Part One

The water danced briskly across the bay, waves rippling from the sharp wind that blew in and swirled dry leaves and litter around his feet. Above him, the sky was clear, and bright stars twinkled down upon the city. It was cold enough to snow, and it would have painted a pretty picture for Christmas Eve, but then he couldn't see the water or the sky, and that was why he had come outside, after all.

The bay really was quite beautiful. Cardiff, in that peculiar way of large cities teaming with people, was beautiful. Wales was beautiful. The sky, the water, the mountains, even the sheep—all beautiful. He knew this as well as he knew his own name. Yet it no longer moved him; he didn't feel it anymore, didn't care.

Glancing down at the water, he idly wondered how cold it was. Probably cold enough to stop his heart relatively quickly, although he would drown before he froze if he jumped and let himself sink to the bottom. No, he'd definitely feel the painful bit of the icy water before he succumbed, and he wouldn't want to suffer. It wasn't that he was afraid of suffering, it was more that he was tired of it: why go through more to end it all? Suffering was for the guilty, not the tired and depressed. So he stood at the railing, staring at the dark waters of the bay, and put the thought from his mind.

He had some pills in his pocket, extra ones he'd knicked from the medical bay. He'd been taking them for his shoulder, injured in the fight at the warehouse several months ago. He'd reinjured it chasing Weevils while Gwen was on her honeymoon, a dislocation and a solid slash while he'd been temporarily stunned. That was when he'd started the medication, when he'd been unable to sleep for a solid week straight because of the tossing and turning as he'd tried to get comfortable. Jack had insisted he see Owen, Owen had given him a script, and he had simply hacked the chemist's account to keep the script current. He'd run out that morning, though, so he'd needed some of Owen's stash to make it through the holiday. He didn't feel guilty about it at all; he was too numb to care whether or not he was actually stealing, or the reasons why.

He could go home, have a drink, take the lot, and not wake up. Simple. Not traumatic or suspicious. Definitely better than drowning in ice water, and much better than Cybermen or Weevils or the latest alien plague. Fingering the bottle in his pocket, he took one out and swallowed it dry, then glanced back at the tourist office, hoping no one was watching him on CCTV.

Ianto Jones was done with Torchwood, with aliens and dinosaurs and undying coworkers. Only one thing had gone right for him since the day Canary Wharf fell, and even that one thing was fraught with so many miscommunications and misunderstandings that some days he wondered why he bothered. Everything else…rubbish. Complete, utter shite. That was his life, a series of bad days followed by worse days followed by narrowly avoiding the end of the world interspersed with an occasional good laugh and a lot of great sex.

His mother had passed away the day he'd reinjured his shoulder. Two months later and his sister was still giving him a hard time for not being there, for getting himself hurt playing rugby (as if), for not coming by the estate more often. She was certain he was sublimating, burying himself in his dead-end civil servant's job to hide his grief, when really, she was the one mothering her little brother into oblivion as a way of dealing with her own loss. Ianto missed his mum and still mourned her in his own way, but his bloody sister was making it worse. She'd even been hounding him about bringing someone to Christmas dinner, reminding him that he couldn't mourn Lisa forever, he needed to move on, find someone to love again and did he want to meet her friend Megan, she was really nice and pretty and single?

Oh, if only she knew everything.

His dead-end job was exactly that—a literal dead end in every way, personally and professionally. Deceased coworkers coming back to life aside, it had been a difficult time at Torchwood. They had finally adjusted to Owen's strange new half-life, but the Rift and the Weevils and a dozen other things were running them ragged, not to mention an epidemic of meddling from UNIT and oversight from London. Ianto was sick of sedating Weevils, sweet talking Whitehall, filling out the paperwork, and making enough coffee to get through it all awake and standing.

He was tired. He didn't want to do this anymore. He'd thought about Retcon, but what was the point? It would require too much to wipe Torchwood from his mind, and in spite of the pain and the grief, there were things he wanted to remember about the last four years of his life. And he suspected Jack would track him down and trigger his memory anyway. Which brought up yet another aspect of his sad, pathetic life—his boss slash lover. A man who had asked for more and had, for the most part, made good on that offer, only it wasn't quite what Ianto had thought it would be, mostly because Jack still seemed to pine after others too much for Ianto to feel completely sure of his place in Jack's life.

Yes, Jack was old. He'd had a lot of lovers, even been married, and there was, of course, his obsession with the Doctor. Ianto could accept all that, but being second choice in the present was different than playing second fiddle to the past or the future. He thought about ending their strange affair, but what else was there in his life? There was only Torchwood, and Jack was Torchwood, and it was impossible to separate them. Leaving Jack meant leaving Torchwood, which meant he'd have nothing.

