Title: Second Chances
By: angstytimelord
Pairing: Ianto Jones/Tenth Doctor
Fandom: Torchwood/Doctor Who
Rating: PG-13
Table: 5
Prompt: 45, Sky
Disclaimer: This is entirely a product of my imagination, and I make no profit from it. I do not own Ianto Jones or the Tenth Doctor. Please do not sue.

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The Doctor stood at the window of Ianto's flat, looking out at the dusky sky. The horizon was streaked gold and pink, a beautiful sight, if he'd been in the mood to appreciate it. Somehow, all he could think of when he looked out at the sky now was that he didn't want to return to it any time soon, though he knew that at some point he would need to.

He looked down at his hands, turning his wrists over to study them. The bruises left by the ropes and the handcuffs that the Master had bound him with were almost gone; these had seemed to linger longer than usual. Every encounter with the Master strained his body's healing processes more and more, he was sure -- would there come a time when he couldn't be able to heal himself, and he would be forced into an unwanted regeneration?

He didn't want to think about that, didn't want to think about the time he'd spent with the Master. He still hadn't told Ianto that it had been by his own desire, that he'd given himself to that monster freely. It was too shameful, too damaging to his pride to admit that he'd been so wrong and that he could make that sort of mistake.

His body still felt sore and violated, but it had only been a few days since Ianto, Jack and Owen had brought him back. Ianto hadn't tried to touch him, hadn't even slept in the same bed with him. That was what tore at the Doctor's heart more than anything else; Ianto didn't seem to want to touch him now, as though he was somehow .... tainted.

He'd meant to talk with Ianto about their relationship and just where they were going to go from here, but he'd stopped short before he'd made it into the room where Ianto had been sitting as if he was somehow waiting for the conversation. He hadn't been able to make himself face talking to his lover; he'd somehow felt inadequate, as if he couldn't find the words for what he wanted to say. The emotions were there, but he couldn't properly express them.

When he'd thought of telling Ianto that he'd gone to the Master of his own free will, he shrank from uttering the admission aloud. He could just picture the expression on Ianto's face, how he would look disbelieving at first, then shocked, then .... he didn't want to think about what would be going through Ianto's mind when he knew the truth.

And the horrible thing was that he still felt he belonged with the Master, not here with Ianto. Even though Ianto had told him that he was still loved and wanted, the Doctor had never felt so far away from his lover. They might as well be separated by the millions of miles that had kept them apart when he was the Master's prisoner, he thought bitterly.

Ianto had treated him gently since they'd brought him back, making sure that he was comfortable, asking him anxiously if he felt up to things as mundane as moving around the flat. He'd had trouble sleeping at first, the memories of those hours before the three Torchwood team members had rescued him stealing into his dreams. He'd already awoken screaming more than once, gasping for breath in Ianto's arms.

He'd refused to tell Ianto exactly what the Master had done to him -- he'd already seen the worst of it, though there had been other tortures just as horrific. He'd never felt such pain -- and he'd never experienced such release. There was still a part of him that craved what the Master had given him, a dark recess of his soul that needed the pain.

How could he tell the man who loved him that he'd needed such extreme pain to make him feel alive? Ianto would never understand that; they were too intrinsically different for the younger man to have even an inkling of what the Doctor needed in that sense. And if he tried to tell Ianto, then he might start to believe that he wasn't enough.

His hands clenched at his sides, nails digging into his palms. The Doctor bit down savagely on his lower lip, forcing back an unwanted sob that had risen to his lips. What was wrong with him? Why did he seek out the Master to give him something that no sane person would want? Why couldn't he be happy with what he had?

He was happy with Ianto, he told himself, the words sounding frantic even in his own mind. Ianto loved him; he loved Ianto. They were bound together in a way that he could never be bound to the Master; yes, there was a past history between them, but there was no love. What the Master did to him had nothing to do with love, or any sort of emotion. It was a power struggle, one that the Master inevitably won.

The Doctor crossed his arms over his chest, a sudden chill sweeping over him and making him shiver uncontrollably. He would have to talk with Ianto sooner or later. He couldn't keep putting his off, feeling that he didn't really belong here and that he was only marking time until he could leave again -- this time for good.

No, he didn't want to leave. He wanted to melt into Ianto's arms and let his young lover take care of him, erase everything that the Master had done to him, heal him with his touch and his kiss. But was that possibly any more? He felt tainted, branded by his own inner desires that he was reluctant to admit even to himself.

Did he even have the right to expect that kind of healing from Ianto any more? Probably not, if he was honest with himself. He'd given up the right to expect anything from Ianto when he'd turned from him towards the Master. He'd given himself to something that he didn't Ianto to be touched with, something that he would battle to the death to keep away from the man he loved. It was one of the few things that he could still give Ianto.

That was the only offering he had to make -- other than himself. And really, would Ianto still want him if he knew how far the Doctor had sunk? He wouldn't blame the young man if he turned away; he wouldn't blame Ianto if he felt nothing but hatred. Ianto couldn't despise him more than he despised himself, he was sure of that.

