Title: Shades of Ianto - Series 2
Author: sarcasticchick
Pairing: Jack/Ianto
Rating: NC-17
Series: 1) Shades of Ianto - Prologue, 2) Shades of Ianto - Series 1
Warnings: This is an AU based on canon.
A/N: 1) I do not own these characters nor am I intending to use them for money (unless I'm being bribed, see #4).
2) SoI is based on some far-ranging theories and backstory that I am aware will most likely be jossed. But until 2008 or I hear from the man himself, anything is possible. See note 6.
3) This series will cover pre-S1 as well as all episodes in S1. Initial 4-5 chapters will be preS1.
4) The Secretary of State for Research and Resource Acquisition does not exist. However, neither does Torchwood. Both make an appearance in my story.
5) No spoilers for DW3 or TW2.
6) This is the beginning of the next section which will follow Series 1 (and thus will be referred to as Series 1 because I am unoriginal). Chapters will not be episodic, rather the episodes provide fodder for the chapters.
Summary: Ianto is more than just a teaboy.
***
"You know, you're not Jack."Ianto grimaced as Owen tugged with what he deemed was more force than necessary at the stitches he was lacing in Ianto's cheek. It wasn't that bad of a gash, really, more a scratch, but Owen had demanded to see to Ianto's injuries before either of them went home.
Tosh and Gwen had claimed business to attend to at the Hub as well.
The creature had taken them all by surprise, waiting outside the pub they frequented every Monday and Thursday eve as well as after every near-victory, a tradition borne by desperation and the resolve to carry on. They had first gone after Gwen had almost been taken by an alien with green horns and tail with a penchant for freckles. Then it happened again, and again, and eventually became pattern. Ianto took it out of Torchwood's budget as "team bonding exercises." What did it matter, he signed off on all the requests at any rate. And it did help. Except when they left and ran into an alien wielding a slim blade (claw?) with a deadly reach. Two people had died before they got involved; Owen would very nearly have followed if not for Ianto's timely shove. Ianto had been the focus instead, though he found the alien's attack remarkably similar to fencing and was quick enough to avoid the slashes. For the most part. Tosh had killed it with her pepper spray; its skin reacted poorly to the chemical mist, rather like a fatal case of hives.
And so Torchwood Three functioned, by the skin of their teeth and a little dose of luck.
Sometimes, Ianto thought they only survived because they were anxiously waiting for Jack's return, unwilling to lose the fight before they saw him swagger into the Hub, broadly grinning on a high from his latest adventures from beyond this space and time. At this point, six months after Jack's disappearance (departure, really, since Ianto knew he had left by choice), Ianto didn't really care if he ever returned. At first he had been angry, then he mourned, and then he found himself in his current state of apathy. He should replace Jack, but unlike the others who didn't ask for Jack to be replaced because that would mean admitting he was gone and never returning, he didn't replace Jack simply because he couldn't be bothered with it. He had other things to worry about than replacing an arrogant, deserting, selfish, shallow man who cared nothing more for anyone else than what it got for him in the next breath.
The children were still missing.
Six months had gone by since Jack had left, nearly nine since Avalon had been destroyed. Ianto refused to lose hope and give in to the fear that they were lost forever, but he could see it creeping into Jean-Luc and Stephen's faces. Time had long since run out -- like a forest after a fire, Avalon actually housed two new students under the tutelage of Stephen and Jean-Luc. Tosh could find nothing new on the whereabouts of Torchwood Four -- that idea was all but thrown out as far as an explanation and Ianto was out of options, though he never quit scouring the Archives. Whoever had Avalon had them well-hidden and was somehow blocking the kids' abilities -- one of them would surely have enough strength to shout out to anyone listening otherwise.
Although the resident Boy Wonder was currently disabled and wasn't "listening" like normal.
Ianto couldn't blame Jean-Luc his fears and reservations, but it was frustrating to witness. He supposed he himself had dealt with trauma after London (and dealt rather poorly, if hiding a Cyberman in the basement of the Hub was any indication) but it felt as though they didn't have time for Jean-Luc to work through his issues. But no matter how they pushed, Jean-Luc remained as mentally "paralyzed" as the general populous.
With Avalon Two rebuilt and Stephen taking up teaching, "Mr. Black" fell out of the sight and mind, for all Torchwood knew. Stephen still phoned occasionally, pretending to check in, but for the most part Ianto bore in quiet the duties of the office with the same obsessive order as he did Torchwood Three. Five more countries had been brought into the shaky alliance -- India, Australia, South Africa, Mexico, and Canada -- creating a network of thirteen who all swore to assist if one or more were to fall to alien threat. It wasn't much, but it was a start. The United States had been the closest to needing assistance; Colonel Sheppard had regaled the story of the alien invasion of the zombie creatures who fed on brains (the hippocampus, in specific). The way Sheppard had told it had made Ianto laugh while he drank a scotch in Jack's office, no laughing matter but Sheppard had described the aliens as "slug-faced lemurs with mouths like Jaws and ears like Batman."
If Ianto cared, he would note that Sheppard reminded him a lot of the Captain, but he didn't. And if he enjoyed his late-night conversations with Sheppard, then it was simply because Sheppard was entertaining and took him away from the pains of the day and the hollow echo of the Hub.
The shadows still moved and Ianto still picked up petals before the team arrived in the morning. It was oddly comforting -- Ianto believed that if the faeries ever stopped watching, it was time to be concerned.
Fingers snapped in front of his face and Ianto blinked, realizing he had never answered Owen's statement. You're not Jack. Yes, Ianto was painfully aware of that fact and was reminded every morning when the team looked to him during their morning meeting with respect that was merely biding its time until Jack returned. It stung a bit, knowing they'd rather have Jack. Ianto was only human after all. But he did the best he could.
He wondered, briefly, if this was how Jack felt in the Doctor's presence. Ianto was no fool -- the interviews, the hand, Gwen's statement that Jack was looking for the "right kind of doctor" -- he put two and two together to equal "The Doctor," nemesis and bane of Torchwood, for whatever that was worth. The others hadn't grown up with the dedication to the capture of the elusive man, but Ianto was beginning to doubt some of Torchwood's most impassioned creeds against aliens, but not their tech. If he wasn't mistaken, the Doctor had assisted during the Battle. He had at least been within the building and Ianto didn't think he would have assisted either Dalek or Cyberman, but perhaps he had done nothing at all and if that were true, Ianto hoped the Doctor would roast eternally in whatever existed as hell for Time Lords. All was possible, though Ianto reserved judgement until he questioned the Doctor himself.
Ianto had heard tales of the presence of the Time Lord, and privately wondered if Jack wasn't trying to emulate the Doctor, or if it was a natural, inherent quality from whatever distant land and time they came from. Just as the others would drop everything and follow Jack, so would Jack do with the Doctor. It was quite depressing, actually. Ianto knew he had none of that. But he did the best he could.
