gracie_musica | Different Kind of Magic -- Trouble Brewing

Title: Different Kind of Magic
Chapter Twenty: Trouble Brewing
Date Written: 12/29/09
Rating: PG-13/T
Word Count: 2,890
Fandom: Torchwood/Doctor Who
Characters/Pairings: Ianto/Jack, Ross, Tosh, Lumic (DW), Idris (DW/TW) Solomon (DW)
Spoilers: Doctor Who up through Season 04 and current specials, Torchwood up through 02, Different Sort of Science and To Days To Come
Warnings: AU like whoa, minor character death, general creepiness
Author's Notes: Thanks so much to my gorgeous betas

totally4ryo and

katestamps, who are my sounding boards, my muses, and all-around fantastic girls. And thanks to

rosy5000 for the title! So I sorta made an oops earlier in the week and scarred some people (good times, good times), so here's the next chapter to make up for that.

Previous chapters found here.

Book cover by

cjharknessgirl

"Umm... what are you doing that for?"
"'Cause you told me to."
"When was that?"
"About half an hour ago."
"Umm... you can let go now."
"How long has it been since I could've stopped?"
"Ten minutes? Twenty? Twenty-nine?"
"You just forgot me!"
"No, no, no, I was jus -- I was -- I was calibrating! I was jus -- No, I know exactly what I'm doing."
-- The Doctor and Mickey Smith, Rise of the Cybermen

Brilliant little Ross Jones, the normal non-magic human child that he was, was the one who described Alchemist Davros the way Ianto wanted to but couldn't find the words.

"It's like he's there, but not really," the boy declared at bedtime. Ianto knew it was a little silly, but he still doted on his nephew while he could, before the kid got older and protested the affection the way little boys did. In fact, Ianto knew that if the boy would let him, he'd read Ross a bedtime story and kiss him goodnight until one of them died.

"You're right," the Mage agreed, tucking the sheets around the tiny frame. "It's like he's a hole in stone."

"There because he's not," Ross said, nodding in approval. "Would it be rude to stay far away from him?"

"I'd prefer it," Ianto said honestly. "The man gives me the creeps." When Ross giggled, he leaned in and tickled him briefly with the tips of his fingers. "Don't you tell your Uncle Jack that," he told the kid, kissing the little laughing face. "And mind your manners when he's around, got it?"

"Yes, Uncle Ianto." Two child-sized arms encircled his waist, squeezing him tight round the middle, and the older man hugged him back just as tight. "Uncle Ianto? Mr. Lumic and Mr. Davros said at dinner that they were going to have a war tomorrow."

The tiny tremor in the young voice didn't go unnoticed. The Mage smiled kindly and smoothed the unruly black curls down, soothing the boy. "Don't worry, kid. They just mean like when me and Jack spar. It's for fun."

Ross took a moment to digest this. "So... Can I watch then?"

"Sure thing." It would be one of the first magical sparring matches he'd ever seen when he wasn't involved. "I'll watch with you. How's that sound?"

"Good!" He looked up at Ianto, baby blues eyes regarding him suspiciously. "And no one dies?"

He understood the boy's unease. The last time Ross had heard the word war, they'd brought back his body. "Nope. Everybody lives."

-----

The sound of male crying hit Ianto's ears as he entered the stables. Although he'd never heard the man in such distress, he recognized the voice as Idris Hopper's. The sound was coming from one of the stalls, the door open with Toshiko, Lumic, and one of those metal homunculi that the alchemist was so fond of lingering in the doorway, looking in. Idris' back became visible as he walked closer, and Ianto saw that the man was kneeling in the straw. The horses in the other stalls fidgeted and nickered nervously as he passed. Even they could sense that something was amiss.

"Who is it?"

Tosh and Lumic looked up at him. Her eyes were red-rimmed; she'd been crying or was trying to keep from tears. Lumic, on the other hand, was stoic and serious, a metal gauntlet cradled in his lap. "It's awful, Ianto," the petite woman sniffed, reaching for her friend. Ianto slipped an arm around her shoulder, quietly comforting her. "It's Solomon."