He hadn't felt Ianto come into the room; he gasped and jumped when the young man's arms slid around him. "What are you doing standing here in the dark?" a soft voice said at his ear, warm lips brushing across his skin. "Is something wrong? Is there anything I can do?" There was concern in the soft words, concern and caring.

The Doctor shook his head, leaning back against Ianto's chest and closing his eyes. "Just hold me," he whispered, his voice choked, tears closer to the surface than they'd been since Ianto had brought him back here. He couldn't hold them back; they were overflowing, slipping down his cheeks, falling more rapidly than he could wipe them away.

Ianto was turning him around, pulling him close, kissing his hair. Those hands were stroking down his back, that soft voice was murmuring soft words into his ear, trying to soothe him and only making him sob all the harder. "Shhh, beloved, don't cry," Ianto whispered, the words tearing at the Doctor's consciousness. Would he still want to be this close if he knew the truth about everything that had happened?

"There's so much you don't know," the Doctor began, only to be silenced by Ianto's hand placed over his mouth. The Time Lord stared at his lover in disbelief, waiting for Ianto to remove his hand and let him speak. But the young man only shook his head, blinking back his own tears. He finally moved his hand, but kept a finger pressed against the Doctor's lips.

"I don't need to know anything, love," he said softly, his gaze locking on the Doctor's and not flinching away. "All I need to know is that you're here, and I love you -- and that I think you still love me, in spite of everything. And I know that I won't push you away again, and .... and I'm so, so sorry I ever did."

"Forgive me," the Doctor whispered, the only words that he could get out. Any other words could wait until later, when he felt stronger, and when he and Ianto had reached a point where having a conversation would be easier -- when he wouldn't feel that he had to cry every time his lover said something that he hadn't expected to hear.

"There's nothing to forgive," Ianto said firmly, taking the Doctor's face between his hands and looking deeply into his eyes. The Time Lord could almost feel that gaze burrowing into him, reading his soul, pulling him out of himself. He didn't need anything the Master could give him. That was a fallacy, a trick of his mind and his own hopelessness. He had everything he needed here, embodied in this man standing in front of him.

He let himself sink into Ianto's embrace, pushing away all the thoughts that had been haunting him. There was time enough to pull them out and examine them later, once he and Ianto had begun to repair the damage they'd done to each other. In spite of that damage, they were still in one piece, their bond somehow strengthened by nearly being ripped apart.

"What doesn't kill us makes us stronger," the Doctor quoted, surprised by the sound of his own voice. Where had that come from? He hadn't expected to be standing here in the loving, protective circle of Ianto's embrace quoting human sayings, but then, he hadn't expected to be this close to Ianto again, either.

"Indeed," his young lover murmured, pressing a kiss to his lips and silencing him for long moments. "And we're only going to keep getting stronger, Doctor. I don't need to know why you were in that place, or what led you there. All I need to know is that we're together, and that we'll find a way to make things work out."

The Doctor nodded, swallowing hard and meeting Ianto's gaze with his own. "I can't promise that we'll have an easy time of it, Ianto. So many things have changed .... including the way I view myself. I'm not the perfect creature you thought I was -- far from it. You'll find that you have a lot of insecurities to deal with."

Ianto smiled, laying his palm against the Doctor's smooth cheek. "You'll probably find that I'm not exactly what you thought I was the first time around, either. But that's what love is all about, Doctor -- loving someone because of their faults, not in spite of them. Because those faults make them the person they are, the person you fell in love with."

"Perhaps we've only loved what we wanted to see, and not what was really there," the Doctor said, looking down at the floor. He felt embarrassed to make that admission, but it needed to be said. "But that doesn't change the fact that I love you, and that I belong to you. You're still my soul mate, Ianto, no matter how much I may have tried to convince myself that I could live without you in my life."

"You'll never have to live without me," Ianto whispered, pulling the Doctor close again. "I'll always be right here by your side, Doctor -- even when you're out there amongst the stars and I can't be with you. My heart is always yours, even if we're miles apart. I've said that before, but I'll keep saying it, as many times as I must to make you believe it."

"I do believe it." The Doctor raised a trembling hand to his face to wipe away the tears, managing a slight smile as he did so. "I may have tried to convince myself that I didn't belong with you, but I've learned the folly of that. We can't deny what we have, Ianto, even though there may be times when it's easier to turn our backs on it. I may leave, but I'll always come back. I hope you know that by now."

"I do," the young man whispered, wrapping his arms around the Doctor again in an embrace that took the Time Lord's breath away. He let himself sink into that embrace, closing his eyes and abandoning himself to Ianto's touch. They'd been given a second chance -- a chance that he hadn't thought he could possibly have. A chance that he would always be grateful for.

There were still things he needed to talk about with Ianto, secrets that he would eventually have to lay open to his lover's gaze. But this time around, those secrets wouldn't send him fleeing across the galaxy over a misunderstanding. This time, he would have more faith in Ianto -- and in himself.

Yes, this was all he needed -- all that he would ever need. He knew that now. And he was never going to let himself forget it again.

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