Yet he still wasn't Jack. "Yes, not only was he abysmal at paperwork, but he couldn't brew a decent pot of coffee even if it got him laid."
"That's not..." There was another tug at his cheek and Ianto heard Owen's tools clatter on the metal tray. "You're bloody mortal, you twat. Don't think we haven't noticed. I'd wager the job came with a death wish, only you can actually die."
Owen handed him two pills that Ianto recognized as antibiotics and a tiny paper cup of water. He took both without question -- he knew what the sedatives looked like and Owen had only tried it that once. Owen leaned against the edge of the counter and watched with arms crossed as Ianto swallowed both. Really, Ianto didn't need another smothering him. He had Elaine already doing that. "Then learn to move faster. That creature nearly skewered you."
"This isn't about me."
"It's not?" Ianto rose from the exam table and gathered his suit coat, not bothering to look in any reflective surface. He grabbed the regimen of antibiotics as well -- he knew now well enough what the pattern was. He was lucky the things still worked for him. "If I die, then leadership rests on you, unless you pass it off again." Low, but truth.
"I don't give a damn about that!" Owen spluttered for a moment, starting and stopping repeatedly while Ianto watched impassively. Finally Owen looked like he gave up on whatever he was trying to say, for which Ianto was rather glad. He was tired of trying to interpret Owen's half-starts. "Forget it! Take your bloody antibiotics and come to me before your cheek turns black and your face falls off."
Ianto watched as Owen stormed out of the room and shouted his goodbyes to Tosh and Gwen. When Ianto finally climbed the stairs and joined the others, he kindly told them to go home. Gwen's protest was interrupted by a yawn and Tosh simply agreed, handing Ianto a stack of reports on oddities she'd noticed coinciding with the increase in Rift activity over the past two years. The numbers swam in front of Ianto, but he would look them over before he went home. He took them to Jack's office, setting them on the desk but he didn't look, just rested his forehead on his arms. And if he later went to sleep on Jack's bed, it was merely because he was too exhausted to drive home, not for any other reason.
***
"Ianto!"
Tosh's squeal had Ianto's heart leaping into this throat as he fed Myfanwy, but he quickly realized it was not Tosh-in-pain or Tosh-in-danger, it was Tosh-extremely-excited. He finished setting up Myfanwy's evening meal (he knew better than to short the poor girl a meal -- a Pterodactyl scorned was not a pretty sight) and stripped off the gloves and raced to Tosh's desk, slowing when he didn't see her. Her voice had come from this locale, but she wasn't there. "Tosh?" His eyes scanned Jack's office, the conference room, the other desks, feeling more and more unnerved as the hairs on the back of his neck rose in response to being watched (not the faeries, it had a different feel). Knowing that Owen and Gwen were out investigating a reported flying alien sighting and lacking a better weapon, he grabbed a pen from Tosh's desk, knowing the small puncture would be harmless in most cases, but if whatever was in the Hub had eyes, he could possibly do some damage. His fingers were on the keyboard to send the Hub into lock-down when he caught movement to the side of him. Spinning, pen clutched as a dagger, Ianto froze. He saw that it was Tosh, staring with wide-eyes and clutching a device in her hands.
"It's me!" Tosh rushed, holding her hands up in defense or peace, Ianto wasn't sure.
Ianto looked around warily, unsure where the unseen eyes had vanished to. Maybe Tosh's added presence had frightened it off. He started a scan of the Hub at any rate on Tosh's computer, using the one monitor to which wasn't scrolling numbers at a furious pace. "Sorry. Thought I ... " Ianto couldn't explain it without sounding mental, so he just pressed on. "What did you find?"
"It's shifted! That's why we can't see it, it's out of phase. I'm still running calculations, but I noted-"
Tosh kept talking, Ianto knew she was, but the sound was bouncing off the bubble so only warped distorted syllables reached his mind. He tried to fight the urge to vomit or run, or both would be a viable option. Ghost shifts....out of phase...enough energy to power Britain...so many dead...not again not bloody again, can't be, no army to fight it, there's only four...
"Ianto!" The sharp sting on his face snapped him out of the hysteria building in his mind. Dazed, he noted that now he had two pains in his cheeks, one side still stitched from the previous night's confrontation, the other a remarkable hand-shaped sting. "I'm so sorry! You were ... "
Once his surroundings came into focus, Ianto realized he was sitting in Tosh's chair, hands shaking violently as he tried to not remember running through the halls of Torchwood One, hiding from those wishing to convert every human into desensitized metal shells bent on conquering and destroying. He'd panicked, he belatedly realized, embarrassed to find himself clinging as much to Tosh as she was to him as she apologized over and over. He had to pull himself together. Not only was he acting head of Torchwood Three, he was the head of all Torchwood. If there was to be another invasion, he would lead them. He had to. It was his duty.
"I"m fine, Tosh, really." Ianto peeled himself away from her and stood, taking a deep breath and centered himself (and his balance, as that was precarious at best on knees that still trembled). He shoved his fear aside. Fear was irrational and, while warranted, it was useless now. Rubbing a hand over his face to provide a tactile sense of self (and numbing the sting still in his cheek), Ianto calmed and hid behind the front he knew would have to remain steady until death or victory. "How long until the incursion begins?"
"How do you do that?"
Her question gave Ianto pause. "Do what?"
"You...never mind." Tosh shook her head then pointed at the monitors. "That's just it. It's not an incursion."
Ianto scowled, trying to make sense of the numbers flashing by on the screens. That didn't make sense -- Cybermen didn't come for tea. "You said shift."
"Shift?" He could see the moment she found her answer to her question, a look which bordered on compassion altering her features. "No, oh, no. It's not the Cybermen, Ianto. It's them. At least, I think so. I've been running numbers to compare frequencies and-"
"Who's them?" Ianto couldn't hide his wince at the sound of that name spoken by Tosh. Cybermen. That was a name no one on Earth should ever have to speak again. It almost sounded ugly coming from Tosh, who could turn even the most nefarious term into a sweet sound.
Tosh gestured to one screen with a diagram of a building with rooms and halls labeled by Ianto himself as the original blueprints lacked some of the changes which had been made after construction. "It's Torchwood Four."
Ianto's attention honed in on what Tosh had said, though he had to remind himself that this meant nothing in regards to Avalon. It was just a desperate theory on his part, though few would know Ms. White enough to hate unless they were Torchwood or Avalon. And even fewer would have the resources and numbers to do what had happened. "Tell me."
She ran through her notes, her calculations. She'd first noticed odd frequencies connected with activity in the Rift -- not after Rift activity, but before. A slow frequency, like a red shift on a time-scale. Tosh spoke quickly, counting on Ianto to follow through her formulas and theories. An alteration in time which pushed everything out of phase with "current" time. Objects and people appeared to disappear from current time, but they were still there, just progressing at a different rate of time than the surroundings. For all intents and purposes, invisible. From theory she went into practice -- holding up the device Ianto recognized from the Archives. She'd tweaked it, she said, once she realized what the odd, slow frequencies meant.
And then she demonstrated it.
Tosh disappeared, leaving Ianto staring into empty space and once again feeling the hair on the back of his neck rise as he felt himself being watched. He resisted the urge, this time, to grab a pen to defend himself. But only just.
"Where?" He asked once she shifted back to "his" time, though she insisted that it affected everything around her, not herself, with the time shift. "Oxford?"
"No," she hesitated and he knew he would not like her answer. "They moved it, somehow, perhaps setting up a containment field surrounding the altered time, you wouldn't be lifting any mass at all but displacing-"
"Tosh! Where."
"The Beacons." She pulled up a map of the area, pointing to a location where time lines running parallel like a topographic map of the region started running perpendicular, creating a crosshatch nearly outlining what Ianto could almost make out as being "building-shaped."
Ianto cursed his luck, cursed every deity he knew of in this world and others, then followed it up with a curse directed at Ms. White and Jack. He had made his promise to Tosh, though. "I need you to stay here and continue finding out everything about this location. Update me with everything you learn. Thank you, this is brilliant work." Ianto felt lighter than he had for the past year. It may not be the answer, it may not even be the source of the missing kids, but it was the first concrete lead they'd had. Not to mention, solved a nearly twenty-year-old mystery.
He grabbed the device, noting the dials for range and frequency. He hoped it would be strong enough to get him and Stephen and Jean-Luc inside. Ignoring Tosh's protests, Ianto punched in the code for the weapons housing, pulling what he knew he could carry and a little more. Stephen and Jean-Luc had weapons of their own at Avalon, he didn't need to bring everything in the arsenal.
"Owen and Gwen-"
"Will be back whenever they get back. I'm just going to go poke around, I'll call for backup if I need it." Ianto didn't miss the disbelieving look on Tosh's face, but now that he had a location and a method, he refused to wait any longer when the kids could be there. He'd plan their attack on the way -- he'd pick up Jean-Luc and Stephen and head out to the Beacons. It was a bit of a drive -- plenty of time to figure out what to do once they go there and shifted everything back into "current" time.
God, that would explain why Jean-Luc couldn't find them. Phased into another time, even his strong gifts wouldn't be able to follow.
"Ianto, be careful."
She set one of Owen's energy bars and one of her own chocolate bars on his ammunition. Not a bad idea; the adrenaline was going to wear off at some point from his earlier panic, and he was going to crash. Hopefully later rather than sooner. Not that the bars were going to do much for that, but it might help. He was glad she didn't try to argue against him leaving. In fact, she had remained remarkably calm about his leaving alone. Though, he supposed she didn't have any choice -- he was the boss. Disregarding his usual aloofness, Ianto gave Tosh a quick hug and a peck on the cheek, grinning when she blushed. "If this is what I think it is, I won't be able to thank you enough, Tosh."
"Just come back to us."
Ianto's smile wavered, just slightly, remembering the last time he'd been told that and hoped it wasn't a sign of things to come. "Owen would be more than capable in my absence, though you may find the coffee rather poor." He winked and she laughed, a light sound filling his heart.
He gathered his things and took off for his car, knowing that Owen and Gwen had the SUV loaded with equipment, tossing everything into the passenger seat before jumping into the driver's. He dialed Stephen as he pealed out of the lot, tearing open the protein bar as he sped off towards Avalon.
"Stephen, I think we've found them."
***
Three figures dressed in black strode purposefully out of Avalon towards the car park, loaded to the teeth with weapons and ammunition. Ianto had told them they could be mistaken, it could be the wrong place, but on a gut-level, he knew this was right. It was the only explanation why the children had never been found, despite Jean-Luc's searching. Ianto hadn't seen the purpose in changing into some of Stephen's clothes ("If I'm sneaking around a building, I would rather appear as one of them, not a trespasser, could I draw more attention in this?") but the other two had insisted, pointing out that it was night (in this time, at any rate) and if they had to sneak into the building, dark clothing would blend far better than Ianto's light grey suit.
Ianto felt like he was going to a club dressed in leather, not sneaking into a building technically falling under his management but Stephen swore they were the only other black articles of clothing he owned, and Jean-Luc's certainly wouldn't fit.
He rather believed his two friends had planned it.
As they walked towards their vehicles, Ianto froze when he saw another walking towards them, long coat trailing behind them as they walked quickly to join the trio. Three pairs of guns were out before Ianto could second guess his actions, all directed at the lone figure and for a brief moment, Ianto believed Jack had returned.
"I'm coming with you."
Toshiko. Dressed in equally dark clothing, her hair pulled back and looking fierce as Ianto had ever seen her with weapons tucked into holsters at her hips and if he wasn't mistaken, at her calves. Ianto stared speechless before dropping his guns, motioning for Stephen and Jean-Luc to do the same. Of course, her figure was all wrong for Jack, and it was foolish of him to hope that it was the captain. Jack had left. And they were dealing without him. "How did you find me?"
"I tracked your car."
Of course. Ianto really had to consider removing the tracking device from the vehicle, as well as leaving his phone behind when he went to Avalon. He hated the notion of retconning one of his own. "I told you to keep looking into everything you'd found."
"And you never ask for help. I'm offering." Before Ianto could protest, Tosh continued with a bow towards Stephen but how Tosh knew...Ianto wasn't ashamed to admit he hadn't the slightest notion how she knew. "Mr. Black. So this is where you moved Avalon?"
Six guns whipped up, no caution taken as Ianto tried to figure out if she was friend or foe. Avalon hadn't had a lot of friends, lately.
Tosh, bless her, didn't even blink. "My cousin, Akira Takahashi has attended Avalon for five years. My family is very proud of our gifted Akira and has been desperate to find her after Avalon's destruction." She nodded at Ianto, careful not to make any sudden movements, Ianto assumed. So that was why she had agreed so easily when he'd left. Tosh wasn't to be underestimated. Not that he'd ever considered that, but he had missed that relation.
Tosh continued, speaking to Ianto. "I knew you were involved after your 'migraine' and absence when Ms. White was killed and Avalon destroyed. I recognized Mr. Black's voice -- I'd met you years ago when I brought my cousin to the school. I assumed your interest in Torchwood Four was connected and did what I could to help." She paused for a moment, flailing a bit when the guns never lowered. "She had an invisible friend when she was little, a cat named Keiko. She's frightened of lightning and she ate so much birthday cake she got sick on her ninth birthday and ended up with the healers instead of having fun with her friends."
Ianto didn't know the truth to any of Tosh's statements, so he asked Jean-Luc, who often knew the kids better than any of the adults. "Jean-Luc?"
Jean-Luc lowered his weapons, tucking them back into the holsters. "Yeah, she's alright. 'Kira told me about her cat friend. Wanted to know if I could see if Keiko had travelled with her to Avalon."
