Title: Small Steps
By: angstytimelord
Pairing: Ianto Jones/Tenth Doctor
Fandom: Torchwood/Doctor Who
Rating: PG-13
Table: 11
Prompt: 23, Forgiveness
Author's Note: Continuation of Time Heals.
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.

***

The shower water pounded down around the Doctor, running in rivulets over his naked body. He watched the drops trickle into the drain, down to .... where? He sighed and shrugged, wincing as the movement exercised sore muscles. He was recovering from his ordeal with the Master, slowly; too slowly for his taste.

Still, at least he was healing -- and he couldn't have said that his chances of that were very good when he was at the Master's mercy. He'd made a tactical error in turning in that direction, he knew that now. Whatever had possessed him to do something so stupid? he chided himself, mentally shaking his head. He'd wanted to hurt, true, but he'd thrown himself from the proverbial frying pan into the fire.

And now .... now he was back with Ianto, as though he'd never left. No, he definitely couldn't say that. Everything about their relationship had changed; there was a new caution in the way Ianto held him, even the way their eyes met. It was as though they were both just waiting for the next argument, the next cold words that would drive them apart.

The Doctor closed his eyes, leaning against the tiled wall of the shower. They'd only talked a bit about the problems that they were facing, and they were both reluctant to push things any further. That would never do, he said to himself, clenching a small fist and resisting the urge to beat it against the wall until his hand was black and blue.

He and Ianto had to talk. Communication was the only way that they were going to get past this wall that they'd built up around themselves; yes, the deep love they had for each other was still there, the feelings undiminished. But there was a new layer of hesitancy -- or was it fear? -- overlaying those emotions, a fear that would eventually destroy them if it was allowed to grow and develop.

How could he start some sort of conversation? He wanted to avoid the frightened look in Ianto's eyes whenever he brought up the subject of the way they'd pulled apart; he couldn't bear to see the fear there, the almost-certainty that the Doctor would leave again. He wanted to wrap his arms around Ianto and assure the young man that he wasn't going to leave, that he desperately wanted to make things work between them.

But how could he make those promises? He hadn't wanted to leave the first time, but he'd felt compelled to, felt that he was being driven away, unwanted and unneeded. He knew now that it hadn't been the case, but the crushing disappointment and the certainty that Ianto no longer loved or wanted him had filled his mind to the point where he hadn't been able to believe otherwise.

In his heart, he'd known that Ianto's love for him couldn't have changed so quickly, but he hadn't let himself turn to that for comfort. Instead, he'd huddled in his misery, wrapping it around him as if it was some kind of protective armor. That had been his first mistake. His second had been clinging to his pride.

If he hadn't done that, he would have turned around and gone back to Ianto, demanded that they talk everything out. If he had done that, instead of deciding that his only way of coping with the pain the felt was to attempt to destroy himself in the most painful way possible, then none of this would have happened.

Yes, they would still be cautious with each other for a while; that would have been inevitable. But they would at least have been honest, the Doctor told himself, squeezing his eyes closed and finally letting his clenched fist relax. That was the problem. They'd both been covering up their emotions, hiding their resentments until they'd had to burst forth in a spray of poison that had almost destroyed their relationship.

Ianto had been angry that the Doctor couldn't take him along every time he left. Could he have actually let Ianto come with him, in good conscience? He had to think long and hard about it; but the conclusion he'd reached was that he could have. The only reason he hadn't was that he was so terrified of something happening to his love. Losing Ianto was not an option.

Because he'd refused to take him along, he'd almost lost Ianto anyway. And now, the entire framework of their relationship had changed because of his reluctance to expose his lover to anything that could be potentially dangerous. Which was ridiculous, he said to himself, resting his cheek against the wall. Ianto faced dangerous situations every day as a member of the Torchwood team.

