Title: Unworthy of Your Love
By: angstytimelord
Pairing: Ianto Jones/Tenth Doctor
Fandom: Torchwood/Doctor Who
Rating: PG
Table: 1, 10_hurt_comfort
Prompt: 8, Guilt
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.

***

Ianto sighed, leaning back in his chair and closing his eyes. He didn't need to keep this vigil; he could easily go into the front room of his flat and curl up on the couch for a few hours of sleep. But he couldn't tear himself away from this chair by the bed, even if he'd wanted to.

It was his fault that the Doctor was lying here, pale and weak and recovering from a physical trauma that he shouldn't have had to go through. If he hadn't been there, the Doctor wouldn't have tried to put himself between Ianto and the gang of toughs who'd cornered them in an alley. If it hadn't been for him, they wouldn't even have been in that alley.

But no, he'd thought it would be easier to get home by walking down an unlit alley in the back streets of Cardiff. He'd lived here all his life; hadn't he learned by now that there were things one simply didn't do?

Apparently not, the dry, crackling voice in his head reiterated, as it had already done a thousand times since he'd stood there and watched, disbelieving, as the moonlight had bounced off the silver dagger in the man's hand when he'd plunged it into the Doctor's side.

Ianto hadn't been able to do anything; he hadn't even been able to scream. It had all happened so quickly, though at the time, it had appeared to move in slow motion, everything playing out in living technicolor before his eyes, more like a movie that he was watching than anything that could possibly happen in real life.

The Time Lord hadn't uttered a sound, either; his hand had pressed against his side, his head raising to focus those dark eyes on the four men gathered around them before he'd crumpled to the ground, lying so still that Ianto had thought, for a few paralyzing seconds, that he was dead.

Their attackers had sauntered off, laughing as though having possibly killed a man in cold blood meant nothing to them -- which it probably didn't, Ianto told himself angrily, his fists clenching at the memory. They'd seemed to be proud of what they'd done.

But their intended victim hadn't died there on the cold concrete; no, Ianto had pulled out his cell phone with trembling hands and called Jack, who'd called Owen. The two of them had been there in record time, taking the Doctor back to the Hub and getting him swift medical care.

Owen had set Ianto's mind at rest; the knife wound hadn't been life-threatening, at least as far as he could tell. The Doctor's internal organs seemed to be much the same as a human's, from what Owen had been able to discover, and the young doctor was confident that his patient would be all right in a few days -- albeit stiff and sore.

When the Doctor had awakened, his first thought had been for Ianto; he'd blinked, looked up at the three of them anxiously, and asked Ianto if he was all right. The young Welshman had only been able to nod, his throat tightening, humbled that the Doctor's first thought had been for him.

He'd gotten permission from Owen to take the Doctor to his flat the next morning, Jack's admonition not to "overdo it" ringing in his ears. The Torchwood leader still hadn't asked him just what they'd been doing in that back alley, and Ianto hadnt't wanted to give him the specifics.

How could he? It had been his stupidity and negligence that could very well have cost the Doctor his life -- or at least, this body. He was sure that the Time Lord could have survived by regenerating -- and that was something neither of them wanted to happen.

Yet another layer of guilt to add to the one that was already suffocating him, Ianto said to himself, rubbing a hand over his face. It was terribly shallow of him to love this particular body, this face, so fiercely that he didn't want the Doctor to change -- even to save his life. He hated himself for feeling that way, but he couldn't make himself feel any differently.

If they were lucky, the Doctor wouldn't have to regenerate -- at least, not in Ianto's lifetime. They would be able to be together for years, decades, before Ianto would let go of this life. And therein lay more guilt. He'd eventually age and die -- leaving his lover alone.

He was human. He couldn't expect to live forever. He didn't have Jack's immortality, or the Doctor's regenerative ability. He was just .... a man, with all the attendant frailties and weaknesses that encompassed. No different from any other man, except for the fact that someone extraordinary loved him with a passion that he hadn't expected to receive from anyone.

Ianto sighed again, resting his head in one hand, feeling a headache starting to gather behind his eyes. There were so many things about himself that he wanted to change -- and he was fully aware that he couldn't. His humanity, his attitude towards the Doctor's possible regenerations ... and more than anything, his tendency to do impulsive things that got them both into trouble.

If it hadn't been for his impetuosity, his idiocy in leading them somewhere that his common sense should have told him they didn't belong, the Doctor wouldn't have been hurt. And he wouldn't have had to face this crippling sense of inadequacy -- and the overwhelming guilt that consumed him.

What had he done to deserve the Doctor's love? he asked himself, wishing that the question wasn't so barbed. Nothing, really. He'd just .... been in the right place at the right time. He'd been there when the Doctor had needed someone. That was all.

Never mind that he loved the Time Lord in return, with all of his heart and soul. Never mind that he would give his life for the Doctor, do anything in his power to make the Gallifreyan happy and ensure that he lived a long life. Never mind that the Doctor was everything to him -- and more.

Somehow, for some reason that he couldn't comprehend, the Doctor loved him. He didn't deserve that love -- at least not in his eyes -- but he had it. And he should be doing everything that he could to make himself feel worthy of the Time Lord's love, instead of sitting here and piling layers of guilt on top of each other, feeling sorry for himself.

Ianto took a deep breath, standing up and letting his eyes wander over the pale face of the man in his bed. He'd done something stupid, yes. But the Doctor had forgiven him -- wordlessly, but the forgiveness was there. He only had to hear it to be reassured.

Going over to the bed, he sat down, taking one slender hand in his own and holding it against his heart. Only one heart beat in his chest, reminding him that he was all too human. Humans always made mistakes. The Doctor understood that. Maybe it was time for him to accept it, as well.

The Doctor stirred, his eyelashes fluttering for a moment before he opened his eyes. Ianto could feel a spark between them when their eyes met, just as there had always been every time they looked at each other. This man would always affect him like that; his heart would always belong to the Time Lord, even when he felt that he didn't deserve the kind of devotion the Doctor gave him.

Ianto smiled down at the Doctor, reaching out his free hand to stroke back a lock of hair from the other man's face. There would never be a better time to ask for those words he needed to hear. And he was sure that the Doctor would give them, readily, willingly.

He didn't need to ask. Everything he needed to know was written in those eyes, there in the Doctor's answering smile. But still .... he was going to ask, just to be able to hear the words and to know that everything was right between them.

"I've got something to ask you," he murmured, the guilt fading away to a remote corner of his mind and hoping that it wouldn't raise its head again for some time to come.

***