Title: Silent Running
By: angstytimelord
Pairing: Ianto Jones/Tenth Doctor
Fandom: Doctor Who/Torchwood
Rating: PG
Table: 1, 50scenes
Prompt: 12, Silence
Disclaimer: This is entirely a product of my own imagination, and I make no profit from it. I do not own the Tenth Doctor or Jack Harkness. Please do not sue.

***

It was oppressive. The silence. Why had he never noticed it before?

The Doctor got up from his seat in the Tardis, pacing around the circular controls. It was too silent. Too .... too something. Something that he didn't quite have a word for.

"Damn," he cursed softly under his breath. "Shite." Neither of the words really described how he felt.

He'd never noticed the silence before because there'd never been a voice that he'd longed to hear. That had changed.

He could still hear Ianto's voice, echoing in his mind. That soft, clear Welsh accent, that voice that kept the Doctor hanging on his every word. Just the memory of that voice made a shiver traverse down his spine.

He was running out of excuses to pop 'round to see the Torchwood team. Jack was starting to get suspicious, knowing that there couldn't be anything there to capture the Doctor's interest as much as he claimed.

No. Nothing. Nothing but Ianto.

"Ow!" He'd managed to bang his toe into the side of the controls. The Doctor considered hopping around the Tardis on one foot, spewing a string of curses as he went. But no, that still wouldn't alleviate the silence in the way he wanted.

He needed Ianto here. Now. There had to be some way to get him to come to the Tardis.

And then what? Take off with a possibly unwilling Ianto going along with him? Jack would have a fit -- and the immortal would very likely strangle him when he brought Ianto back.

The Doctor sighed, lowering his tall, lean frame to the floor and resting his chin in his hands. He was usually quite good at solving problems -- so why couldn't he find a solution to this dilemna?

Problem. He wanted Ianto.

Solution. Talk to him. Tell the young Welshman how he felt.

No. He'd only manage to somehow bollocks it up, make a mess of the situation and a fool of himself. He didn't have Jack's golden tongue when it came to a situation like this.

Solution. Kidnap Ianto, take him along somehow when he decided to take the Tardis to another time.

Too many things wrong with that one. He couldn't begin to enumerate them all. Firstly, kidnapping was a serious offense. And it wasn't likely to endear him to Ianto, either. That would be a serious deterrent to a relationship.

The Doctor sighed, running a hand through his hair. There was no help for it. He'd have to talk to Ianto, somehow manage to put his feelings into words. It didn't matter that he wasn't good at doing things like that. This time, he'd have to be as eloquent as he could.

Getting up from the floor, he went to stand in front of a small mirror on one of the walls of the Tardis, studying himself critically.

He wasn't so awful, was he? Not bad-looking, definitely intelligent. A sense of humor, albeit one that humans didn't always understand.

The Doctor made a face at his reflection, turning away from the mirror. All right, so looking at himself hadn't exactly been a marvellous idea. What a ghastly list of qualities to present to the man he wanted to impress. Intelligence and a sense of humor.

Of course, maybe that wasn't what Ianto was looking for in a man. He wasn't anything like Jack -- and he knew that Jack was Ianto's former lover, just as the immortal had dallied with him during his brief tenure as the Doctor's companion.

But from what Jack had told him, his relationship with Ianto was over -- and the Welshman was free from any emotional obligations.

"For fuck's sake." He muttered to himself, starting to pace around the Tardis again. This was ridiculous. He had to pull himself together, act as though he had some semblance of control over his desires.

The problem with that was .... when it came to Ianto, he didn't have much control.

And it was still far too silent in here.

He needed Ianto. Needed his voice, his laughter, his presence. Needed him to be here, even if it wasn't in the capacity that he wanted the young man in -- at least, not yet.

Squaring his shoulders, the Doctor looked towards the door. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, he told himself, purposefully striding across the floor. This time, he wasn't going to shrink away from something he wanted. No more excuses. No more rationalizations.

Maybe he wouldn't get what he wanted, but he was damned sure going to try.

***