The young Mage felt a pang of guilt when he realized he hadn't known the man they were talking about as well as he should. He was the Second. He ran the day-to-day things of the House, or should. He should know these people better than anyone. Luckily, he knew who Solomon was. "The stablemaster."

A tiny little sob slipped out from between Tosh's lips. "He was Idris' uncle," she said. "Got him the job here."

Ianto took a deep breath and nodded. "It's okay, Tosh. It was an unfortunate accident."

"Indeed," Lumic agreed in a hushed tone. "We were worried about the horses and wanted to make sure we didn't have to move any of them."

"You really think that your sparring match will get so widespread?" Ianto asked in surprise. "You'll be on the far lawn from the stables!"

"It's a battle between homunculi," Lumic said, motioning at the armor next to him. "We didn't want to take chances, especially since they can taste the magic in the air."

The horses, as if proving Lumic's point, whinnied, the sound practically rippling through the barn. Myfanwy's nose pressed up against the slats of the divider between the stalls. Ianto had a moment of utter selfishness where he felt nothing but relief that the horse that had killed Solomon wasn't Janet or Myfanwy. "Which horse was in this stall?"

"Herbert," Tosh answered, sniffling. "Killed by his own horse. He's outside with one of the stable hands."

"The horse got spooked by something and kicked," Lumic supplied. "Solomon -- was that his name? -- he fell back and whanged his head." He shook his head sadly. "I'm sorry, lad," he offered kindly to Idris.

The blonde man's response was to sniffle and rub at his wet cheeks.

Ianto nodded to Lumic. "Why don't you go on? Um... Get someone to send a message to Maria. She's a maid in the Laundry. Tell her we need a burial shroud. I'll find someone to send for Sister Hame once we've moved the body to the Healing Hall." He paused to look at the homunculus standing next to the old soldier. "Is that the one you took to Capitol with you?"

Tosh shot him a look that clearly said not the time, but Lumic just lit up in that way that only the truly passionate or truly insane could. "Yes! I'm trying a new technique to see how long it takes." Absently, he stroked the metal gauntlet in his lap. It seemed to glow faintly, and Ianto realized that it had to be his focal point. It seemed Alchemy was teaching Lumic to be more Mage than they'd realized.

The younger Mage nodded. "Good work," he said, both complimenting and dismissing him. Lumic took the hint and wheeled out, the lifeless armor ambling loudly behind him.

Leaving Tosh to linger at the open doorway, Ianto stepped into the stall and squatted down next to Idris, looking down at the dead man. Someone had pulled up the dead man's shirt, and a deep bruise was forming against Solomon's dark skin. But that's all it was. A bruise. It would have hurt like hell, maybe even broken a few ribs, but the man should have made it. Curious, Ianto carefully touched the dark hair. There was a bit of a knot on his head, but his fingertips came back clean. No blood.

"Ianto."

The distraught voice tore him from his musings. He turned to look at Idris, taking in the pale, tear-streaked face. He had to stop himself from throwing his arms around Toshiko's young apprentice and holding him like he was a child. "Yeah, mate?"

"Bring him back."

The request was like a cold bucket of water. He wanted to, could -- would in an instant. Idris was a colleague, a friend. But somehow, he just knew that he couldn't grant this one oh-so important wish.

Tosh drew in a sharp breath behind them, a scold falling from her lips on the exhale. "Id, you can't ask that of him -- "

"Like Hell," the young man snapped, shooting a glare at the petite woman over his shoulder. "He'd bring his precious Jack back in a heartbeat."

"That's different," Ianto started, holding his hands up.

"No. It's not."

"Idris, I want to, I do, but -- "

"But you won't." Idris' voice had hardened, grief giving way to anger. It tore at Ianto's heart, but if lashing out at him would make the man feel better, then so be it. "Because he's not magic. We're just lowly humans. Servants. Common."

