Romancing the Storm;
Eighth Doctor, Ianto Jones; PG-Rated; 1000words;
With all my love to indiefairy for inadvertedly inspiring this piece,
and for then offering to provide the lush banner for it too.
It was the music that drew him out into the oncoming storm. The wind whipping violently at his body as he stepped out of the Information Centre in only his shirt and an opened waistcoat. His tie slapped up against his face as he was buffeted out of the door and onto the gangway but he ignored it, frowning out into the dullness of the early evening.
A few speckles of rain dripped down from the overhanging clouds; deep and dark, their condensed bellies readying themselves for the inevitable downpour as he pressed forwards. The waters of the bay beside him were being whipped into a frenzy, sloshing against the jetty with waves that crashed upwards, sending wisps of white spray over onto the wooden platform.
The wind howled against his ears, the bay waters shouting out for his attention, but Ianto Jones heard none of it. He heard the music. He heard only the music. It called to him, pulling him forward as if it were the very crying call of some sea siren, beckoning him onwards… towards the music, that frantic chorus of strings that played out to the storm, drawing it in, daring it, taunting it, dancing chords of pure emotion joining with it…
He stepped onto the jetty, raising an arm against the wind and rain and peering down the length towards the figure standing- unperturbed- at the very end. He swayed with the wind, his velvet green coat flapping unnoticed against his legs as he held, in his arms, a violin- fingers flashing over the instrument with a ferocity that made Ianto’s breath catch in his throat. With the other arm, the figure moved the horse-haired bow like lightning across strings pulling the luring sounds of music out into the air.
Ianto kept walking, one foot in front of the other, every step taking him that much closer- closer to… the figure played on, hair a mass of curls that flew about his face, his face set in an expression of sheer concentration, of reverence, his eyes clenched closed as he played his song into the storm. For the storm. And it took Ianto’s breath away as he faltered but paces away. And then his eyes opened and Ianto froze, body jerking to a stop.
He forgot about the storm; the wind and the slow pattering of rain hitting the world about him. He forgot about the music (though it continued to play, nimble fingers never pausing, not even for a heartbeat), drowning instead in the intense blues of the eyes boring into his own.
“Doctor,” he breathed, unable to move or look away. He was caught. Ensnared. He wanted to reach out, to step back, to stop the music, to never have this moment end. He wanted it all. He wanted…
“Hello, Ianto,” The Doctor greeted, thin lips curving into a smile at the sight of him. “This one is for you,” he continued, face turning skywards as the rain began to fall with purpose, his smile never wavering. Ianto knew he spoke about the music and his eyes flickered to the violin before returning to the Doctor’s face.
“Why are you here?” Ianto whispered, words that should have been lost to the howl of the wind are picked up so easily by his ears. “Why have you come?”
“I came to play,” The Doctor answered, still smiling as he returned his own gaze to Ianto’s face, “I came to play for you, Ianto.” He closed his eyes and Ianto shook his head, forcing himself to step back.
“Come away with me,” his eyes opened once again and Ianto stilled.
“I can’t.” Ianto said, rain falling like tears down his face. His shirt was soaked through now, clinging to his body like a second skin and pulling a shuddering shiver from him. He wrapped his arms about his body but made no move to walk away.
“That’s what you said the last time,” The Doctor said, cocking his head.
“It was true then.” Ianto replied, thinking of London and Lisa and how it had been too good to lose, only then to have lost it anyway.
“It is not so true now, is it?” it wasn’t a question. Ianto hugged himself closer. “We could be good together,” the Doctor continued, watching him closely, “you and me, Ianto Jones. We could travel the universe together, see new worlds, and save lives… we could live the life you’ve always dreamt of living.”
“How would you know my dreams?” Ianto pressed. “Perhaps my dream is to live out my life here.”
The Doctor set him with a piercing gaze, his fingers slowing upon his violin as he spoke with measured words, “You were always meant for greater things, Ianto Jones. Bigger things. Better things.”
“With you?” Ianto breathed, wavering as he thought of his life and what he had waiting for him day after day; a lonely home, co-workers he hesitated to call friends, a boss he couldn’t rightly call a lover.
“Always, Ianto,” the Doctor smiled again, fingers plucking out the final few notes before he pulled the bow from the instrument, music fading away into the howl of storm. He held the violin and bow loosely in his left hand and with the right he reached for Ianto, his fingers stretching out.
“Come away with me, Ianto,” the Doctor said, “you and me, Ianto. We were always meant to be together.”
And though he was no longer playing, Ianto could still hear the music calling to him.
He hesitated for a heartbeat only before sliding his hand into the Doctor’s.
“Okay,” he whispered, unsure but determined.
“Okay,” the Doctor agreed, squeezing his hand and stepping to his side. He kept their hands entwined as he walked Ianto from the jetty, from the bay, across the plass and towards the blue box sitting so inconspicuously before the Water Tower.
“Welcome home, Ianto,” the Doctor said, opening the door for him.
Ianto smiled softly and stepped inside.
[ end. ]
[Sequel posted: Wind in the Wires]
[ written as part of Caspe-Wri-Mo ]
[Now comes with fanart by the beyond-awesome ditchwaterrosie! Omgee, there are no words for how much I love it and how *exact* it is to my own vision!: