earthsdefenders | hello from the other side

hello from the other side

They land in a tangle on the hard floor, Ianto holding Callie, the Doctor wrapped around them both. The air snaps, a lightning crack in reverse, as the tear in time and space closes behind them. Ianto had closed his eyes against what lay between worlds, but they open quickly when he feels a lick of fire spread through his veins, and he tightens his grip reflexively on Callie. The pain cools just as quickly as it burned, and he recognizes it, the mental brush of the TARDIS. Who should know better.

He extracts himself from Callie with a mumbled apology and rolls away onto his back, staring up at the dizzying lights and swirling Gallifreyan text above the time rotor. There's a odd weight settled into the dip of his collarbone, and he realizes what it is - the TARDIS key around his neck, cold and still and lifeless. Understanding begins to trickle inward. This is not his home.

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That'll teach him the error of trying to be a voice of responsibility. Though, as he knows from her first universe-hop, tired end-of-the-day Callie is just as prone to moments of intractability. Meanwhile, Ianto already seems to be finding his footing, surprisingly. Tea is always a good idea. It had been a commendable effort. "I'm afraid so, Callie. The cost of entry into a new universe, think of it that way." Is that suitably storybook and ritualistic to appeal to her particular bizarre outlook? "Pretty reasonable, when you look at it like that. And your room's easy enough to get back." Shame about the charming green coat, though. The Doctor well knows the worth of just the right coat. But they can find something even better, between the TARDIS and the whole universe. She can be back to her magicianly finery in no time. Besides, she won't have the leisure to miss her old things. He's learned his lesson.

"Look, we've all left some things behind," he tries, in his best, most reasonable tone. It's a bit of a stretch; in his case, he's only losing crushing boredom and some ill-advised gadgetry. It doesn't remotely compare to what he's getting back in this transaction. Besides which, leaving things behind is sort of what he does, and the worst of it is, well, behind him. It's been a little too long since someone with a real grasp of human (et al) workings has had the opportunity to coach him. That tank is running on fumes. So he's really doing the best he can with what he's got. How to finish this abortive bolstering speech? Advise her to be strong for Ianto's sake? Throw candy and run? "The only thing to do is move on. After tea." The Doctor is absolutely not looking to Ianto for help. Just commiserating. That's just his face.

Ianto's own frantic, concerned looks of oh my god, Doctor, oh my god, please stop while you're ahead fall on blind eyes, apparently. Even he knows what a terrible idea it is to try to reason with children (even one as clever as Callie). Reason isn't going to replace her favorite clothes.

He falters for a moment when the Doctor nopes out of his attempt at comfort. Great, now it's his turn. Maybe he'll just try a few angles and see what sticks. "And the TARDIS - the other TARDIS - she'll keep all of your things safe." That had always given him comfort, knowing that even if he wasn't on the TARDIS, some part of him was still whizzing about time and space. "I think if we ask this one nicely she can recreate your bedroom. And your clothes." And everything else, well, it depends on how charitable the TARDIS is feeling.

Here, have a... a reassuring shoulder pat. "We'll replace what we can and we'll always remember what we can't." Ianto smiles and touches Callie's cheek. What a terribly somber memorial for some fanfictions. "What about tea and then the wardrobe room? Yeah?" The tea is really important.

It is a rather hefty blow to hear all the things she has treasured and created in the past weeks are gone for good, no matter how gently the Doctor is breaking it to her. But he isn't wrong - entry into a different plane of reality tends to have this effect, doesn't it. Hardly the first time she's lost all her belongings, only this time she gained something wonderful in return. She sighs, dejection mingling with acceptance. Pity about the troll horns for the Doctor she'd been working on, though, they were almost finished. And she is going to miss her suit, the one she'd painstakingly sewn herself, learning the hard way that her brother isn't to be trusted with needles.

Apparently she's still looking alarmingly crestfallen, as the Doctor keeps talking and then Ianto joins in. It is quite nice to hear that her works are going to endure in the other TARDIS, actually, it's a charming thought to think someone may one day stumble upon the cartography room with a great number of sketches and illustrations pinned to the walls. They shall fare better than her artwork and possessions back home, anyhow, either burned to ashes by the sun or torn to shreds by her brother. Actually, moving on and looking ahead into their bright thrilling future sounds quite appealing right about now.

