A/N: Hey guys, remember me? :) Thank you all for the fantastic response to the last chapter, and I'm really pleased no one is sharpening their pitchfork for the little IantoCharlton thing there. Believe me when I say this is all leading up to something. I think with this chapter, some of you may well get what I'm hinting at, and if you do, clever you. ;) A lot of things happen this chapter. We're nearing the end of arc 2 (just three more chapters after this, I think, up to chapter 30) and I have definite plans for a third arc. However, a fourth arc is still debatable, depending on how you all like the third one. Anyways, I digress. Song for this chapter is, somewhat bizarrely, a mash-up of 'My Hero' by Foo Fighters and 'Can't Break Thru' by Busted. Big love guys, enjoy. :)
The next morning he left early; he was dressed and out of the door, with a thermos of coffee in tow, by 7. He left Charlton to sleep, leaving a note telling him to help himself to breakfast and shower, and that he'd be back by 9.
Really, he just needed to get away from that room. It was always too enclosed for his liking, and lying there in the dark with a warm body pressed against him, nerve endings tingling from the night before, it was just too hot and there were too many unsaid things hanging over his head.
Charlton was a deep sleeper – well, he supposed he was tired. Walking around all day with broken ribs clearly took it out of him, let alone sleeping with a work colleague for the first time.
Ianto sighed, rubbing his eyes tiredly, and taking a sip of his coffee he looked out over the Plass. The bench was solid and reassuring and the cold Welsh air cleared his mind somewhat from its sex-addled fog.
He didn't love Charlton, which he supposed could be a problem in the long run. He wasn't sure whether this thing would be long run – he and Jack, no matter what their thing was, would always be long run. They were in life for the long run, and when you've been so tied to a person and you're both not getting any older there was no use trying to live life apart.
Whether life together could translate to love; well, that was a different kettle of fish.
Ianto wrinkled his nose, tipping his head back to rest on the high back of the bench. It wasn't love, with Charlton, but it was something very pleasant, something he selfishly craved more of. He imagined this was how Jack must feel most of the time.
He enjoyed the quiet of the wide, open space, and then suddenly Learner was at his side, dressed casually in his human form. The leather jacket and worn blue jeans reminded him of Owen. He half expected him to call him 'tea boy'.
"Ianto. We have a problem."
Taking a sip of his coffee, Ianto grimaced, "When do we not?"
"It's Cath. I need another Official soon – I don't know which way she'll go."
"Is it going to happen soon? The whole giving birth shebang?"
Learner sighed, and it was a defeated sound. He rubbed his eyes in a very human gesture and said, "God, I think so. If anything she's a little late. I need to get back soon, just in case…" He looked into Ianto's eyes, and somehow Ianto couldn't quite look away. In such an unremarkable face, Learner's eyes, a faded jade colour, really were remarkable.
"All I'm saying is that we need to find someone soon. I need help."
Learner left, and Ianto watched his departing back, nose wrinkled in thought. Seemed like only yesterday he'd died and they'd brought him back – he wondered who there had been before him, and what happened to them.
He didn't think he wanted to find out.
He woke up tangled in the duvet, warm and tingling all over.
It would have been much more pleasant if the Doctor hadn't been casually sitting in Ianto's place on the bed, on top of the duvet, thumbing through the Welshman's worn copy of…1984?
"Oh, good, you're awake. You know, I'd forgotten how good this was," Glancing at Charlton, he smiled wryly, "How're the ribs?"
As if on cue, pain throbbed through them, and Charlton found himself wincing and gasping slightly from the shock. He twisted carefully onto his back, propping himself upright on the pillows but keeping the duvet on. He was thankful he'd put boxers on when Jack had made his midnight call. Just in case.
"I'm gonna take that as 'They're caning rather a lot, thank you Doctor'. What can I say, Charlton? You win some, you lose some." The Doctor gave him a serious look, and it was at that precise moment that Charlton noted he was wearing no shoes – they sat, together, at the side of the bed. It was a strangely polite gesture for someone who barged into peoples' apartments at the wrong time, unannounced.
"Where's Ianto?" Charlton questioned blithely, looking around and stopping to admire the way the sunlight was streaming in through the translucent curtains, casting the entire room in a white glow.
