Title: Alone Again
By: angstytimelord
Pairing: Ianto Jones/Tenth Doctor
Fandom: Torchwood/Doctor Who
Rating: PG-13
Table: 1, substituted for 4
Prompt: 6, Alone -- substituted for 5, Thanksgiving
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 Doctor's hands tightened on the edge of the Tardis' console; he was sure that his ship could feel his inner turmoil as acutely as he could. He'd made the right decision. He was sure of that. If he wasn't sure about anything else, any of the feelings that were battering him from every side, he knew he'd done the right thing.

He'd left. And he wasn't going back. It was over, finished, done with. He'd known that it would inevitably end at some point, but he hadn't expected it to all come to a grinding halt in the way it had. He probably should have; he'd been hiding behind a rather large pair of rose-colored spectacles if he'd actually believed himself when he'd listened to that little inner voice that told him how much his life had changed for the better.

It was the same old story. Someone claiming they loved him for who he was, that they wanted to be with him no matter what .... but they had, in the end, only loved their concept of him, what they'd expected him to be. They'd wanted him to change for them, to become what they thought he should be instead of accepting him at face value.

He couldn't change. He couldn't put aside the responsibilities he had to the universe, to time itself. That was an intrinsic part of who he was -- of what he was. He was a Time Lord. The last of them. No, the fate of the universe didn't always rest with him, but he'd done a rather good job of helping things to be put to rights when he'd been needed, and he'd be damned if he was going to stop doing that just because someone wanted him to be the gay version of a hausfrau.

He snorted aloud, a frown settling on his features. He'd known that Ianto was stubborn, that he'd wanted to go along on these trips through time and space -- but he hadn't counted on Ianto trying to force him into acquiescing into taking him along. Nor had he counted on being emotionally blackmailed into it. Ianto had thought that the Doctor couldn't exist without him, and he'd played on that supposition. Well, he was wrong.

He'd thought that Ianto was his soul mate, the one person that he was destined to be with throughout eternity and beyond. He'd been wrong about that. As much as he hated to admit that he could have made a mistake about his own emotions, he had. He didn't need Ianto in his life. He didn't need anyone. He would be just fine by himself.

Yes, he'd be lonely. But that had always been a part of his life, hadn't it? Probably even just as much as part of who he was as being a Time Lord was. He should be used to loneliness by now -- he'd had over 900 years to get used to it, broken up by brief periods when he'd had one or more of the companions with him. No more. From now on, he'd work alone.

Not that it was work, exactly. He frowned again, leaning against the console and studying it without really seeing anything. He could go anywhere he wanted, do whatever he wanted. There was nothing to hold him back, no one else to think about. He was free, free to live his life as he pleased. It was a liberating feeling.

He wasn't going to think about the fight that had caused him to leave. He wasn't going to think about how his heart had clenched in his chest when Ianto had told him that if he left this time, he wasn't welcome to come back. He wasn't going to think about how bitterly it had hurt to be rejected by the one person who he'd thought could accept who he was, and who could let him be himself without placing restrictions on him.

He'd thought that he was building a life for himself, there in Cardiff. Of course, he wasn't going to stay in one place for his entire life. He'd thought that Ianto understood one fact about who he was -- that it wasn't physically possible for him to be rooted in one spot. It would literally kill him if he was.

He needed to wander the universe. Not all the time, of course. He could go for weeks without having to connect with the Tardis, without having to satisfy the wanderlust that gnawed at him when he was inactive. He would waste away to nothingness if he didn't have that freedom, the freedom that Ianto wasn't willing to grant him.

It was over. Finished. No more. He wasn't going to go back to Ianto, begging for another chance. He wasn't going to give in to that kind of blackmail, wasn't going to let anyone have that sort of power over him. He wasn't Ianto's slave, and he wouldn't let himself be. That was what he'd apparently turned into, at some point when he hadn't been looking.

What had happened to their feelings for each other? When had Ianto decided that he had the right to dictate everything that the Doctor was going to be allowed to do? He didn't know, no matter how much he searched his memory for the moment when things had started to change between them. It had been such a slow and insidious process that maybe there wasn't one point when things had changed. Maybe it had been gradual.

But it didn't really matter. What mattered was that all of his dreams had collapsed into dust, that none of them meant anything now. Just more dreams of a future that would never come to pass. He should be used to that by now, the Doctor told himself, biting down hard on his bottom lip when he felt the tears pricking behind his eyelids.

He'd spent the first day on the Tardis curled up in bed, crying and shaking. It didn't seem possible that it had all ended like this, with hurtful words and a coldness in Ianto's eyes that he'd never thought would be directed at him. But that was how humans were, he told himself, not wanting to admit that he was half-human himself. When they didn't get their way, the person who held out against them was suddenly persona non grata.

Why had he thought that Ianto would be different? He was human, just like everyone else who had ever promised him that they would stay with him forever, that they loved him exactly as he was and didn't want him to change. He wanted to believe that there were some of that race who could rise above their weaknesses, but that was proved wrong time and time again.

He didn't want to think about it any more. He didn't want to contemplate the long, bleak future, traveling the universe alone. He wasn't going to try to find another companion. And he certainly wasn't going to look for another relationship of any sort. He could live without a lover. The past few days had shown him that loud and clear.

He'd had to harden his heart before, even though it had been difficult to do. He'd had to force himself to put people out of his life, people who he had cared for. He'd thought that he might not have to deal with that sort of heartache again, but again, he'd been wrong. He seemed to be getting quite good at being wrong about things lately.

His heart wouldn't be completely turned to stone. No, there would be a gaping wound there for the rest of his life, covered over with a flimsy band-aid that could easily be ripped away. He'd bleed from that wound every day, a little every hour, every minute, every second -- until there was no blood left and he was an empty husk.

There had already been so many tears that he was sure he had none in him left to cry. Even when he could feel them rising, threatening to spill over again, he'd blink them back furiously, reminding himself that crying never did any good. Tears would only make him feel worse; they wouldn't get out of the past and into the future.

The future. He should consider going there; it would be as good a place as any to forget his crushed dreams, forget the chance he'd had at happiness. He'd be accepted there, and even though he wouldn't find anything to replace what he'd had, if he stayed away from the genesis of those memories for long enough, maybe they would disappear.

No. They would never disappear. His memories of Ianto would be with him forever. But maybe they would dim and fade and melt into the background, and not be so painful.

The Doctor turned to leave the control room, swallowing hard. No, painful wasn't the word. There wasn't any word in any language on any planet to describe how he felt. Empty. Dead. Nonexistent. He didn't want the pain to disappear; he wanted to disappear. He wanted to fade away into nothingness, until nothing of him remained.

But that wasn't in the cards. He had no choice but to keep on living, trying every day to forget the past and bury it in the mists of his memories. It had only been a few days, he told himself, clenching his small fists at his sides. Eventually, the pain would lessen. It wouldn't always hurt this badly. He wouldn't always feel as if he was being ripped into shreds.

He turned and made his way towards his bedroom, bumping into the doorframe as he exited the central room of the Tardis. He stumbled down the corridor, barely managing to keep his balance, holding a hand to his mouth to keep any sound from welling up. He wasn't going to cry. No. It wouldn't solve anything. It was useless.

The tears didn't come until he'd collapsed on his bed, sobs welling up from deep within him and choking him with every breath he took.

***

Next story in series - Walk Into the Fire.