It was pathetic, really. He'd survived Canary Wharf, he'd survived Lisa's death, he'd survived cannibals and aliens and the end of the world multiple times. Yet apparently after eighteen months of the universe giving him the two-finger salute, it was suddenly too much to bear anymore. He was tired of mourning friends and family, tired of saving the world with no pat on the back or bonus pay, tired of feeling alone in spite of spending most nights having great sex. Tired of feeling tired.

Which was why he'd told Jack he was going to Rhiannon's and told Rhiannon he'd had to work. In reality, he was going to go home and drink himself stupid, then reevaluate his life in the morning over coffee and leftover take away while not thinking about it being Christmas morning. He had reached a turning point and needed to sort it out: his family life was difficult, his professional life was a disaster waiting to happen, his social life was nonexistent, his love life was bordering on Shakespearean tragedy, and to top it off, he was clearly depressed and hooked on painkillers.

A gust of cold wind ruffled his coat and he pulled it close around him. He should leave, go inside and get warm, but he couldn't make his feet move, because it was Christmas and he was going home alone to mourn what could have been a much better life than this. He didn't want to be alone, even if he thought he did.

"What a bloody waste," he murmured.

"Oh, I wouldn't say that," said a cheerful voice behind him. Ianto sighed and let his eyes slipped closed. This was really not the time for chipper strangers to try and strike up a conversation. He wanted to wallow without an audience.

"Then don't say it," Ianto replied curtly. "If you'll excuse me." He forced himself to walk away, leaving the Hub behind, but was stopped in his tracks when the stranger called his name.

"Mr. Jones!" the man called, and Ianto turned to find himself face to face with a tall, dark haired man with unruly hair and glasses. He was wearing a nice enough suit, ruined by red trainers, and a long brown coat that fluttered in the wind much like Jack's greatcoat.

"I'm sorry," Ianto said, trying not to snap irritably and probably failing, "do I know you?"

"Oh, probably not," the man answered, bouncing on his toes and studying Ianto closely. "At least, not yet. In a few months, though."

Ianto groaned and turned away again. "Right. Time travel. I'm out of here."

"Mr. Jones!" the man called again. "Ianto!"

"Leave me alone," Ianto grumbled as the man came up beside him. "It's Christmas Eve, and this is not a Charles Dickens story, so go haunt someone else."

"But I came here to haunt…I mean, to see you."

"Right. Before we actually meet in a few months." Ianto stopped abruptly and stared at the strange man, glancing at his wrist. "You're not a Time Agent, are you?"

"What?" the man asked, sounding indignant. "Don't be ridiculous. I'm much better than those amateurs."

"So you're a professional time traveler then?" asked Ianto, putting as much dry skepticism into his voice as he could.

"Got my own ship and everything," the man replied proudly, clearing missing the sarcasm. And that was when it occurred to Ianto who he was talking to.

"Would that happen to be a blue police box?" he asked, and the man grinned, one of those blinding grins like Jack.

"It would! You're quick, Mr. Jones. I left her up on the Plass to refuel."

"Of course you did," Ianto murmured. He nodded as he made up his mind, pulled his right arm back into a fist, and let it fly straight into the man's chin.

"What was that for?" the man exclaimed, rubbing his face. Ianto huffed at him and stalked away.

"Anything. Everything," he snapped. "For Canary Wharf, for Jack, for ruining my already rubbish Christmas even more."

"Whoa," said the man. "Let's start over, shall we?"

"No, thank you. Good night. " The man kept following him.

"Hello, I'm the Doctor."

"I know," Ianto replied flatly.

"It's nice to meet you again, Mr. Jones. May I call you Ianto?"

"Don't bother, because I'm leaving. I have no wish to talk to you." Ianto walked away yet again. It was easy. Why was Jack always running toward this man?

"Do you have plans for tonight?" the Doctor asked, catching up.

"I have a date with a bottle of bourbon," Ianto replied. "It's my new Christmas tradition."

"Alone?" asked the Doctor.

"That's my life," Ianto snapped. "Now, I really am leaving this time."

"Were you going to jump?" asked the man softly, and Ianto stopped. He sighed again and turned around.

"How long were you watching?"

"Long enough."

"Then you'll notice that I didn't," Ianto replied. "I happen to like this suit."

"Are you going to go home and try something else? Those pills in your pocket?" the man asked. Obviously he had no sense of privacy or decorum. Ianto stared at him in exasperation.

"It's really none of your business what I may or may not do with my life."

"Oh, but I think it is," the Doctor replied. "See, I'm a time traveler. I can't change things that have already happened, but sometimes I can stop bad things from happening in the first place, especially those things that are not meant to happen."

"And my standing outside on Christmas Eve is that bad, is it?" Ianto asked, rolling his eyes. "Good thing I didn't come out with a fag, that'd really have the time police swooping in, wouldn't it?"

The Doctor frowned. "It's not a particularly healthy habit, no. But you standing outside thinking it's all a waste and wondering about things like jumping and Retcon—that's bad."

"Again—none of your business," Ianto pointed out. "And I wasn't seriously considering either."

"In another week, you will," the Doctor replied, all trace of flippancy gone. "Only it will be at the top of a tall building with Jack trying to talk you out of it. So we're going to work this out now, before it comes to that."

"I'm sure Jack's seen people jump before," Ianto said sullenly. Of course the Doctor wasn't there for him, but for Jack, probably so Jack wasn't traumatized by watching Ianto throw himself from the top of the Capital Tower. Because wasn't it always about Jack?

"Probably," said the Doctor. "But that doesn't make it any easier, especially when it's someone he cares about."

Ianto snorted. "So you're here to talk me out of ending it so Jack doesn't suffer? That's not particularly encouraging, you know."

"I'm not here because of Jack," the Doctor replied evenly. "Sparing him the pain of watching another lover leave him is a bonus. No, I'm here for you, Mr. Jones.

"Bullshit."

The Doctor strode up to him and right into his personal space, not unlike Jack, but Ianto did not feel that same heady giddiness he usually felt when Jack was this close. No, instead he sensed age and wisdom and great sadness touched with impatient anger from the man before him. He forced himself to stand his ground and not step away.

"Now is not your time to die, Ianto Jones. You may be tired, and you might think it's all a colossal waste of time, but it's not. There are too many things you need to do, people you need to save. So I'm here to save you. Save the tea boy, save the world."

Ianto frowned. That sounded familiar. The Doctor must have noticed and waved him away.

"Not particularly original, but still the truth. Or more accurately—save the tea boy, preserve the integrity of the multidimensional timeline. You've already saved so many people, why should it come as a surprise that I'm here to save you?"

"Because anyone else could have done whatever I did," Ianto replied. "Or will do. I'm no one special."

"Jack thinks so," the Doctor pointed out.

Ianto couldn't hold back a snort. "That's bollocks. Jack thinks I'm a good shag and that's about it."

The Doctor frowned and shook his head. "This is worse than I thought. Perhaps I should have gone back earlier." He seemed to come to a decision and looked up into Ianto's eyes. "Jack cares deeply about you, Ianto. His life is one of many that would be very different if you weren't here."

"You mean, if I hadn't joined Torchwood?" Ianto asked bitterly. "Because that's basically when it started going to shit. I mean, I had a good two years in London, but since then? Nothing worth staying for."

"And yet you've stayed," the Doctor pointed out quietly.

"And I was planning on going home, getting very drunk, and trying to figure out why," Ianto snapped. "So if you don't mind, why don't we call it a night? Give Jack a ring, I'm sure he'd be thrilled to run off again. I'll even let the others know so they don't panic like last time."

"I'm not here to see Jack," the Doctor insisted. Ianto left the boardwalk and headed up to the Plass, determined to get away from this man who insisted on pursuing and psychoanalyzing him. He sped up, until he glanced toward the invisible lift and stopped short.

There was a blue police box sitting on the pavement.

"That's your ship," he said rather stupidly, staring at it in shock. The Doctor came up behind him and clapped him on the back.

"And you can see her! Good for you!" At Ianto's questioning look, the Doctor shrugged and moved forward. "Most people can't see her. A perception filter keeps them from running up and trying to ring the police."

"Basic psychic training at Torchwood One," Ianto murmured. This was the ship that had appeared at Canary Wharf. This was the ship that Jack had clung to as he'd disappeared. This was the Tardis, a time machine, and it was right there in front of him. Ianto wasn't sure if he wanted to kick it, run away and forget he'd ever seen it, or maybe both.

"Ooh, then you might be able to hear her when you're inside. I bet she'll like you, Mr. Jones." The Doctor took Ianto's elbow and gently pulled him toward the police box. Ianto put up a token resistance that was easily overcome. Really, he was still too surprised and undecided to do anything else but let the Doctor lead him. Maybe this was why Jack followed the man anywhere. The Doctor's presence was slightly overwhelming.

As they came to the door, however, Ianto snapped out of it and stepped away. "No, I'm not going anywhere with you. I'm going home. It's Christmas."