"He's stepped out for a while. I've only really got a small window here, Charlton, so I'll make it quick. Things are going to start changing very quickly for you, and for Ianto, to some extent. You will hear some things you don't like, and some you do. However, things will get better for you – I promise, they will." There was a strange tone to the Doctor's voice, as though he was trying to convince himself that what he was saying was true. Charlton frowned.
"And Ianto? Will things get better for him?"
There was an eerily long pause before the Doctor replied, hesitantly, "Eventually. Now, I must be off." He left the book on the bedside table, propped open, almost falling flat on its spine from repeated readings. He quietly swept out of the apartment; Charlton waited until he heard the front door click before he looked at what page the Doctor had left it at.
He shivered, reading:
'And perhaps you might pretend, afterwards, that it was only a trick and that you just said it to make them stop and didn't really mean it. But that isn't true. At the time when it happens you do mean it. You think there's no other way of saving yourself and you're quite ready to save yourself that way. You want it to happen to the other person. You don't give a damn what they suffer. All you care about is yourself.'
He wondered who this was directed at; and then he thought maybe he knew.
She screamed again, once; short, staccato, full of pain. In a fleeting moment she was thankful there was no one around, and then she hoped with all her heart Learner would return soon.
She hurried down the hall, placing her hand on the finger-print recognition pad to open the medical ward. The door clicked in acceptance, deadlocks lifting, and then fell open. She didn't bother to shut it again, only half-ran to the nearest bed.
Finding a vein and putting in an IV of nutrients they'd prepared for this moment, she slid a blood-pressure cuff around her other arm and took a measurement.
It was no use. It was too high for her to try and slow things down. Looks like I'll have to do this by myself, Cath thought grimly, then shut her eyes.
Gwen sighed deeply. Rhys rolled his eyes, putting down his knife and fork. Looking at his pregnant wife, he chewed, swallowed, wiped his mouth with his napkin, and said, "You've got the look."
Gwen looked up, confused and disorientated, "What? What look?"
"That Torchwood-is-being-mental look. The look you've had a lot recently."
His wife sighed again, but now it was apologetically. She squeezed his hand, "I'm sorry, Rhys. There's a lot going on at the Hub right now, and well…for once, it's not about aliens. Or, you know, 'Torchwood-y stuff'," she air-quoted, "as you so eloquently put it time and time again."
Here Rhys grinned, stabbing a piece of steak with his fork and eating it. With his mouth full, he questioned, "So just what's going on at Torchwood lately?"
"You know how Ianto was with Jack?"
"Yeah, I seem to remember something about a greenhouse…"
Gwen punched him lightly, "Stop it. That's not happening anymore."
"The greenhouse shenanigans?" Another punch. "Okay, stop punching me!"
"The relationship. I think they're having problems. You remember the new guy, Charlton?"
"Don't tell me. Took a liking to Jack, Jack got distracted from Ianto?"
There was a strange expression on Gwen's face as she nonchalantly ate her pasta. Like she was trying not to say something and was waiting for it to dawn on him. Rhys smacked his forehead, as it finally clicked into place, "Oh. Oh my god."
Gwen nodded fervently, her voice verging on the hysterical from the withheld gossip, "I know, right?! It's just so unlike him! Ianto always seemed like a one-partner kind of guy, then…this." She flapped her hands a lot as she spoke, attempting to stress her shock and awe to him.
"With the new guy?"
"I can't be sure. Maybe. I tried to tell him not to, but he seemed pretty set on what he wanted to do."
"Which was, namely…?"
"Oh, don't make me say it, Rhys. Eat your steak."
The couple finished their dinner and went to tidying the dishes. Gwen took drying duty as Rhys washed them in the sink full of suds. Rhys grinned, "Well, makes a nice change. You know, it being relationship drama rather than Torchwood-y stuff."
Gwen's brow was creased in worry, and he frowned, "What's up?"
She turned her doe-like eyes on him, and studied his face for a moment before speaking, "You won't think I'm mad, will you? Promise you won't."
Drying his hands and then rubbing her arms soothingly, Rhys said, "'Course I won't. It's me, Gwen, not some stranger."