Ianto had to bite back the Well, fuck you too that almost rolled off his tongue, Idris' anger mixing with his own provoked temper, amplifying it. "You know that's not true," the Mage said, his tone low and even. "I respect you no less than Toshiko."

"Then why won't you do what I want?!" Idris rose to his feet, looming over the Second, trying to intimidate him into doing what he wanted.

"I can't, Id," he said softly, hoping the nickname would bring him around. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

"It's not that you can't," the blonde man accused. "It's that you won't."

"I can't!"

"You won't."

"Boys!" Tosh burst out. "Stop this!"

"Elitist bastard," Idris accused before turning on his heel and storming out. Tosh, pale and wide-eyed, stared at Ianto.

"Go," he ordered, waving a hand. "I'm fine." Once she fled after Idris, he looked down at the dead man lying in the dirty straw. "And I'm sorry," he said, his voice breaking the now-quiet of the stables. "I'm so, so sorry."

-----

"It was the most amazing thing I've ever seen, Uncle Ianto!" Ross exclaimed for the umpteenth time. The boy was fairly vibrating. And while Ianto really didn't need a hyperactive child right now -- especially with the second body in as many weeks lying in the Healing Halls -- he pushed his paperwork aside and gave his nephew his full attention.

"There were two on two," the little boy informed Ianto, realizing that the older man was paying attention. "Two of those metal men of Mr. Lumic's, and two of these mud pile things of Mr. Davros'."

"Mud pile things?" Ianto asked, tilting his head to one side and smiling despite himself, despite the day.

Ross nodded so vigorously Ianto worried his head might fall from his shoulders. Imagine explaining that to his parents. "He, Mr. Davros, had someone dig up these two really big piles of dirt. Bigger than me! And he threw water on 'em and held his hands out like this -- " He held his little hands out in front of him in illustration, fingers spread wide. He wiggled the digits, making Ianto chuckle. "And then, whoosh!" He shot his hands up over his head. "They flew up into the air! The first one, one of Lumic's metal men took care of." Keeping with the spirit of the blow-by-blow, he brought his hands down, fists clenched. He even supplied the Sh-boom! noise. "And then, Uncle Ianto, and then? The other mud pile shot out these flames and ka-BOOM!" He threw his hands up in the air one last time. "Metal pieces everywhere!"

"That's... Quite the story," Ianto said, looking down at the boy. "I'm sorry I missed it. I would have liked to have seen it with you."

"I know, Uncle Ianto."

Ianto opened his mouth to say something else, but there was a timid knock at the office door. He looked up to see Tosh and Idris standing in the doorway. Idris's face was washed clean, but his eyes were red-rimmed and his blonde hair was mused. Tosh put a comforting hand on the small of his back, nodding encouragingly. "Can -- " Idris stopped to clear his throat nervously. "May I speak with you, Ianto?"

The young Mage ruffled Ross' dark curls. "Why don't you go play nice with Toshiko while I talk with Idris?"

The little boy nodded and ran to the petite woman, pausing to hug Idris around the middle. The apprentice stooped and hugged him back, kissing his forehead briefly, fondly, before releasing him. Tosh took his hand and closed the door, leaving the two men together in the room.

Ianto took a deep breath, regarding the blonde man before him. Idris was probably about his own age, maybe a little younger, but he looked so worn out that he could have been ten years his senior. He was obviously torn between crying and collapsing from the pain of the loss and dying of embarrassment at his actions earlier. One didn't have to be a Pleaser to recognize the conflicting emotions radiating off the man.

"I need a drink," Ianto declared, breaking the silence of the room. "You?"

"Rassilon, yes," rushed out from Idris. "Please."

The blonde moved to the chair across from the desk as Ianto pulled a small bottle of brandy out from one of the desk drawers. Idris raised a teasing eyebrow as Ianto uncorked the bottle and tipped back a little. "Always prepared, I see."

