Campaspe (cs_whitewolf) wrote,

nov 30: tw/dwfanfic: Eye of the Black Moon (Part 1) [Eight, Ianto]

by indiefairy

Eye of the Black Moon (pt.1)

Eighth Doctor, Ianto Jones, (Ianto/Lisa);

PG-Rated; Set between Torchwood S1 & S2; 1400words;

Follows on from “Romancing The Storm”.

This one is for ditchwaterrosie who has been a cheerleader of sorts throughout the month of Caspe-Wri-Mo, by reading pretty much everything I’ve churned out this past month and actually liking it all too ;) heh. Thanks very much, darling!

Also, huge thanks to everyone who’s kept me going, especially when I just wanted to curl up in bed and pretend I didn’t have to prove I could actually do this for a whole month. I love you guys so hard. <33
Proper round-up type post will come tomorrow when I can once again see straight!



When Ianto woke, it was with a quick and sudden jerk from blissful unconsciousness to panicked awareness that had him sitting bolt upright in what appeared to be a very large and very Victorian looking bed. For one alarming moment, Ianto couldn’t call to memory exactly where he was or why he was even wherever he was in the first place instead of at his flat or passed out on a camp bed in one of Torchwood’s subcutaneous rooms.


His heart thumped a frenzied rhythm within his chest as his eyes searched what at first appeared to be an unfamiliar room; his palms sweaty and his breath coming in short, sharp gasps, before his gaze finally settled on a pile of clothes that appeared to have been thrown haphazardly over a rocking chair situated beside what looked to be an Ikea-made wardrobe. And all the pieces of the puzzle started to slot themselves into place. Recognising the scrunched remains of the suit pants and shirt he’d worn the day before, Ianto fell back against the pillows with a huff of relieved laughter. He scrubbed his hands across his face in a bid to wake himself further, his mind brining to the forefront his very uncharacteristic behaviour of yesterday.


As his heart finally stopped its frenetic pace, Ianto allowed himself a small frown as he realised he’d just upped and left his whole word- his whole life- behind. He’d like to say it had been without a second thought, but he was nowhere near quite as spontaneous as all that. Ianto shook his head. Sure he’d left without much of a backwards glance. He’d even left without so much as a goodbye (he felt a pang of guilty regret at that alone). But if he were honest with himself, a part of him had been waiting for something like this to happen since the catastrophe at Canary Warf where his one reason for denying the Doctor the first time around had all but been ripped from him.


He’d met the Doctor again not long after he’d moved back to Wales and joined the Cardiff branch of Torchwood. The Doctor hadn’t asked him to travel with him then. He’d simply taken one look at Ianto before taking his hands in his own and telling him that one day he’d be ready. Ianto had prayed that he’d never be ready, the weight of caring for Lisa whom he’d hidden deep in the bowels of the Torchwood Hub forefront in his thinking as he clung desperately to the hope that she’d survive the gruesome part-conversion she’d been afflicted with.


And look how well all that hope had paid off.


Ianto shoved that last thought immediately away before pushing himself upright once again. He swung his bare feet out onto a plush burgundy carpet, his toes curling in the warmth of it as he stretched his upper body before standing and walking towards the rocking chair. He grimaced at the damp pile of clothes and wondered at just how tired he must have been to have dumped them so unceremoniously. He turned then to the wardrobe and mentally crossed his fingers that he’d find something passable to wear until he was able to pick up a new suit.


“Oh,” the gasp slipped from his lips as the wardrobe opened up into what could only be described as a whole other room- a room where row after row of expertly tailored suits from various periods throughout history (and, he assumed, time) hung in colour co-ordination from the deepest of blacks to the brightest (and sickliest, if he were to be completely honest) of yellows.


This, he thought to himself as he stepped timidly into the wardrobe, could get interesting.


 - - -


The Doctor, when Ianto found him around a half-hour later, was in what passed for a kitchen on the Tardis. It looked like something right out of a BBC period drama with its black coal stove and thick wooden benches lining the walls. There was a small island in the middle of the room covered with a variety of appliances and foods and through a partly-opened door to the left was what looked to be both a pantry and a cold storage room. At the stove, flapping around like an excited canary, was the Doctor himself who appeared to be flipping pancakes with one hand whilst simultaneously adding ingredients to and stirring the contents of a large cauldron like pot with the other.