"Well…" she fiddled with her sleeves, and then pressed on, "Daria and I…we have this strange feeling. Like something big is about to happen and we can't do anything to stop it."
Pulling Gwen close to him and kissing her hair, Rhys sighed, "To be honest, love, it wouldn't surprise me. But I won't let anything happen to you, cariad, you know that."
Looking up, Gwen smiled, and he admired the way her skin glowed in the dim light of the kitchen, "I know, Rhys. I do love you."
Daria sighed, tapping her pen against her clipboard anxiously, frowning in thought as she stared at the notes she'd taken from Charlton's check-up.
There was no way. This was genuinely the strangest thing she'd seen in well…not all of her Torchwood career, because there had been the man with all of his bones broken, but certainly all of her medical career.
Charlton's ribs were…well, nearly all fixed.
She put the x-rays back up against the backlight again, just to be sure, but there was no doubt about it – his ribs had fixed themselves in about half the usual time. This was strange and unexplainable and had her worrying an awful lot.
She idly wondered if fast healing could be catching, thinking of Ianto. She dismissed the errant thought immediately – no. That cannot be possible.
Tapping her pen against her head thoughtfully, she pulled up the medical files on all of Torchwood's current staff, just to check no-one else had experienced this kind of miraculous recovery. They hadn't; it seemed Charlton was a case on his own.
"But how…" she muttered, flicking through his somewhat scarce file, "…is he doing it?"
By the time Learner got back, the room was calm and still. She heard his footsteps only when he got close to the room, only heard his breath when it halted and came back in short, stunted gasps.
She heard him, muffled, when he said, "Oh, God, Cath!" and pressed his hand urgently against the pad, opening the door and hurrying to her side.
The sheets were almost dry, but she knew he was horrified. Deep blue, like ink, had seeped out of her every pore, had stained the bed through to the mattress. She watched him silently as he noticed the pool of it on the floor.
"It bled out of me, Learner. All of the Umbreyta, every bit, once I'd given birth to her," she gestured to the bundle in her arms, "just beaded up out of each of my pores and came out."
"There is no afterbirth," he offered, "only that. Though, you could have stayed that way."
She shifted, uncomfortable, and the infant in her arms snuffled in its slumbering state, "I'm sore. All over. I think…I think I'm human again, Learner." She turned her dark eyes on him, and he felt that maybe there was some new depth to them, honey tones that weren't there before, "I felt the spikes recede and the colour bleed out of me, but then I felt stinging and saw poison drip from my body."
He kissed her on the head, and used the opportunity to look at his daughter. He felt his very human breath catch at the sight of her, roseate, asleep in a bundle of white blankets. Strange, how there were so many staining substances around, but none of it had even touched her.
Confused, he turned to Cath, "I feel different. Like there's something warm in my chest."
"I think we're having a rom-com moment Learner, and I think that's called love."
Defeated, Cath flumped against the pillows for a moment, holding the child out to him, "Take her. I need to change beds…" she glanced down, saw her clothes were soaked through with blue, "…and clothes. Meet our daughter." She looked up at him as he took their daughter from her, and smiled, and he felt gratified to see at least fondness for him marked in the curve of her lips.
Perhaps even love; different, but very much the same.
She moved slowly, very slowly, but eventually she shuffled into the adjoining bathroom to change. He heard running water and guessed she was having a wash, and decided he couldn't blame her. Learner looked around the room, briefly, noticing the discarded blood pressure cuff and IV. He tutted – they'd have to clean so much later, have to organize so much; but now all he knew was the child in his arms and the woman in the next room. His daughter and his…well, words couldn't quite describe what Cath meant to him.
He settled himself into a chair, and let himself change into his Umbreyta form silently, the change a scant shimmer in the air. He sighed with relief, and then looked down at her; he never expected to see a pair of startling, deep green eyes staring back at him.
"Hello," he began, starting to bring a hand up to touch that tiny face, to stroke her downy hair. Pride swelled in his chest as she latched onto a finger and wouldn't let go.
In that moment
he was only there, with her,
and nothing else in the world mattered.
A/N: Forgot to mention in the main author's note that I do not have any rights to any part of '1984' by George Orwell. His work is quoted in this purely for impact, and no copyright infringement is intended. You rock, Orwell. Respect.