Ianto winced against the slight burn going down, and sighed out as he felt the warm heat of the liquor pool in his belly. "Between Hart, Jack, and Owen? You bet," he replied, passing the bottle across to Idris.

He took the crystal container, but didn't drink. Instead, he looked at the amber-colored liquid, swirling it around. "He married my aunt when I was eight," he finally volunteered.

The Second bit down on the I'm sorry on the tip of his tongue, waiting for the alchemical apprentice to continue.

Idris took his time, opening and closing his mouth a few times, trying to piece together what to say and how to say it. "I've... never known a day where there were fewer than seven people in my household. There was Mam and Tad, of course, and my aunt lived with us. I have an older brother, and a younger sister who was a baby at my first memory." He finally took a healthy swig of brandy, coughing against the burn of too much, too fast. He was in the middle of handing the bottle back when he added, "They had fifteen of us."

Ianto almost dropped the bottle. "You're one of fifteen? God and Goddess!"

"Well, there would have been fifteen," Idris amended. "Three never drew breath, and one was lost in infancy."

"But eleven's still a lot of children." The Mage took a sip of brandy, processing this information. "Fuck."

"Apparently."

The two snickered like schoolboys, the little amount of alcohol already going to their tired heads.

"The problem with big families, I've found -- thank you," he added, taking the bottle back, "is that they're incredibly easy to make, Goddess and mother willing. Maintaining them, however, is a much different matter. When you've got fifteen mouths to feed but can only afford to really feed two or three..." He trailed off in favor of more drink, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Well, like I said, we didn't really need maths to know our stomachs were never quite full enough."

"Learn and starve or work and eat." Ianto nodded, smiling kindly when Idris raised an eyebrow and looked at him. "I'm not judging. I understand. I worked as a child, too, but lucked out since my father's profession is one that requires reading and writing and record keeping."

"Solomon said it was a pity that we never had time to learn," Idris admitted. "He married my aunt when I was eight, like I said, and moved in to help with kids that weren't even his, or hers. Tad was always working, Mam and my aunt would do darning and laundry for others in the neighborhood..." He shrugged, looking down at the bottle in his hand again. "... He was a good friend. Even after my aunt died, he hung around and made sure we were all okay."

"He was a good man," Ianto agreed, feeling horrible that he hadn't made more of an effort to get to know him better.

"He got me the job here."

"That's what Tosh said."

"Changed my life."

Ianto nodded. He knew the feeling.

"I'm -- "

"Don't," the Mage said. "I understand. It's all right. Already forgiven."

Idris ducked his head and took another pull from the bottle. It didn't quite hide the glitter of unshed tears under his lashes.

"I want to tell you why I couldn't though," Ianto added gently. "Bring your uncle back, I mean."

The other man vehemently shook his head, blonde hair bouncing back and forth. "No, no, Sir, I understand -- "

"If you call me sir again, I'll be forced to box your ears," Ianto interrupted, pointing a finger at him. The sting of the reprimand was softened by the grin on his face. "I would have. But I physically couldn't. His soul? It had gone to the Void. Solomon was forgetting himself, or already had by the time I showed up. I am so sorry, I really am, but I never would have found him."

Idris' face was even paler than normal. "He was -- forgetting himself?"

"No, no, it's not as terrible as it sounds," Ianto tried to reassure him. He stood and walked around his desk, sitting on the edge. "He didn't have any regrets. Like I said, he was a good man, and he knew that while you and your family will miss him, you can all manage." He gave Idris a fond smile. "I mean, look at you! If he hadn't gotten you the job here at the House, no one would have known your knack for Alchemy and keeping Tosh from blowing us all up."

That drew a little bit of a chuckle. Ianto let him have one last drink from the bottle, then took it back and recorked it. "Feel better?"

"Yes and no," Idris admitted, scrubbing at his face with his hands. "Better for having cleared this up. Worse because I have to plan a funeral."

"Take as long as you need. Let us know what we can do to help."

Idris' watery smile flashed back at him. "You already have."