It was a couple of days before Peter saw Ianto again, and even then it was quite by accident. He’d made a point of being out on the bay for the crack of dawn every morning since he’d met the Welshman, staring up at the Millennium Centre instead of out over the cove.
Peter would stand out in the wind and the rain for a good few hours before making the short walk from the centre to the quaint little café Ianto had taken him to after their first meeting. He wasn’t entirely sure why he did it, why he felt this overwhelming need to watch and wait and pray that he never again saw Ianto Jones standing upon that rooftop.
At the same time though, Peter found himself desperate to catch even the smallest of glimpses of the mysterious man- just to know, to reassure himself, that he’d perhaps managed to save at least one lost soul in the world. As juvenile a thought as that may be.
Peter was about ready to give up his vigilance for the morning. He was all but soaked through to the bone, shivers beginning to tremble through his slight body as he rolled his shoulders and began to make his way towards the café. He was just thinking to himself that he should have worn something thicker, warmer, longer even, than the flimsy light coat he was currently wearing when all of a sudden he caught a flash of black that had him jerking his head to the side.
It shouldn’t have made him stop, turn and hesitate on the urge to follow. A man in a dark suit, a black umbrella held protectively over his head as he hurried through the downpour- this wasn’t at all an unusual sight going on this time in the morning. And yet…
Peter slanted his gaze longingly towards the café and the promise of hot coffee, before turning away. He slipped easily into invisibility as he followed the man.
The thing about invisibility, Peter had found, was that although you couldn’t hide the fact that things like the rain could still fall down upon you, could still cling to you and so shape you for the world to see- Peter had found that with enough concentration, he could control his power enough to force those clinging raindrops to blend in with the rest of him.
Claude had likened the effect to that of a chameleon. Peter had just thought it nice not being referred to as a poodle for a change. Though he had to admit, it was a rather handy skill to have honed. Not that Nathan would see it that way. He was pretty sure that his brother would kill him with his bare hands if he caught Peter exercising his powers in Cardiff.
Nathan was of a mind that no use of power equalled no loss of control. It was certainly a sound opinion to have formed on the matter, and Peter- theoretically- agreed with his brother wholeheartedly on the matter. But trying to get Peter not to use his powers, when such things as paper cuts healed instantly and his first response to a suicidal man was to fly up and save him, well it was a bit like telling a bird not to fly or a fish not to swim.
It was impossible. Unworkable. Completely… --Peter was jolted from his thoughts by a loud sneeze. He brushed his bangs from his face, watching as the man juggled his umbrella, a handkerchief and a set of keys to-- Peter looked up at the sign-- an Information Centre.
Peter frowned, recognising Ianto as he let down his umbrella. He wondered why a man who worked in an Information Centre would wear such an impeccably tailored suit. A suit even Nathan would have been impressed by.
Ianto finally managed to get the door open, stumbling almost gracefully into the interior of the building. Peter slipped quickly in behind the Welshman, stepping off to the side just as Ianto turned and shut the door over.
Peter watched as the Welshman moved towards the counter, stepping behind it and slipping through some beaded curtains at the other end. The sound of water being run and an umbrella being shaken off could be heard coming from the back room a moment before Ianto came back through. He watched as Ianto spent a few moments doing something at the desk, tidying away leaflets of some sort from what Peter could tell, before his face suddenly crumpled and he leant forward to rest his elbows on the desk, his head falling into his hands.
Peter’s own face fell at the sight. A sense of grief washing over him, almost overwhelming his senses as he watched Ianto slide his hands into his hair- long fingers grabbing fistfuls of the dark locks in a bid to anchor himself with the hurt, anything to help him keep it together. Peter found himself reaching out, his hand hovering temptingly over Ianto’s own in his urge to comfort. If he just flexed his fingers- even an inch- he’d feel the chilled warmth of Ianto’s own as they trembled against his scalp.
As if hearing that very thought, Ianto’s head suddenly shot up- his eyes landing exactly on the spot where Peter stood as if he could see him. Peter jerked his hand back swiftly, his breath catching in his throat as he thought- for one heart stopping moment- that his powers had failed him.
“Who’s there?” Ianto asked, his voice strangely hoarse. He narrowed his eyes for a moment before sliding them away from Peter and over the rest of the room.
Peter stood frozen, hardly daring to breathe as Ianto’s eyes raked over the small area. It was a long moment before the Welshman finally let loose a sigh and relaxed his guard, his shoulders slumping just a little as he turned back to the leaflets scattered about the desk.
It was only when he felt something brush up against his mind that Peter realised something was amiss. He tried to hide away his thoughts as he had managed with Parkman only to realise that it wasn’t his thoughts that were being read but his…- his feelings?
Peter frowned, tasting in the air all the suspicion and curiosity and fear that Ianto himself was feeling. The emotion was strong, almost overwhelmingly so as they mingled with his own feelings, shaping them till Peter felt as if they were his own sentiments to begin with.
“Peter?” Ianto whispered with a frown and Peter felt his heart jump to his throat. Ianto opened his mouth to say something further but his words were stolen away when the wall to the left of him suddenly slid open, a tall man in a long grey coat stepping out into the Information Centre.
“Good morning, sir.” Ianto said almost cheerfully. Peter observed the newcomer, watching as he smiled brightly at Ianto.
“Morning, Ianto.” He greeted in return. Peter was surprised to hear his accent was American. The man seemed to hover expectantly for a moment, as if waiting for something else to happen.
“Would you like some coffee, sir?” Ianto asked slowly. The man turned to him, his smile wavering only slightly.
“I’d love some, thanks. But that’s not why I’m up here. It’s the strangest thing actually…”
“Sir?” Ianto hesitated to move.
“The security system picked you up as you came in this morning, Ianto.” The American said. Peter noticed Ianto’s frown at the comment.
“And that’s strange, Sir?” The American smiled at him, though his eyes were narrowed and dark as they flickered over every inch of the room. Peter swallowed heavily, getting the distinct impression that this man knew he was there.
“It is when the system tells me that you weren’t alone.” Ianto paled at the comment.
“Whoever is in this room, I suggest you show yourself.” The American’s voice was harsh and demanding. Clearly the tone a man who was used to having his orders obeyed.
Peter swallowed heavily. He thought fleetingly about making a break for it, the door was still within easy reach and he couldn’t be followed…- a feeling of reassurance touched at his mind and Peter found himself breathing deeply. He moved towards Ianto, reaching out to touch at his hand.
The Welshman’s breath hitched at the touch, his head ducking to stare at his hand and watching in astonishment as Peter’s hand materialised over his own. Ianto looked up with startled eyes.
“Peter?” He asked disbelievingly. Peter smiled momentarily before the sound of a gun cocking drew both their attentions back towards the American.
- - -