ianto that he hadn't meant to relinquish. "We breathe too. Although, it is my belief that we could go days, perhaps years, without taking a single breath. But we do need it for speech at the very least."
"And killing you?"
"Do you honestly think I would give all my secrets away so easily?" He leaned forward. "I will tell you that whilst some things that work for humans do end a vampire's existence, the gun you have tucked under your waistcoat is not one of those things."
"I imagine that if I shot you in the head it would slow you down."
"And I imagine that it would only serve to make me angry. Pain and damage are relative concepts Ianto. I don't feel the way you do and I don't have to fear pain. I can push through it because I know it can't kill me. All the damage does is heal. And if that is the only consequence, do you really think that gun would save you if I decided to kill you."
"No, I never did. But, if you did decide to kill me, I wouldn't go without a fight."
"I'll bare that in mind," Webb replied seriously.