"You're Jean-Luc?" Tosh seemed surprised as Stephen and Ianto followed Jean-Luc's actions. "Of course, that's how you knew to come for Ianto after..." Her eyes darted to Ianto with apology and Ianto just shrugged his acceptance. His earlier reactions led him to believe he wasn't as "over it" as he thought himself to be, but he wasn't still so traumatized he couldn't speak of Lisa. Or his horrendous misjudgment.
"At your service, madam. So you've heard of me?" Jean-Luc bowed and thickly layered his French accent which most times disappeared.
"Akira had a few things to say about a certain Jean-Luc." Tosh giggled (she giggled! Ianto was going to have a word with Jean-Luc) and turned to Ianto. "There's just one question...you're not...?"
Jean-Luc stepped in before Ianto could even respond. "No, he's not. Boy's not got a gifted bone in his body."
"Big talk, coming from you, Jean-Luc," Stephen chimed in finally, having remained silent through most of the exchange.
"He hit his head during the attack on Avalon," Ianto supplied for Tosh. "Gifts have been a bit blinkered ever since."
"Blinkered!? You mock my injuries. Can we go now? I'd like to get the kids back, if you don't mind."
"You do realize..." Ianto started, turning to Tosh. His nerves were already beginning to shake, though they had yet to leave the car park.
"If you are going, then so can I," Tosh raised her chin defiantly, the return trip to the Beacons not exactly high on either of their priority lists. Stephen and Jean-Luc were watching the exchange, but they didn't comment. They didn't know, and Ianto preferred not to inform either of them of the horrors that had met Tosh and he in the Beacons the last time they had ventured to that part of the countryside. "Akira's family."
Ianto smiled and nodded, understanding Tosh's commitment. He would do anything for family. Problem was, he was having a harder and harder time defining the limits of his family.
***
In the end, Ianto handed the device over to Tosh, who had, after all, created their entrance into Torchwood Four. The air shimmered as time was altered (Torchwood Four's time, Ianto reminded himself, not theirs. The device counteracted whatever mechanism was forcing Torchwood Four into their sub-time, though for all intents and purposes, Ianto was happy to refer to it as the "Time Mime. " Sometimes he amused himself) and the two times united, revealing the place sought after for almost twenty years."A bit anticlimactic. I was expecting a hail of bullets or flying cattle," Jean-Luc whispered, crouched in the shadows with Ianto and the others. It was rather castle-like, though a small, pint-sized castle might be more appropriate.
"If all they do is call my mother a hamster, I'll be happy." It was easy to slip into their old pattern, he and Jean-Luc, getting into trouble but having a grand time while doing it. Monty Python and the Holy Grail had been an old favorite, as had Ghostbusters and Spaceballs.
"Careful, we might be in for a bit of peril."
"Oh, let's go in there and sample some peril!"
"Boys!"
Ianto and Jean-Luc shared a smirk, then looked as innocent as they could at Stephen, to Tosh's amusement. "Yes, sir?" they chorused in response to their former mentor, straightening up despite their humor. Stephen was right, it was time to be on their guard. And that was the first thing that struck Ianto as odd. "There are no guards. Camera isn't active either."
"They were hidden out of time. There's no need for security," speculated Tosh as she followed Ianto's finger to locate the camera, dark and inactive. Ianto spotted two more by the front door, but by his calculations, even if they were turned on (he didn't believe so), there was deadspace he could sneak past to enter the code to get inside. That was, if they hadn't managed to change the code, but there was one that was hardwired into all of the Torchwood entrances that would override all others. They surely wouldn't have detected it when they reprogrammed the locks, which Ianto assumed they had.
A perk to the job, Ianto thought as he motioned to the others to remain still and darted forward, flattening himself against the building and counting his stars for a lack of shield or anything painful that action might have encountered. And a dangerous perk, a code where death was preferable to its reveal under duress. His mother's last will had made that very, very clear. Not the will read for the family, but the one the Queen kept for times when leadership passed. It had been eerie, reading that amidst the finery and under the watchful eyes of the Queen, hearing his mother's voice within the written words on the double-sided sheets of paper. Instructions how to manage, instructions about Avalon and Torchwood, comments on leadership and what the position meant and entailed. A bit condescending, if Ianto were to be asked, but then, that had been Ms. White.
He punched in the master code, smiling as the doors unlocked and no alarm sounded. Ianto motioned for the others to join him, jumping to bat the one camera just slightly out of sight. They'd have to make sure to take out the Communication center; they were going to have a hard enough time escaping with all the kids if they were indeed housed here without alarms and sensors alerting everyone to their presence.
Alerting everyone, if anyone was present.
Which Ianto was seriously beginning to doubt. "Jean-Luc, anything?"
Jean-Luc shook his head, but whether that was a "no, I don't sense anything" or a "no, I can't sense anything because I am repressing" Ianto wasn't certain. "Thanks for the help." Ianto touched his com set, turning it on to make sure it worked, and everyone did the same. "Tosh and I will take take out Communications. Stephen and Jean-Luc, find the holding cells. Start down this section -- schematics make it the most viable location if they're holding hostages. We'll catch up with you. Disarm and disable, ask questions, try to avoid killing. We need to know what they're up to, might not be anything if they don't realize they're out of time and they don't have the kids. Got it?"
Quick nods and Stephen and Jean-Luc headed off in one direction, Ianto and Tosh in the other towards the room Ianto clearly remembered as being the central communications area. Unsurprisingly, the room was void of people, just instruments blinking radio signals and dead video monitors. It didn't take long to disable all internal and external communications, though a piece of alien code threw Tosh for a moment. There had to be people using the facility; phone calls between rooms had occurred less than an hour before Ianto and everyone had entered, but they saw no one.
"Could everyone be out of time with the building itself?"
Ianto considered Tosh's question as he skimmed the records, then shook his head. "Unlikely. Not outside the realm of possibility, but if they were displaced in time themselves, the building itself would not be as it was before they shifted. Just as we couldn't see the building, they wouldn't be able to see it either."
She agreed and finished her work; Ianto wished they had thought to bring a recording device to copy the files. Later, that information might prove useful. But after the race to the building before its location disappeared again, Ianto forgot to bring something, alien or not. "Shall we?"
Tosh smiled the sweet, nervous-yet-confident smile he remembered the last time they had been in the Brecons, only their roles were a bit reversed and he had been trapped amid thoughts of Torchwood One. The irony was not lost now, as he was first out the door, weapon at the ready, leading the charge as they chased ghosts decades old and hopefully not a cannibal to be found.
Really, he hoped to find anyone; the empty halls were becoming rather eerie.
But at least the walls weren't burning. Ianto didn't know how he would react to another Torchwood burning, and after the additional stresses of Avalon, he'd rather not test his psyche.
He turned to ask Tosh how her own psyche was holding up under the pressures of their location and, for her, an unfamiliar team, when he saw someone sneaking in the shadows towards them, someone Ianto didn't offhand recognize outside of the fact that it wasn't one of the team or one of the kids. Ianto didn't think twice and shoved Tosh to the side towards the quasi-protection of a heavy ornate cabinet, ducking as well as the wall exploded behind his head.
Someone armed.
Before Ianto could raise his weapon to return fire, the crack of gunfire made him start, blinking as the man in the shadows fell to the floor. Tosh knelt near him, partially hidden by a cabinet, breathing quickly as she stared at the man, her gun poised for a second shot, if necessary.
It wasn't.
Ianto stalked towards their downed attacker, kicking the rifle away, not missing the fact that this was the second time he and Tosh had been chased by someone with a rifle. Their line of work, sometimes it just wasn't fair. The man was dead; Tosh was a good shot, Ianto noted. "Where'd you learn to shoot?" he asked, taking in the man's appearance. He was younger than Ianto had expected, his face familiar from the Torchwood Four's files and surprisingly youthful. It didn't make any sense, the man should be near 60.
He looked up to find Tosh blushing, flustered and unable to respond. Ah yes. The patented Harkness firearms training
Ianto put on his best "love-him-and-hate-him-don't-you?" smile and grabbed the rifle, unwilling to leave it behind for anyone to pick up and use against them. "He taught you well."
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to--"
For a moment Ianto thought she was apologizing for bringing up Jack, but he quickly put together the guilt and the quick looks at the dead body (Christian Dore, accounting). "Tosh, he shot at us without real provocation. I doubt he would have answered our questions."
She didn't look convinced, and while he was certain Tosh had reacted as she ought to have, he wasn't convinced that they couldn't have gotten answers out of Christian. Or at least hints on what they were doing. Or if they knew of the whereabouts of the children. Ianto found himself interrupted from saying anything else, however, stopped by Stephen's voice in his ear.
"We found them!"
***
Relieved that they'd encountered no one else in the corridors, Ianto quickly led Tosh through the halls he remembered from the blueprints. Stephen's joyous shout in their com links had been most welcome after Ianto's initial guilt for the other man's death. Tosh's doubt had lifted as well. Ianto made note to speak with her after this was all sorted out; he wasn't sure if she had ever killed a human before. Aliens, that somehow made it different, though Ianto spent far too much of his time debating the ethics and morals. If only their encounters were more of the "we come in peace" kind, less of the vicious attacks, but Ianto sometimes could hardly blame them. Fear, unfamiliar territory, the will to live ... it all made sense in a frightening kind of way.
Aliens intent on destruction because of pure ruthlessness were another matter -- Ianto paused as they approached an open doorway, clearing the room before they moved on -- and Ianto had no qualms defending Britain and her people from invading threats. He hadn't been, not initially, though he had put on a good act. Surprisingly, it hadn't been Torchwood One or Lisa. It hadn't been Torchwood Three, either. In fact, it had nothing to do with aliens, not any more than breathing was for him. He had been with his sister, father, and nephews for his birthday, eating the cake his sister had specially decorated again (his nephews' choice -- they were still in their sword fighting phase and chose a king for Ianto's cake. When Ianto asked who his queen was, his nephews stated firmly "Jack." Ianto didn't quite know how to respond, though he was sure, wherever/whenever Jack was, he would appreciate the fact that he had made an impact on Ianto's nephews) when it hit him that he was responsible for them. For the land on which the house stood, the country, the people. He'd choked on the bite of cake, fairly certain he'd have bruises the next day from his father thumping him on the back. The creatures they fought, the children they taught, every piece of tech that floated through the Rift that might benefit (or at least educate to the harm)...he was responsible for. The five-legged beast from Alpha Centari that had destroyed a city block before the team had captured it (luck, again, Gwen's perfume put it to sleep), it could have ended up at his father's if it hadn't been stopped, and perhaps it would have been the mutilated bodies of his nephews he had thrown into the SUV.
It wasn't a hard choice, after that moment. He didn't know why it had taken so long. He had grown up with Torchwood and Avalon. But now, now he understood perhaps a bit more about what drove his mother. And that made the alien deaths tolerable, the dull ache after each nothing that a glass of whiskey couldn't cure.
Odd how most of those they encountered were less friendly and more destructive. Perhaps Earth had a neon intergalactic banner pointing directions through the Rift to a nearly indefensible world ripe for the pickings. Sheppard had said the same thing, though apparently he had made friends with a few races. Once more, Ianto wished Jack was around, but only for the knowledge the man held as far as space treatise went. There had to be a way to protect Earth from greater harm, and the Archives were remarkably bare in anything relating to property rights on the universe's Monopoly board.
But this -- Torchwood Four -- this was Earth's own problem. His problem.
And they had Ianto's kids.
As Tosh and he moved closer to Stephen's reported location, they could hear hushed voices, brimming with excitement and slightly colored in fear. If they were planning on covert operations, Ianto noted they failed miserably. But, at the same time, he couldn't fault any of them for being excited to go home, even if home was now different. With as few people as had been encountered (the one in Communications, another he and Tosh had found shot dead in the corridor, Ianto assumed the man had threatened Stephen and Jean-Luc first) there was hardly any immediate concern of being discovered, but Ianto knew the threat remained constant and he wouldn't relax until every last person was back safe at Avalon.
Ianto nodded to Tosh, gesturing towards the first room where voices seemed to be originating, and walked into barely constrained chaos. The room was massive, making Ianto doubt the reliability of even his modified blueprints. Cells lined all four walls, sparse accommodations with pallets -- better than Torchwood Three's holding cells, at any rate -- and looked like they could hold about five to ten individuals comfortably ... though Ianto was fairly certain they weren't being held for their comfort. For all that the exterior had appeared like a castle, the interior was remarkably Torchwood One sterile. White walls, no bars but judging from the interior walls, an electronic shield held the cell's occupants. But those shields were down now, thanks to Stephen and Jean-Luc, Ianto assumed.
There were people of all ages crowding the spaces outside of the cells, far more than what Ianto estimated the cells would hold. Some children, some adults, all eager to be as far away as possible from the cells which had held them for an indeterminable time. Ianto recognized most of them from either his time spent at Avalon or from pictures -- even little Rani was there, taken during the raid of Avalon. His eyes quickly skimmed the crowd, tallying no less than one hundred. From the sounds across the hall, more were located in there as well.
"Ianto!" A Russian-tinged squeal was the only warning Ianto had before a slim, white-blonde figure launched herself at him. He caught Lana easily, feeling a bit awkward as he had nowhere to put the hand gun, which hadn't left his hand since they'd entered the building, other than to semi-rest it against her back, the rifle remaining at his side. Violence had no place in this room and the weapons seemed a taint to the otherwise ecstatic Lana. They were drawing attention, people turning and whispering their recognition. After speaking with Stephen so many months ago, Ianto knew what it was in part, the whispering and recognition. He was a friend of Jean-Luc's, that made him important as a by-product.
There were so many. How long had they been trapped here, held against their will?
"My hero."
To his shock, Lana kissed him ... not the first time that'd ever happened as she grew more and more affectionate as the nights wore on at her club, but more from her statement. Ianto couldn't help himself. He grinned with the sheer relief and joy of months of searching. They weren't out yet, but god, Avalon had been found. Unwilling to accept any credit for what had been a joint effort, as well as just to be an imp, Ianto smirked and pointed to Tosh who was still standing beside him, searching the crowd for Akira. "Tosh is the one you should be thanking, she located this place."
Tosh's squeak of surprise, muffled quickly by Lana who had transplanted herself from Ianto to Tosh without blinking, was well worth the amusement. Lana bestowed the same praise and "thanks" on Tosh, of which Tosh was most deserving, but given he was her boss and while a chaste kiss of thanks wasn't completely improper, Lana's thanks would definitely be considered harassment.
Ianto used the distraction, nodding in passing to everyone who was coming up to him to thank him and ask about a friend or relative or teacher, to work his way through the room, looking for Stephen or Jean-Luc to try to coordinate how they were going to transfer everyone out of Torchwood Four. They really hadn't planned for mass transport. He gave up, finally touching the com link in his ear. "Stephen, Jean-Luc, report."
"We're in the hallway."
He started working his way towards the door, pausing when he spotted a small boy alone and in tears. Ianto sheathed his gun and squatted down to the boy's height, recognizing him from the files that Stephen, Jean-Luc, and he had started rebuilding. Guardian-protected, Grade 4 telepath. His parents had called in frantic to Avalon's emergency number that Ianto had routed to his phone, reporting the boy missing, his Guardian dead. "Hallo, Nicholas. Mein Name ist Ianto und ich kenne deine Eltern, Erich und Katherine. Sie sind sicher." At this, the dam seemed to break (did no one know German?) and Nicholas began firing questions in rapid German about his family, about his Guardian, about Avalon, about when they were going to go home, and informing Ianto that he was hungry. Ianto answered patiently, smiling when Nicholas got to the hungry portion of his inquiry. "Sobald wie moeglich, Nicholas." Ianto looked up and motioned to the first person he made eye contact with. Malcolm Rivers, graduated from Avalon six years ago. "Bleib bei Malcolm, ja?" Ianto gave Nicholas a quick hug, then handed him over to Malcolm, instructing the telekinetic (Grade 3, if Ianto remembered correctly) not to let the boy out of his sight.
Reassured (and thanked, again), Ianto made his way out into the hall where he found Stephen, Jean-Luc, and Tosh with a serene Akira standing at her side. Ianto greeted Akira with a smile, then asked the group, "Where do we stand?"
"I'd say a hallway in the west corridor of Torchwood--"
Ianto silenced Jean-Luc with a glare, looking to Stephen for a more accurate, less inane answer.
"There were three rooms; from what we've been told, this is everyone." Stephen pointed to the room behind him, two doors down from the room Ianto had first walked into. "Rough head-count totaled three hundred and thirty."
"Three-thirty?" Ianto frowned, knowing Avalon hadn't held quite two hundred, including staff, but when the Guardian-protected were added, the graduates and those who Avalon never discovered, Ianto realized that the number was quite reasonable, if not low. "How many hostiles did you encounter?"
"We ran into two. First one shot at us before we could ask any questions; we didn't hesitate with the next." Stephen glanced around warily. Ianto agreed; they weren't safe yet. "So we know they're Torchwood?"
"Yes," Ianto confirmed, distracted for a moment by Rani who had entered the hallway, tugging at his coat. He smiled at her and put a hand on her shoulder in comfort. "How are we going to move three hundred and thirty people?"
"Already started." Ianto raised an eyebrow in question at Jean-Luc, growing a bit impatient as Rani continued to tap his side and pull at his jacket. He adored kids, but he really needed to get the situation under control and the kids out of the threatening situation; he'd have a moment with Rani once that was done. "Six telekinetics are able and strong enough to teleport objects -- people in this case. We've been sending kids in groups the TKs can handle to Avalon. They'll tire eventually, but should get the bulk of them out of here. Four teachers are driving back in vans to help move the remaining."
"Why didn't they teleport out of their cells?" asked Tosh, voicing the question Ianto had been wondering as well though hearing the word "teleport" in her voice was something he hadn't ever figured he'd hear. There had been hundreds of gifted kids and adults, surely one of them would have been able to take down the force fields keeping them in the cells or moved out, even if they were trapped in the time dilation field surrounding Torchwood Four.
"Psi-dampeners. The cells were lined with them, prevented them from escaping." Stephen gestured to Akira and Rani. "About six days have passed, according to the first who were captured. Most have been here far less. They haven't had much time to plan an escape."
Ianto's brain bent around the thought of months of worry, well over a year since the kidnappings had first began. And yet for those trapped inside, only six days had passed since the start of it. That had to be why the Torchwood Four members had looked so close to their pictures on file -- time was completely warped here. Rani finally jerked hard enough on his jacket to draw Ianto's full attention and after passing the rifle off to Jean-Luc, he bent to her eye level and looked into a face far too old for her age. "Rani?"
"There's another, down there." Ianto followed her finger down the hall to a stairwell at the far end. "He made them angry so they wouldn't hurt us and they hurt him instead. They made me heal him." Rani was crying now, not that Ianto could blame her. He made a mental note to locate a few trained psychologists, no matter how much he mocked their efforts, for the survivors. The kids had all suffered trauma, even the adults, and he would be fool to think they could easily put it behind them. He brushed away her tears with his thumb, cursing Stephen and the clothing as Ianto had a handkerchief in his suit trousers. She raised her chin stubbornly, and Ianto had to smile at the bravery of these children. Little heroes, all of them. "We can't leave him. I know him."
"I'll find him, don't you worry." Ianto gave her cheek one last pat and straightened, eyeing the other adults who were watching. "Stay here and guard the rooms." Ianto raised his hand to stem off their protests. "Stephen, you're coordinating the exit. Jean-Luc needs to monitor the TKs -- don't let them overextend themselves -- and Tosh, you're not leaving your charge." He drew his sidearm again, grimly acknowledging that the rescue wasn't over and neither was the danger. "Rani, I'd like you to stay with Stephen, okay?" If what Rani had said was true, the one held hostage below might need medical assistance and Ianto refused to lose any additional people to Torchwood Four. Stephen, for all he (and Ianto) lacked in telepathy, understood Ianto's line of thought and casually agreed to Ianto's unspoken request. They might need her, as much as it pained Ianto to keep her there and to have her face the same horrors which had her in tears.
They weren't losing anyone else.
***
Ianto carefully picked his way down the stairs and to the next floor; only the one, which made his search easier. He hadn't thought to ask Rani just how down" he needed to go to find the remaining individual until he was actually on the stairs, but he had no other options once he reached the foot. Gun raised, he snuck past the door and entered a long hall, dimly lit unlike the two floors above. Truly a basement for all the modern interior architecture, though the presence of two floors underground did make Ianto wonder about the time dilation field and if it extended as a bubble encapsulating Torchwood Four. The first door revealed nothing more than an empty lab, experiments, and tests in progress from the various vials and beakers. Remembering that Torchwood Four focused primarily on alien biology, he wasn't surprised. The second and third rooms held more of the same: automated equipment running without personnel, machines whirring and clicking. He almost tapped his com to tell Tosh to go back to the Communications room and see what kind of information she could pull from the computers, but he knew the children were more important and her protection couldn't be wasted.
What the fourth room held made him pause and reconsider that notion.
The room was exceedingly warm, making Ianto sweat uncomfortably in his leather clothes. He cautiously entered, knowing of all places this would be one that perhaps would be guarded most, but saw no one. There were eggs, about fifty, beneath sunlamps on long tables; deformed, pale creatures sat in jars on the cabinets lining the walls of the room. It reminded Ianto of photographs he'd seen of Nazi scientists' experiments, or the horrors which had resulted from Chernobyl, Hiroshima, and Nagasaki, captured forever in sealed jars. His stomach rolled and he tried hard not to focus on the jars, tried hard not to remember the pale claws and wings, but somewhere deep inside he noted another addition to his nightmares. What they had done ... what they were doing ... Ianto's mind rebelled at the thought, protesting with every fiber that Torchwood would never do anything of the sort, but evidence was in this room in disgusting, preserved displays like a two-headed sheep fetus as part of a freak show.
Ianto focused his attention on the eggs, tapping one of them which sounded as hard as it looked. He was tempted to break one open, just to see what was inside, but his eyes drifted to the walls again and he swallowed the bile rising to his throat.
Enormous omelets.
God, he almost wept.
Motion had him swinging his gun to his right, unnerved by the room and shaken when he found no one next to him but larger jars, filled to the brim with an orange-ish liquid and more snow-white deformities floating within. He'd blame the faeries for the movement, but he didn't think even they could stomach it in here, children as they once were, the sights of this room haunting even his adult mind. He felt like Gwen, and he chided himself repeatedly for the revulsion and the small voice inside him pleading to understand why. But he realized slowly it wasn't a question of why people would act this way. It was more a question of why Torchwood. He couldn't believe his mother, much less Ms. White, would condone such activity. He couldn't--
He didn't miss it this time. Ianto's jaw dropped as his mind rebelled against what he saw.
The fucking thing had blinked.
Ianto stumbled over himself as he scrambled for the door, gun raised at the pale creature immersed in orange liquid, enormous eyes (black? Or discolored by the liquid?) staring back at him, watching with its beak-shaped mouth and wings and ... god. It blinked again. Ianto couldn't shoot, not for all the bravado he'd felt earlier or the instinctive recoil he just couldn't, and he wasn't sure if it was a subconscious desire not to attract attention or some ... hex ... by the creature in the jar. Creatures. There were creatures all around him and he was pretty sure the ominous drip of oily shadow wiggling its way into his mind wasn't his imagination. They weren't deformed mistakes of experiments. They were living. The eggs ... fuck. They were waiting to be born.
He slammed the door shut, praying to whatever deity was listening that Rani had not seen this room. God, he hoped not. Leaning against the door, Ianto tried to will his breath back to normal, feeling childish for his fear but knowing that whatever those things were, he had every right to experience the adrenaline rush at the discovery that they were alive and that there was something off, something malevolent and threatening about them. He rested a moment, then gathered himself, knowing he had a purpose to attend to. Whatever was going on at Torchwood Four would have to wait until later when he could catalogue the images and decipher what he had seen.
Thoughts and memory firmly shoved into a dark corner of his mind. Ianto focused, straightening from the wall to continue his search of the level. There were more laboratories; he didn't venture inside. As Mr. Black he knew he should, but Ianto just couldn't make himself look. Owen would call him a coward and worse, but Ianto couldn't bring himself to care. Owen wasn't with him, seeing what Ianto saw. For all Ianto cared, Owen could go fuck himself.
And of course, the rational, logical portion of his mind questioned his sanity as Owen was most certainly not present and Ianto's defense was really against his own doubts, which he'd apparently began to call "Owen."
Pathetic, really. But maybe he could shoot that nagging "Owen" in his downtime when the real Owen had been a right pain in the arse and Ianto couldn't shoot him without probable cause.
Ianto finally reached a door which looked unlike any door he'd passed: solid reinforced steel with a keypad lock. After what he had witnessed in the other room he was almost scared (not scared, wary) of what he would find inside, tucked away under such protection. But it was the only promising option -- he'd have to start investigating all the other laboratories if this one failed to hold the man he was looking for. He recognized the keypad, it wasn't like the ones that secured Torchwood Four's entrance, so he strongly doubted that his master code would work. However, it was rather antiquated technology, a security device used ten years ago. He quickly had the keypad's internal guts hanging out, the wires spilling haphazardly from the wall as he crossed and reconnected the keypad, wincing when a few touches (what he wouldn't give for a proper toolkit and not his fingers) shot sparks. But he heard the soft hiss as the door released and he gave a silent thanks to his (deceased) instructor at Torchwood One who had spent hours training him and a few others how to disarm all the known electronic locks up to then-present day.
Gun ready, Ianto took a deep breath to calm and prepare himself for whatever was inside. He heard one voice taunting someone else, and he heard a soft grunt of pain. Right room, this time, and hopefully no jars filled with a dark amber liquid. He took another deep breath, then crept into the room, quickly assessing the layout and scanning for the people he knew the room contained. He wasn't disappointed. The room was just as large as the other rooms, lined with shelf after shelf filled to the brim with cardboard boxes with a letter code Ianto recognized from both Torchwood One and, now, Torchwood Three.
The Archives. He was in Torchwood Four's Archives.
He was a bit in awe of the sheer amount of
It made Ianto a little envious of the bastards who worked at Torchwood Four.
The voice caught his attention again, to the left in the Archives, the only side of the room not filled to bursting with alien information and technology. His entrance hadn't been noticed, the voice still taunted. When Ianto peered around the edge of a shelf, he saw why. One figure he recognized from the Torchwood Four's files, Geoffrey Stathom, biotech and apparently expert torturer. The other was strung from the far white wall speckled in blood, secured by cuffs and chains while he hung, feet just barely touching the ground.
Incomprehensible rage coursed through Ianto as he struggled to maintain control, hands visibly shaking as he fought the urge to kill the Torchwood Four employee. Few times he had felt angry enough to harm, much less murder -- sure he felt anger and sometimes wished harm on an individual, but rarely was he swept away with the desire to hear the cries of another as he dealt blow after mindless blow, battering the life away with his fists until the last plea had been plead, the last breath taken from red-stained lips as the pulped and bloody mass gave up its cling to life.
Ianto's thoughts frightened him, knowing how close in angry destruction he was to those who had destroyed Avalon and killed Ms. White, and he refused to sink to their level of hate.
Though he was ever so close.
Instead, he calmly spoke, voice flat and devoid of any emotion. "Touch him again, and I will show you no mercy."
