: Guilt Runs Red
By: angstytimelord
Pairing: Ianto Jones/Tenth Doctor
Fandom: Doctor Who/Torchwood
Rating: R
Table: 4
Prompt: 25, Guilt
Author's Note: Continuation of Mood Indigo.
Disclaimer: This is entirely a product of my own imagination, and I make no profit from it. I do not own the Tenth Doctor or Jack Harkness. Please do not sue.

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Guilt. It seeped through him, filling every fiber of his being to the core. Guilt for what Ianto had suffered. Guilt that he hadn't been able to find his love in time to stop it. Guilt that he'd drawn Ianto into this world in the first place, led the Master to him.

And worst of all, guilt for loving Ianto, for being too selfish to let him go, for wanting to keep the Welsh boy by his side at the risk of Ianto's safety.

He knew just what Ianto was going through, the Doctor told himself, raising one thin hand to caress the softness of his boyfriend's cheek, loving the feel of that warm, velvety skin under his fingertips. He'd suffered worse from the Master himself -- but somehow, knowing that Ianto had endured what could have been meant for him made the guilt weigh heavier on his shoulders.

That bastard. He'd probably spent quite a bit of time watching them, stalking Ianto, following him on his way to Torchwood and back, divining just what he meant in the Doctor's life. And when the time had been opportune, reaching out and grabbing him, as though Ianto was nothing more than a new toy for him to play with and then throw away when he grew bored.

Ianto stirred and moaned in his sleep, tossing restlessly next to the Doctor. The Time Lord frowned, wanting to wake his love, but at the same time unsure as to if it was a good idea. Ianto hadn't slept much since the Doctor had brought him home from the hospital, and the doctors there had said that he needed as much rest as possible.

They'd looked at him oddly, almost as though they thought that he could be responsible for the bruises on Ianto's body, the obvious use that had been made of him. How could they think that he was capable of the kind of brutal rape that Ianto had suffered? They must be mad.

He hadn't tried to protest what they'd obviously thought. He'd only listened to them, then taken Ianto away from the hospital, managing to call a cab to get to the apartment. It had been a few days now, and Ianto was still recovering from the experience. Slowly. Very slowly.

His fingertips trailed through Ianto's soft hair, marvelling at the silken texture of it. Velvet and silk, flesh and bone and light and .... life. That was what Ianto would always signify to him. The light at the end of a tunnel he had thought he would never find his way out of.

Was he only staying with the young Welshman for his own selfish reasons? No. That wasn't true, he told himself fiercely, clenching one small fist until his nails dug deeply into his palm. He loved Ianto. Ianto was his soul mate, the love he'd been destined to find since the moment of his birth nearly a thousand years ago.

This was part of the Master's plan. Make him question his motives for being with Ianto, leave him behind. Go back to wandering the galaxy, moving through space and time -- alone. Always alone. So that when the Master found him again, he'd have no alternative but to turn in that direction for some sort of warped companionship.

He'd be too weakened to resist anything the Master wanted from him -- either physically or emotionally. Clinging to memories of Ianto wouldn't be enough to fill his heart and soul and keep him strong against the Master. He'd eventually capitulate, become what that monster wanted him to be.

A slave. Nothing more, nothing less.

He'd been there before. And he wouldn't go back. The Doctor shuddered, his breath hitching in his throat at the memory. He'd rather die than be forced into that kind of life -- stretching on for eternity this time, with no end in sight unless he ended it himself.

Besides, he was sure that if he left, Ianto would find some way to come looking for him. He might even turn to Hart for help -- and that would only end in a disaster that the Doctor didn't want to contemplate. It was utterly unthinkable that Ianto should be drawn into this any further than he already was, that he could possibly be hurt again because of him.

The Time Lord sighed, pulling Ianto's inert body close against his own and squeezing his eyes shut. No, he couldn't leave. He simply didn't have the strength. He'd finally found what he'd been searching for his entire life -- and now that he had, he couldn't find it within himself to turn his back on his own happiness. Not even at the possible cost of Ianto's safety.

He'd keep his love safe, he vowed to himself, his fist clenching again. If it took the last breath in his body, he would protect Ianto. He hadn't done much of a job of that so far -- but he was forewarned now. He knew now that the Master knew of his liaison with Ianto, and he'd be better able to protect the young man from any more kidnapping attempts.

But that couldn't change what had already happened -- or alleviate the guilt he felt. The Doctor sighed softly, wrapping both arms around Ianto, as if by holding him close he could ward off anything that might harm him. And assuage his own guilt at the same time.

Ianto whimpered in his sleep, burrowing further into the Doctor's arms. The Gallifreyan hesitated, looking down at Ianto's face. There was a line between his brows, and that whimper had sounded as though he was reliving some terrifying experience. As though he'd been in pain in his dreams.

The Doctor shook Ianto's shoulder gently, then a bit more firmly, trying to wake him. The Welsh boy's eyes flew open, wide and terrified, a soft cry coming from him as he tried in vain to push the Doctor away, to free himself from his lover's embrace. But the Doctor wouldn't let him break free; he only tightened his arms around Ianto, whispering into his hair.

"Shhh, love .... I'm here .... it's all right, I promise you." Gradually, Ianto's weak struggles stopped, his own arms wrapping around the Doctor's waist, clinging to the Time Lord as his heartbeat and breathing slowed to a more normal pace.

"I'm sorry," Ianto whispered, the words sounding cracked and broken. "I was dreaming .... remembering ...."

"I know, love," the Doctor replied, moving a gentle hand down Ianto's back, trying to soothe him. "I've been there before. I know what it's like. You don't have to tell me."

Ianto didn't answer, only laying there with his arms wrapped around the Doctor, his eyes closed. The Time Lord shifted his body slightly, letting Ianto move closer against him, until their bodies were pressed so closely to each other that he could almost feel them melding together.

This was where he belonged, he thought to himself, here and nowhere else. This feeling of closeness, of being bonded, of having the other half of his soul beside him, was worth any risks that he had to take. It was worth the risks to them both. He only had to be more aware, more watchful, more attentive to those risks than he had been.

Maybe it was selfish of him -- but he wasn't going to give in to the Master's demands. He wasn't going to give himself to that monster. He'd fight for his love, fight for what he wanted. For what he needed.

Ianto had drifted off to sleep again, his breathing slow and steady. The Doctor looked down at him, studying those beautiful features, soft and relaxed in sleep. There was no way he could give this up. No way that he could even contemplate turning back the clock and stepping back into the loneliness that had threatened to swallow him whole before he'd met Ianto.

Not for anything. Not even if it meant Ianto's blood on his hands. That thought brought him even more guilt, guilt that he couldn't push away.

When the Doctor finally succumbed to sleep, his own dreams were distorted and disturbed, overseen by not only memories of his own suffering at the Master's hands, but the guilt that still ate away at his soul.

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