Then there was the other side of the argument -- how Ianto had pushed him until he'd felt the need to push back. Didn't the younger man know him well enough to know that pushing him for something was never a good idea? The Doctor sighed, turning until his back was flat against the wall and adjusting the shower to spray over his bruised body.

He'd tried to placate Ianto, tried to make him understand why he couldn't take him along every time he left. Of course, there had been times when he'd let his lover travel with him -- and look what had happened! A broken leg, amongst other things. Things that he didn't want to think about. Encounters with the Master that were better forgotten.

Ianto didn't have his capacity for healing, didn't have his resilience. And most importantly, Ianto didn't have the years, the centuries. He didn't have the opportunity to regenerate, to extend his life far beyond that of what most humans could even begin to comprehend. He only had one body, one life -- and the Doctor wasn't going to put that life at risk.

Should he have given in and taken Ianto with him more than he did? No, he told himself. No. That would have only put Ianto in jeopardy, and if he'd lost his young lover on one of those journeys, he'd never have been able to forgive himself. Better to risk Ianto never being able to forgive him for his protectiveness than to live the rest of his days despising himself for leading Ianto to his death.

He still hadn't told Ianto why he'd been in the place where they'd found him. He hadn't been able to bring himself to tell the young Welshman the truth, to see the pain and the horror in Ianto's eyes when he realized that the Doctor had deliberately sought out the Master, looking for the kind of torture that only that warped mind could mete out.

What would Ianto think if he knew? The Doctor's mind shrank away from the possibility that his love would think less of him for needing that pain, for wanting to subject himself to something that Ianto found monstrous. The need for that kind of pain to drown out what he was already feeling wouldn't make sense to his young lover, he was sure of that.

Would Ianto ever be able to forgive him? What he'd done was the ultimate betrayal -- turning to the Master to forget his time with Ianto.

And what was more -- could he ever forgive himself? What he'd done would not only diminish him in Ianto's eyes, but in his own vision as well. And Jack. If Jack knew, he would fix the Doctor with that steely gaze, shake his head, and turn away in disappointment. He'd always hated seeing that look on Jack's face, and knowing that he deserved it only made it worse.

He'd have to ask Ianto's forgiveness. Maybe, just maybe, if he had that, then he could begin to forgive himself. It wouldn't be easy, not the way that he felt about what he'd done. But if Ianto could find it in his heart to forgive once he knew the whole story, then perhaps they would be back on the road to healing themselves.

The Doctor leaned down to turn off the shower water, shivering as he did so. The water had turned cold, like icy needles beating down against his unprotected skin. Sliding back the shower door, he stepped out onto the fluffy bath mat, reaching for the towel on the sink and trying not to look at his bruised and battered body in the mirror.

Those bruises were healing, slowly but surely. In a matter of days, the purple would turn to yellow, then they would slowly disappear from his skin as though they'd never been there. It was the internal bruises, the ones that lay over his heart and soul, that would take the longest to fade and eventually disappear. It would take a great deal of time for those bruises to fade; and he couldn't help but wonder if he could ever ignore that they were there.

Would they ever go away completely? Somehow, he doubted it. This was just another layer of inner bruises to lay over all the others that he'd gathered from his many lives, from all the many centuries past. But this time, it was different. This time, it was his relationship with the soul mate who he'd looked for all of his long life that was in jeopardy.

He wasn't going to let that relationship fall to pieces, he told himself as he wrapped the towel around his slim waist, not glancing towards the mirror again. He was going to work to repair his relationship with Ianto, try to come to some resolution that would make them both happy. As badly as they both wanted that, there had to be a way.

Taking a deep breath and squaring his shoulders, he reached for the doorknob, opening it and heading towards the living room. He had to talk to Ianto, and he had to do it now, while it was uppermost in his mind. Hopefully, he'd manage to set them on the road to repairing the damage they'd done to themselves, and they would be able to take a step forward. Only a small step, but small steps would at least be a start -- and something that they could build a stronger future upon.

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