Instead, she receives an unexpected shoulder pat and more sympathy than she knows what to do with. The touch to her cheek renders her motionless, glancing hesitantly at his hand. She knows humans touch things they are fond of, but being on the receiving end of the gesture is still a bit confounding; she can never remember what's expected of her on the spot. Frankly, she's not terribly interested in wardrobes or bedrooms right now, all she wants is to see her dreams come true at last. But that seems frustratingly off the table for the moment and she huffs, resigning herself to slinking off towards the stairs. Not even the Doctor understands.

"I suppose I shall go get a hold of a kitchen, then," she announces just a bit resentfully. "For your bloody tea," is muttered at the nearest smug bookshelf before she's out the door. And while she's here, she may as well go sulk in a room that isn't hers while the universe continues to be out of her reach.

Okay, well, that could have gone better, but it could have gone worse. No tears, just huffy troll noises and a mild case of sassing a bookshelf. That's a bleak road to go down, Callie, best shape up while the TARDIS can forgivingly chalk it up to dimensional jetlag. The Doctor recovers from the pearl-clutching shock of Callie acting out, and hurries after her like a crinkly windblown leaf. "Callie," he tries, in his best and most admonishing voice, "Don't be like that. Is that how you want to start things off, in a new new universe?" Being so young and impatient must be such a trial, the Doctor thinks, without a touch of irony. But he can forgive her tunnel-vision when it comes to adventure; who couldn't, considering? He catches her up and tries a new tack, in what he probably assumes is a discreet aside. "Look, Ianto's been through a lot, he's still recuperating. We have to let him find his footing, then we can set out properly." When in doubt, blame Ianto. This will probably continue to be an excellent strategy, maybe he should chalk that up somewhere prominent. Maybe not in English.

It's not even a lie, not really. Without him, they probably would already be out the door. It's more that he wants to demonstrate a proper understanding of his responsibilities than it is concern for Ianto's presumed fragility, but who's keeping count. "We'll be on our way in no time. You just have to be a little patient." Even with previous experience, it's hard to reconcile this sulky creature with Callie's usually sunny disposition. Or, for that matter, stern ghostly Muses of Space, not that he even wants to make that reconciliation, particularly. "Don't you want to have a look out at the stars, with your tea? Might see something you like."

She has barely made it a few paces down an unfamiliar and rather sleek looking corridor in the same decor as the foreign console room before she hears the Doctor's unwelcome voice calling after her. She isn't terribly thrilled to be followed and doesn't slow down her sullen marching. Ianto being hesitant to go out wasn't entirely surprising, he's got a tendency to be a bit fussy and overly concerned, something she'd thought quite charming until now. But she can't fathom what's gotten into the Doctor, he ought to be raring to go after being shackled to the city, and she can't help feeling unexpectedly abandoned by him. If only she were allowed to 'start things off', she thinks spitefully in his direction.

When it's clear she's not going to escape him, she stops to slouch against the wall impatiently, hands stuffed into the front pocket of her jumper and eyes anywhere but on the Doctor. But then he offers an explanation that hadn't occurred to her at all. By all accounts, Ianto used to do a fair bit of adventuring himself, but his fretting and physical maladies really should have clued her in. He doesn't like walking some days, let alone fleeing exciting scrapes! And he had been the one to suggest the blasted tea in the first place. How could she have been so shamefully rude to her friend? Her gloomy glower turns into honest chagrin and she sighs guiltily. "I've been acting a right prat, haven't I," she finally admits. "Getting carried away, as per usual." Good thing the Doctor stopped her before she could cock up any worse, and so kindly, too. Not for the first time, she feels tremendously lucky and scarcely deserving of such forgiving friends.

