`` blue or red, `` the doctor

[Ianto Jones]

He was back, the same man who managed to save what little was left of London's Torchwood, or at least the people after what happened with the Cybermen. Ianto could remember, and quite clearly, what the man looked like, how he spoke and the way he mesmerised people who were in his path. The Doctor.

Hell, Ianto remembered making the man a cup of the most godawful instant nescafe coffee. His hands had been shaking so badly that he'd barely gotten the granules into the cups let alone the hot water and longlife semi-skimmed milk. It had been so insane that it helped Ianto keep what had been left of his self-control, though afterwards, there were no Doctors to make coffee for. In fact, there was no one - there was no one for months until he managed to shove himself into his role at Torchwood Cardiff through stalking Jack and making passes on his greatcoat.

But. He was back. Ianto wasn't sure how to behave, either, because he didn't know the man, not really. What was he going to say? 'How's the space and time continuum doing these days?' or 'so, what did the earth look like when it exploded?' because no doubt the Doctor had seen it - there was very little Ianto could imagine the man hadn't seen in his life, his inexplicable life filled of excitement and danger, and, inevitably, loneliness. Ianto thought he was lonely compared to a lot of people, but compared to the doctor? Yes, he had companions - he'd seen one of them at canary wharf, fleetingly at least - but eventually, he had to leave them behind.

Ianto knew why Jack went back to him, knew and understood because he would have done exactly the same thing had he been in Jack's position, and he was grateful, stunned even that Jack came back to them at all, came back to him. How could you go back to living a normal life after all of that? Just...how? Life is hard enough without having to make that kind of decision; come with me and see the universe, see the start of planets and the end of them, see the sun imploding, or go back to saving Cardiff from aliens?

He thought that he knew which one he would choose; given the choice, Ianto wouldn't have gone back to himself, wouldn't have passed up that kind of opportunity. He was destined to fade out rather than burn in a magnificent blaze of glory; either that or he was going to recieve a fatal wound from a weevil one day and die, then wind up on Owen's autopsy table before being filed away in the cold storage lockers. That was the way the world went here, it was the way Ianto's life was going to go - he wasn't special, he never had been, he would never amount to anything glorious, he would never marry and he would never have children. The woman with whom any of that might have been possible with was gone, buried six feet under in the cold earth in a box made of wood. Everything was shit like that.

Torchwood Three's General Support was stood outside the blue box, stood there like a statue, motionless, face blank apart from the emotion in his blue eyes. How the hell had he gotten this far in the first place? He should have died at canary wharf...though in a way, part of him did. There would always be part of him that was with the rest of those dead souls, wherever they had gone. The only element of death that scared Ianto was the not knowing - not knowing whether there's nothing or a brilliant bright light that whisks you away to utopia or paradise. Ianto already knew which of the two that waited for him, or at least partly - darkness. Darkness, and something moving in it.

His hand raised, and knocked on the blue door of its own accord, the welshman finally waking himself back up to the real world. He wasn't dead yet - perhaps he'd live to see the London olympics, that'd be quite nice.

"Er...knock knock? Anybody home?"

[The Doctor]

How long had it been since the Doctor had had someone pop by for afternoon tea? Well, it wasn’t really tea that Ianto Jones was about to be joining him for, but it was a visit over a caffeinated drink nevertheless. Having proper guests over seemed so very domestic; as if he had neighbors and proper mates and a garden and a dog named Skip – which, of course, he certainly did not. The Doctor had never been the type of guy that was willing to stay in one place long enough to pick up casual acquaintances. Mostly he gathered admirers and enemies and that was about it, arrogance aside. Alas, here he was, waiting for his TARDIS to refuel on the Rift that went straight through Cardiff, and someone he’d only met once before – a Torchwood employee, no less – was about to stop by for a chat. It wasn’t as if they had any catching up to do, as they hardly knew each other in the first place, yet for some reason there was something very comforting about the whole idea.

The Doctor remembered meeting the other man on the day that he typically liked to refer to as “the worst in a quite awhile.” He’d just saved the world and lost Rose. Rose Tyler. Canary Wharf was destroyed from the inside out, nearly swallowed by the Void it was built around. In the aftermath, just before he’d gone back to the TARDIS and left Earth to clean up its own mess, a young man with shaking hands had handed him a cup of coffee. The Doctor barely noticed that it was instant and was merely quite thankful to have something, however small, to distract him from all of the sorrow that was threatening to engulf him. Black liquid burnt his throat, reminding him that he was alive and he had to keep moving. He didn’t think to make small talk beyond asking Ianto Jones his name, the small gesture alone was enough to ensure that the Doctor would never forget him.

For the first time in days, months, years, some vague but very long span of time, the Doctor was making a vain effort to tidy up the control room. It wasn’t as if he had anything better to do for the next several hours; neither of them had exactly been specific when they’d briefly chatted over Torchwood e-mail. The Doctor wondered, albeit quite briefly, how it came to be that Ianto was working under Jack, most probably in the literal sense as well as the implied innuendo. While Jack had tried to prove to him that his Torchwood was different, hiring formerly corrupted Torchwood One employees didn’t seem like the best method of change. He trusted Jack for the most part, and intuition told him that he could trust Ianto, too. Though it was easy to blame anyone and everyone connected to Torchwood for losing Rose, time was allowing the Doctor to see that they very well might have changed for the better.

A knock at the door caused the Time Lord to leap almost a foot into the air out of both shock and excitement. Things had really been too dull since he’d landed on Earth a few hours earlier, a bit of Torchwood involvement couldn’t hurt to spice things up. He’d have a nice chat and some coffee with Ianto, find out a bit of gossip, and then go invade their base, wherever that was. He was an alien, after all. Surely a bit of “take me to your leader” was expected. Then he could be off with Jack – a quick tour around time and space, bringing him back right before anyone noticed. Not that he had any such motives. It was just a passing fancy, really. The easy way out. No, he needn’t destroy any more lives. There was simply no choice but to remain alone.

The Doctor dashed across the control room to open the door to his ship and leaned outside eagerly, a beaming smile spread across his face. Yes, that was indeed the very same Ianto Jones. This time his suit was neatly pressed, his hair looked meticulously styled, and he was generally much more well put together than the first time they had met. Granted, this was to be expected, as last time they had just narrowly escaped the end of the world, and today was simply another day in Cardiff. Different circumstances as they were, it was certainly a welcomed change. Certainly there could be no wonder why Jack had hired Ianto; the other man looked nearly as good in the suit as the Doctor did. Nearly.

“Ianto Jones!” The Doctor greeted the other man, leaning lazily against the door frame, “Hallo!”

He motioned for Ianto to follow him back into the TARDIS, forgetting briefly that most people weren’t used to walking into a police box and finding a roomy interior. “Oh, nearly forgot to mention – it’s bigger on the inside. Time Lord science and all that.” The Doctor waved his hand about nonchalantly, as if to demonstrate that it wasn’t a big deal. Relaxing against the control panel, he stretched out his legs a bit before continuing with an even wider and toothier grin than before, “Welcome to my wonderfully magnificent spaceship, the TARDIS. Stands for Time and Relative Dimensions in Space. The old girl’ll take you anywhere, anywhen you want to go,” his affectionate pat earned the Doctor a slight psychic nudge from his ship. Oh, she did like to be praised. “Unfortunately, she makes rubbish coffee.”.