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Ianto Jones/Tenth Doctor
Title: Secret Admirer
Pairing: Ianto Jones/Tenth Doctor
Fandom: Torchwood/Doctor Who
Rating: PG-13
Table: 11
Prompt: 39, Secret Admirer
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.



Flowers. Again. Where were they coming from -- and the notes that went with them? The Doctor frowned, picking up the single long-stemmed red rose that he'd found on the floor of the Tardis -- near the doorway.

It wasn't that he actually minded someone sending him such lovely roses, he told himself, closing his eyes and raising the flower to his face to inhale the scent. Strange that he'd never really noticed flowers before .... but now, it seemed that he couldn't get them out of his mind.

The handwriting on the card was unusual, as well -- graceful, elegant. It was almost a copperplate script, something that he would have seen in the court of Elizabeth I, he thought, letting his mind run back over the past. The note was making him nostalgic, he told himself with a rueful little half-smile.

It wasn't Jack -- no, he knew Jack's handwriting, and there was no way that he could have managed something like this. Nor did the words sound like something Jack would have written. The sentiments were as elegant as the writing; the Doctor couldn't keep himself from speculating on the origin of those emotions.

"To breathe the same air as you makes every breath fill my lungs with a pure and utter joy of being."

Rubbish! The Doctor wanted to snort, to tell himself that this person -- whoever they were -- was playing some sort of prank. Such words couldn't apply to him.

But he had to admit that the thought was rather flattering.

The worrying thing was .... Who would write something like that? An enemy, trying to get past his guard and pounce when the time was right? Someone who had somehow seen him in passing and has developed a -- crush?

He couldn't help smiling at that. What a very human idea.

An idea that was driving him completely insane. If he didn't find out who was sending these roses and anonymous notes, he was going to end up in the same state as his old acquaintance George III.

The Doctor placed the red rose in a vase, giving it a thoughtful stare. There was only one way for him to find out who was leaving these -- and that was to catch the culprit in the act. Tonight, he would watch the door .No sleep, but it would be worth losing a night of rest to set his mind at ease.

Nothing like making a decision to brighten his day.

***

The day had gone rather quickly, the Doctor told himself as he approached the Tardis, taking the key from his pocket and slipping into the police box. As usual, he felt safe the moment he stepped into it -- but now, there was a bit of apprehension that tinged that feeling, and he couldn't help looking around to make sure that he was alone.

He must be. There was no feeling of being watched, no sixth sense telling him that there was another presence here.

Ah, but he wouldn't be alone later tonight, he told himself, going to a shadowy corner and lowering himself to the floor. Tonight, he would be able to solve the puzzling riddle of the roses.

He couldn't help casting an almost regretful glance towards the red rose from the night before. It would almost be a sad feeling to know that he wouldn't be waking up to a rose and a note to greet him in the early morning hours.

Just one less little ray of light in each day, he told himself with a sigh.

The Doctor blinked, deliberately not letting his gaze stray to the single red rose. What was he thinking? Of course he had to know who was doing this. His santiy could depend on it.

But .... what if it was someone attractive? Someone whose emotions he could return? Someone who he would take risks to be with?

Nonsense. The Doctor shook his head, fixing his eyes on the floor and keeping them there. He didn't need involvements. So he didn't have a companion -- at the moment. He would find one soon. Very soon.

Bother. He sighed again, resting his head against the wall. One more thing that he didn't need to think about at the moment.

He'd always been so good at sublimating his .... more human needs. Why was it suddenly so bloody hard to keep his thoughts from traveling in that direction?

His eyes had closed; his breathing was becoming more relaxed, quieter. The Doctor was on the verge of falling asleep -- until there was a soft scrape at the door, and those dark eyes flew open and focused on where the sound was coming from.

A slight ray of light -- then the figure of a young man stepped through the door, quietly, almost stealthily. In the dim light from the barely-cracked doorway, the Doctor could see that he was carrying a single rose -- a white one this time -- and a piece of paper that was rolled like parchment.

Hmmm. Parchment. A romantic touch, he thought absently, waiting to see what the man would do. If only he could make out the face ....

Why in the bloody hell was he sitting here like an intruder in his own Tardis? Was he some sort of idiot?

The young man was turning to go -- to slip through the doorway as silently as he'd entered. It was now or never.

The Doctor lept to his feet, his voice ringing out in the quiet. "It would be much easier to address you if I could know your name. As well as your face."

Startled, the other man whirled around -- the light from the doorway falling across his features as he did so.

The moment seemed frozen in time, the two men staring at each other, unable to form words to bridge the silence.

The Doctor's mouth dropped open in shock; of all the people he'd expected to see there, this hadn't been one of them. Someone he knew -- and, if he was honest with himself, someone he would like to know much, much better.

His voice sounded alien, something that couldn't possibly come from his body. His throat felt constricted, his hearts were pounding, and he was hot one second, cold the next. He almost felt faint.

Saying that he felt shocked, that the face was unexpected, wasn't even close.

He could barely force the name from his lips; his voice was trembling, as well as his hands. And ... .was that his hearts (both of them) turning somersaults in his chest?

"Ianto?"