With some effort, she meets the Doctor's eyes and offers him a small, self-deprecating smile. "I'm sorry, you are right of course. I promise to be more patient with Ianto." As much as she's still itching to set out, her enthusiasm is hardly worth hurting her friends over. "And I would love to look at the new new stars while we wait." They're sure to be a marvelous sight. "Shall I fetch us tea and bring it back to the console room?" It's the least she can do. And if they don't get comfortable in some cozy kitchen, maybe the wait won't be quite so long.

"Yes, I think that would be for the best," the Doctor says, with a smile he hopes is stern but kind, rather than evidence of how harrowing he finds dealing with sulky and then repentant children. Not only is all this Ianto's fault, but the Doctor is wise and benevolent and not at all flying this guardianship by the skin of his teeth. These are all true things. "I'm sure Ianto will appreciate your understanding." Look at that. He's a professional. Well, maybe not, but the stars were still a bold stroke of genius. "And I'm going to have a word with him, myself, I do owe him that. So you needn't worry on that front." Whatever that means.

That settled (and so skillfully, too) he moves on to the next problem, which is...a bit less clear cut, perhaps. While it's true that Ianto isn't outright pouting and backtalking the furniture (so far) he probably won't be so easily placated with the offer of new stars. Does he even need pacification? Should he valiantly vow to try and put Ianto back in his own universe? Callie wouldn't like that, but that's not the best reason to kidnap someone wholesale, and he has a sneaking suspicion that she's natively more emotionally grounded than anyone is giving her credit for. Maybe he should just...ask? But when are things ever that simple. And what if that isn't what Ianto wants, what then? Forget Callie's vote, and that of a TARDIS belonging to an other self twice removed, and forget Ianto's vote, too. What's his vote? The Doctor returns to the console room, eyeing Ianto like he's sharing a bus-stop shelter and not a space-and-time ship. Gotta wash that Manhattan dust off his heels. "Well. Callie's making tea, so that's you out of a job. She may apologise, too. I think I convinced her you weren't quite vetted for immediate travel." He does at least sound just a touch guilty, but that doesn't stop him from sounding proud of his work, too. "Don't think it's occurred to her you might want to go home. Or somewhere else." Nearest shuffleboard planet, maybe. Space-Wales. The point is, there are options, decisions to be made, preferably before Callie manages to commit her next culinary atroci-tea.

Ianto, who was most certainly not looking himself up in this universe on Space Google, turns away the console monitor and sticks his hands in his pockets with only a minor amount of guilt. He's been through three TARDISes by this point, a fourth now - it'd be hard not to pick up the basics. He gives the Doctor that look, the look that's practically a trained response to the word 'home' now, the one that says we both know that's not an option and you should know better, but then the sharpness fades from his eyes. No, this Doctor wouldn't know, would he. Ianto's only knew - only cared - because of their friendship. The whole affair must've been a blip on his radar, if that.

"Home's off the table. Along with most of southern Wales for most of the twentieth and twenty-first centuries. Why do you think I ever started traveling with him?" You. Him. Getting better about that. "There weren't many places I could go." That's a joke. That's mostly a joke. He started traveling with the Doctor entirely out of choice. Yes. "And even less I wanted to go to."

Fair enough, avoid home and most of the south of Wales, for most of the twentieth and twenty-first centuries. The Doctor nods along. That all seems like pretty sound judgment to him, though Ianto probably has actual specific reasons. Reasons he's being a little reticent about, but that's probably fine. Actually, it's great. If Ianto had shown some sign of not being reticent about it, the Doctor would be seriously considering spontaneous unconsciousness, like one of those goats. Or faking it, at least. The art of the cold faint is a subtle one, and one he should probably have picked up somewhere along the way. Maybe there's a how-to online. Maybe Ianto can find one, since he's on such good terms with this TARDIS too. Maybe a sign, 'Browser histories WILL BE CHECKED.'

None of which is the point. Well, ask a stupid question...or in his case, blame a vague not-quite-question on an absent party. What part of Ianto's vague, not-quite-answer is the least odious to pick apart? Is this how normal tourists feel when faced with a plate of foreign food? Wouldn't potentially eating bugs be better than this. He barely contains a wistful sigh. "I didn't think about it, actually. I'm not sure I've ever thought to ask anyone why." He's also not sure he hasn't. And he isn't sure he's going to start. "I think I tend to stick with asking why not." And he usually asks people who don't know a million and one potential answers to that question yet. "But it's a big universe. We could find you something. Or you can just," he executes a little ocular shrug ceilingwards, "Shop around." Which is to say, post-pone the question by going to look at nebulae and gemstone pyramids and carbon sand until something sticks.

Why not. Ianto's built entire sections of his life around why not. Torchwood One? Sounds fun. Traveling through time and space? Can't argue with that. Fitz? Sure. Ianto knows from experience that the Doctor's is usually rhetorical, and that he'll happily stick his fingers in his ears and hum if you try to answer. Ianto's have always been earnest, cautious - give me a reason not to do this, because it sounds too good to be true and there must be a downside, there always is. And there always was. Ianto's a little more reticent with his why nots these days. He's burned, worn, and broken that habit.

"Could do," he acknowledges. though even the thought of it is tiresome, traipsing around galaxies on an assumption, rather than just clarifying their relationship from the start. "Or I could just--"

He stops, taken aback by the quiet, ethereal noise that he's not entirely certain he's actually hearing. It almost sounds like a voice, but also not, sort of distorted and distant. He looks up at the ceiling like that will explain anything, and then down at the console to make sure he isn't pressing the soothing music button, and then back at the Doctor, frowning in confusion and mild concern.

The Doctor is just as perturbed by this, if not more so. The TARDIS does inexplicable things, yeah, but they're not supposed to be inexplicable to him. Kind of. It's also worth noting that the music, if it can be called that, isn't very soothing. It's less music and more...someone using a voice as an instrument, but in the child with a synthesizer way, not in the artful a capella way. Layered over saccharine jingling. The Doctor looks back at Ianto and gives the most minute bewildered headshake. No, he's not making that sound, does he look like he should be? Ever?

Whatever it is, the Doctor wants to put an end to it, and sets to the console to do just that, before being interrupted by a hologram flaring into life above one panel, jaggedy and low-quality but still offensive. It's not really possible for it to be a drain on the TARDIS' equivalent to bandwidth, but it probably would be if it could. Maybe that's giving an inanimate animated hologram too much credit, but as the thing seems determined to inform him, in a cheerfully chiding manner, it is the holidays. Maybe Holidays, capital H, that amorphous onwardly marching indiscriminate monolith of imposition, how fitting. The synthesizer voice setting and jingling have resolved into an almost recognisable tune, instead of just repetitive fragments of one. It'll come to him, given time. The Doctor is so aghast he doesn't have room to be relieved by the interruption heading Ianto's impending suggestion off at the pass. And it had been going so well. He looks at Ianto accusingly. "Did you do this?" he whispers, temporarily spellbound into politeness toward a hologram.

"Why would I--"

"It's always the ho-ho-holidays at the Christmas History Museum!" a disconcertingly cheerful voice announces, as the strange melody finally resolves itself into 'Joy to the World', if that particular carol was being played at a nightclub foam party in a warehouse in the nineties. Ianto's sure he's danced to a cover like this before. The image clears too, the resolution improving, what looked like compression artefacts now gently falling snow. "Join our Christmas elves for their never-ending celebration as they pay tribute to their Old God!"

The image changes to a bare tree, surrounded by floating lights, with flashing arrows pointing toward the tree. Ianto hesitates for a short moment before reaching out to 'place' one of the strings on the tree, drawing his hand away quickly when the tree bursts into flames. "Check out our interactive exhibits! Confess your sins to the North Pole! Use our holographic simulators to deck your very own personal hell!"

The image changes frenetically between two people doing a lot more than kissing under mistletoe, a disembodied hand writing what at first glance appears to be a wish list, and people ice skating. "Discounts available for children! Safety not guaranteed!"

The advertisement ends with a series of numbers that could be a phone number or maybe ticket prices, but it bursts into fireworks too quickly for Ianto to ask. The explosions shutter and retreat back into the projector and the music cuts out, and into the ringing silence, Ianto protests in awe, "That wasn't me."