“Good morning!” The Doctor commented bright and cheery as he turned his head to smile his greeting at Ianto. Ianto smiled back a little nervously, shifting unsurely in the doorway for a moment until the Doctor put down the frying pan and gestured him inside.


“Sit, sit!” The Doctor exclaimed and Ianto sat. “How are you feeling this morning? I do hope you’re not having second thoughts already, I’ve waited an extraordinarily long time to have you travel with me! I see you found the wardrobe- excellent choice of suit, if I do say so myself, have you thought about a cravat at all? I’ve one that’ll set off your eyes quite spectacularly- I know it’s not much to look at, the wardrobe I mean, but I managed to commission one from a Mr. Lewis. It doesn’t lead to any new worlds, I’m afraid, but that’s what the Tardis is for, so I’m sure you’re not too disappointed and, oh…,” he trailed off, squinting at Ianto who was staring at him as though he’d grown another head, or two.


The Doctor’s shoulders slumped a little. “I’m sorry,” he said at last, reaching up to ruffle nervously his curls. “I’m getting away with myself. How are you this morning, Ianto?”


Ianto smiled another nervous smile, his hands clasped together upon the table to stop his fingers from fidgeting in the fabric of the black and white pinstriped suit he’d picked to wear. “I’m well,” he answered slowly only to find the Doctor’s face fall into an expression of complete misery.


“No, you’re not,” he said, moving up to the island and reaching out to clasp Ianto’s hands beneath one of his own. “I’m not doing very well at making you feel comfortable here, am I? Are you having second thoughts? Because I can take you home, if you want, though I hope you don’t, I’d like to give you at least one trip, longer if you’ll stay of course, because you’re welcome here,-”


“-Doctor?” Ianto interrupted him, twisting his hands from beneath the Doctor’s grip to nudge at his arm.


“Yes?” The Doctor blinked back the rest of his words.


“Your pancakes are on fire.” Ianto said, the first stirrings of a genuine smile twisting at his lips.


“They are?” He asked, frowning before turning, seeing, and exclaiming, “they are!” before he jumped up and proceeded to drown the flaming frying pan with the contents of the pot beside it- the fire sputtered out with a sizzle and puff of steam as it was drowned beneath a load of watery porridge. The Doctor huffed and turned to Ianto.


“You’re smiling!” The Doctor accused, “I’ve burnt your breakfast and you’re smiling. Why are you smiling? You shouldn’t be smiling. I’m almost sure you shouldn’t be smiling.”


“Doctor?” Ianto’s smile turned to a grin as the Doctor crossed his arms and looked imploringly at him. “Shall I make us some coffee?” he asked moving round to the Doctor’s side of the island. The Doctor huffed and dropped his arms.


“I could make us some tea if you’d prefer?” He asked hopefully and Ianto shook his head.


“I think you’re quite done with the cooking for today, don’t you?” Ianto said instead. The Doctor looked at him a long moment before reaching out towards Ianto’s ear and clicking his fingers. When he pulled his hand back, he held clasped between his thumb and forefinger what looked to be a-


“-Jellybaby?” The Doctor offered, and wordlessly Ianto accepted the sweet.


“Um. Thank you?” He said and the Doctor grinned at him.


“You’re welcome.” He answered, twisting his hand and producing another jellybaby seemingly from nowhere. The Doctor was still grinning as he bit off the head.


“So,” Ianto began, looking down at his own jeallybaby before delicately nipping the head off, “where were you planning on taking me for my first trip through time and space?”


[ end, one. ]
[ written as part of Caspe-Wri-Mo

Tags: challenge: caspe-wri-mo, character: [dw]: eighth doctor, character: [tw]: ianto jones, fanfic: crossover, fanfic: crossover: tw/dw, fanfic: doctor who, fanfic: torchwood, fic: series: eye of the black moon, fic: verse: e.s.w.m

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