"Then we'll stop for a nice pudding somewhen," the Doctor replied. "But you are coming with me. I know exactly what to do with you."

"And what's that?" Ianto demanded. "Besides trying to kidnap me."

"I'm a Time Lord," the Doctor replied, drawing himself up tall. "I can see what was, what will be, what could have been, what could be. Possibilities. I'm going to show you that your life has not been a waste. On the contrary, you have touched an extraordinary number of people with your strength and compassion. Lives that would be very different, and possibly over, were it not for you."

"I still don't believe you," Ianto replied.

"And why not?" the Doctor demanded, opening the door.

"Because this is starting to sound too much like an old-fashioned Christmas movie." All the Doctor needed was a pair of angel wings and they'd be golden. Ianto shook the image from his head.

The Doctor cocked his head. "Ideas have to come from somewhere," he replied.

"The one I'm thinking of is in black and white," Ianto said. He half expected to hear a bell ring nearby.

"And it was based on a true story," said the Doctor. He motioned Ianto through the door, but Ianto did not move. "I met the writer. Mr. Jones…Ianto. Please. Come with me. I need to do this."

"For who?" Ianto asked. "For you? For Jack? For a bunch of people I apparently need to save someday?"

"For you," the Doctor replied simply. "And for the future. So do get a move on, before I throw you on board."

"You wouldn't," Ianto replied. The Doctor grasped his elbow tight.

"Try me."

Ianto looked at him without answering and did not move.

"I'll have you back by midnight!" the Doctor exclaimed. "I'm a time traveler, I can do that, you know."

"And from what Jack's told me, your aim is quite a bit off."

"Yes, well, that was different," the Doctor said, sounding defensive. "There was a big knot in the Vortex, and as much as I wanted to get Jack back at the right time, we couldn't work around it. "

"And what if something like that happens again?" Ianto demanded. "I'm not going with you only to disappear for four months. I know what it's like to be abandoned with no word, and it sucks."

"Leave him a note," the Doctor shrugged. "You know, on your phone."

Ianto sighed and reached into his pocket. He glanced down at his mobile, appalled that he was even considering it and wondering what the hell he could put into a short text message that would accurately convey what was going on without upsetting Jack.

The Doctor is here and said I should go with him. Apparently he needs to show me something to protect the future. I hope brings me back marginally close to the time I left. Happy Christmas. I.

It wasn't much but it would have to do. With a deep breath to steady jangling nerves, Ianto stepped through the doorway onto the Tardis. The door shut behind him as he glanced around the interior of the ship. Although it was quite beautiful, he felt trapped, until a soothing presence tickled at the edges of his mind. Somehow, he knew it was the ship itself reaching out to him.

"I told you she'd like you!" the Doctor crowed. He started running around a center console, throwing levers and pushing buttons. Ianto let the calming presence flow over him. For the first time, he felt like he might be doing the right thing.

"She's beautiful," he whispered, and the Doctor grinned at him like a proud father. The ship shuddered around them, then without warning, everything stopped and the Doctor clapped his hands together.

"We're here! Short trip, I'm afraid," he said. "You'll have to explore the ship later."

He bounded toward the door and stopped to hold out his hand to Ianto.

"Mr. Jones, welcome to the road not taken. Let's go see what life is like when you turn left, shall we?"

Ianto didn't understand a word of what the man said, but he followed without taking the man's hand. He sensed his world was about to be turned upside down as he stepped outside and mentally prepared himself.

They stepped outside onto the bright, sunny pavement of the Plass.

Confused, Ianto glanced around, looking for something…anything…different. The Doctor had said they were traveling in time, or at least in the possibilities of time. Yet everything looked exactly the same as it had when they'd left, except it was clearly morning instead of night.

And then he saw himself, striding across the pavement in a grey pinstripe and a pea coat. Again, not so different. But instead of turning right on the boardwalk toward the tourist office, the other Ianto Jones turned left and walked along the Quay.

"This is your other life, Mr. Jones," the Doctor said quietly, coming up behind him. "This is what the world would be like if you hadn't joined Torchwood. Let's take a walk, shall we?"

And as bizarre as it was, Ianto followed without protest, strangely curious to see just how different his life would have been had he never joined Torchwood One.

Author's Note:

I'm chuffed. I adore writing Ianto and Doctor interactions! I hope you enjoyed it. Many thanks to Taamar for the lovely long title. This story will be in three parts. I've finished the second so I'm off to work on the third and see how it ends. Let a girl know what you think, yeah? 'Tis the season and all that. Ta!