Well, maybe not literally, but it had to be Ianto's fault metaphorically somehow. Or, admittedly, he should have had up-to-date safeguards against guerilla advertising of this and all other calibers, and he will, at some point, when he's not busy. "Personal hell? Sounds festive. You shouldn't have touched it, they probably have your bank account now." Though joke's on them, Ianto's bank accounts, if any, are probably in an entirely different universe. And also maybe not tied to his bioprints, at this point in time. Still, it never hurts to be careful. There are a lot of scams out there designed to take advantage of the old and infirm. You know, the type of people who touch advertisements without thinking. If they get a call tomorrow saying that 'one of the household computers' is infected, he'll know who to blame.

Scam or not, the Doctor is already a little invested, looking for the source of the communication, verifying its existence as something besides a trap. Though, it would be a pretty poorly designed trap, at least if it's geared towards him. Even a tagline about its potential dangers doesn't make it much of a draw. Mostly what's curious about it is how it was targeted, though nothing says it even was. Though it is impressive how little they actually managed to get right, and the Doctor feels the need to correct them on a few of the finer points of the holiday. So maybe it would be a better trap than he'd initially calculated. "Looks like it's real enough. Maybe we should check it out. Make sure the elves are up to code." He could be joking. He probably isn't.

Maybe an intrusive ad popped up while he was Space Googling himself, but he definitely X'd out of it, and also maybe the TARDIS should have AdBlock installed like every other machine in the universe. If the Torchwood Mainframe could withstand the assault of Owen's porn browsing habits, the TARDIS can surely survive a pop-up or two.

"I shudder to think," Ianto says, highly dubious, as he checks both the console and his hand to make sure there isn't some - he doesn't know - coupon code lasered onto his skin or something. Have humans even made it out this far? Surely they get loads of complaints about the accuracy. And the safety. "Has Callie ever... had Christmas? Is that a thing she does?" Does Ianto want her to start here?

Right, yes, because Callie and her educational Christmas opportunity were entirely behind the Doctor's begrudging interest in this museum experience, absolutely. Try to keep up, Ianto. "It isn't, but it should be," is the Doctor's assessment. "It's anthropologically significant. And there's usually candy." What else, what else. That's probably enough. "The fact that it sounds bonkers is likely in our favour. There'll be loads of aliens, no one will bat an eye." Or any other alien sense organs. Probably there's aliens? But humans would be fine too. The Doctor is warming to the idea, and with good reason. What could be safer than Christmas? Disclaimers aside. Probably just like a roller coaster park. Though maybe they should have Ianto sign a waiver, just in case. "She's got a lot of Christmases to make up for." Maybe they'll do Christmas for a week. Maybe longer. It would strain his Christmas tolerance, but the sacrifice just makes it more meaningful. Isn't that what it's all about? "We can start there." So that's settled.

The kitchen Calliope ends up with is quite similar to one of the regular ones she has been using, and even in just about the same relative place, which is rather nice. Perhaps this TARDIS isn't so different from the one she'd gotten to know before, then. With practiced motions, she sets to putting the kettle on, collecting a tray with teacups and saucers, milk and ample sugar. Despite the Doctor's gentle admonishment, she finds herself too impatient to bother with her usual personal flourishes though. Ianto can have all the tea and time he requires, but he'll have to make do without biscuits or experimental additions to his tea. Even so, she does her best not to rush things; the Doctor had mentioned wanting to have a word with Ianto and she'd hate to barge in early.

It turns out she needn't worry about that, as the way back stretches on for quite a bit longer than she's expecting. But by the time she reaches the console room, the tea is still hot and her friends are still gathered 'round the console. She takes a bolstering breath, feeling awfully foolish for having acted so childishly, but there's nothing for it but to face her embarrassment. So she descends the stairs with her peace offering, approaching Ianto first. "Here you go, love," she says with a remorseful smile. "Take all the time you need. I was being terribly rude and I'm sorry." Perhaps she should have gone looking for some biscuits after all.

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hello from the other side

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