Geoffrey was so startled he dropped whatever device it was that he had been using. The figure, slumped with pain and defeat, chained to the wall as he most certainly had been since he had arrived, slowly raised his head, eyes meeting Ianto's.
Jack.
Jack.
Ianto never wavered as his eyes drifted over Jack's body: trousers hanging from too narrow hips, a figure far more slender than he had been when he'd left them months before. His torso was mottled with bruises of varying shades, blood paths streaking through sweat and grime. In that moment, Ianto forgot everything, forgot the hate and anger at Jack, and instead, took pity on the man who, while he deserved a sound yelling, did not deserve this -- did not deserve the dark, dried tracks down his arms from the cuffs digging into the tender skin of the wrists, the swollen lips, or the blackened eye. How long he had been there, Ianto wasn't certain. But if this was how he looked after Rani had healed him, though how long ago that had been, or over how many occurrences ...well, his dispute with Jack could wait another lifetime. Now, he wanted nothing more than to take the man to his flat and soak away the worst of the injury and tend to him until he was the smirking, laughing Jack that Ianto remembered.
He didn't think he'd ever find Jack bound erotic again.
Drawing a slow, steady breath, Ianto realized that no noticeable time had passed. Geoffrey was just starting to move in a crawling rush towards Ianto, his shout of alarm slowed to a low-pitched growl. Ianto wondered, calmly, with time blurring around him as if the device governing the facility, thwarting regular space/time, was faltering, but Ianto rationalized as millions of thoughts flew threw his mind. Noting everything from the brackets and bolts used in the shelves to the buckles in the leather and metal cuffs repelling even Jack's most valiant attempts at escape. He'd never experienced anything like this before, not to this extreme, not in any response to the dangers he'd experienced or the stressful situations. He'd read of it happening, could quote the trauma books he'd read in his own quest to understand himself, but he'd never understood.
An entire lifetime in a breath.
He barely moved, his actions relaxed and slow in comparison to the algorithms and processes running through his mind, calculating and figuring the maths of everything from the volume of air in the room to the dimensions and properties of the time field and the sheer power of the device required to maintain the function. Ianto couldn't tell if Jack's mind was following his in the rampant cascade of thought and memory, but when their eyes met, Ianto found them to be the only other relatively active objects in the room. Geoffrey was slowly moving towards him, but all Ianto registered were Jack's eyes, haunted and relieved, sky blue widening in alarm as they flickered to the left (Ianto's right) and back to Ianto's steady gaze. Ianto was unconcerned; he'd already calculated velocity and angles and even factored room temperature and the slight air current from the cooling unit, negligible as they were into the overall equation.
Ianto moved his arm and pulled the trigger, eyes never leaving Jack's as, without hesitation, he discharged his weapon once.
God, it was Jack.
Geoffrey's body hadn't hit the floor before Ianto was moving forward with confidence, time rushing to catch up to regular speed. With a rather sloppy collapse, Geoffrey struck the floor. Ianto knew without needing to look that his single shot had struck the target intended; the range from which it was fired left a relatively small hole in the center of the man's forehead in comparison to the rather large exit wound.
Ianto would care, but he had warned the man and he'd chosen to charge.
Add it to the horrors Ianto would remember from the day.
He approached Jack, calm despite the elation and single phrase coursing through his mind JackJackJackJackJackJackJack while a voice squawked in his ear. Stephen, he absently noted, and Ianto responded with an "all clear." He had found the one he'd been looking for. At least Ianto thought he said that; he might have spoken Pig Latin for all he was cognizant of, solely focused on freeing the half-naked figure in front of him.
Jack was speaking; Ianto wasn't really listening as he concentrated on the first cuff restraining Jack, securing him to the wall to experience whatever obscene delights fancied by the now-dead Geoffrey or any others at Torchwood Four. He nearly had the first buckle undone, the weight of Jack plus the stiffness of the hide proving a challenge even with Ianto's determined actions, when a slim, drawn mark on Jack's underarm caught his attention.
Scowling, Ianto forgot about his previous focus and instead a steady finger traced the raised line, curved and pale at its peak, reddened at the edges where it merged smooth into tanned skin. His mind attempted to process what he saw, but the mark didn't compute. Aged with time, years, old and earned by means unknown to Ianto, but certainly not earned at Torchwood Four. Ianto followed the skin, ignoring the bruises and shallow cuts instead hunting each distortion in the skin, finding others scattered over the surface; a small circle -- a puncture wound -- above Jack's navel, a jagged mark over his left hip, a thin, fine line near his heart.
Ianto found he couldn't breathe.
Scars.
The click of the hammer of a gun was a punch in the gut, expelling air from frozen lungs. Ianto turned slowly from Jack, arms held in surrender out from his body, silently acknowledging the Christ-like pose he struck, but at the same time refusing to drop the handgun from the one hand despite the danger.
ScarsScarsScarsScarsScarsScars.
"Who the fuck are you?"
Ianto could feel Jack's hot breath on the back of his neck, distracting him momentarily from the strange man in front of them, weapon brandished and looking angry enough to kill. He flipped through his mental picture book of Torchwood Four employees and located him: Joseph Kramer, geneticist. Burly man with a scraggly beard and looking like he'd spent far too long in the depths of Torchwood than was good for mental health. Possibly true.
After what he had seen earlier, Ianto immediately disliked the man.
Straightening to his full height, Ianto refrained from saying who exactly he was, knowing they had given Ms. White no quarter when attacking Avalon. He felt loathe to reveal who he was at all, despite the gun directed at him. "Orders to inspect the Archives, Mr. Kramer. Found them contrary to code. I'll have to report your infraction."
"To whom?" Joseph laughed like he had just said the funniest thing in the world; it only fueled Ianto's rage back to a slow burn. He had no doubt that this man had been involved in the destruction of Avalon. "I have it on excellent authority that Torchwood Headquarters is no more. Now stand aside and allow me to rid ourselves of this thing's presence."
Thing? It took a moment before comprehension dawned. Jack? Ianto didn't move, in fact, holding his position more solidly now that he knew for certain Joseph's intent. "No," Ianto stated simply, taking into account the position of the man's gun and how long it would take himself to orient his firearm on the man threatening to kill Jack.
No matter how he calculated, it all equaled too long.
"Alien sympathizer." Joseph glanced at the body of his fallen comrade as though for the first time and spat the term, making it sound derogatory and degrading, though Ianto was confused. Jack was no alien and Avalon and the children most certainly weren't. "You're all alike, mollycoddling and protecting these freaks in Avalon who don't belong here. You'll get yours. You have no idea what's coming." The man leered and Ianto found it most disturbing, though whether it was the statement or the deranged man holding the gun doing his best impression of the Cheshire cat, Ianto wasn't sure.
Shaking off his initial fear, Ianto asked questions, both delaying and searching for information, despite knowing nothing of what the man was referring to. "When are they arriving?"
Another leer. "They're already here."
"And you're protected from what's coming?" Ianto chose the safest question out of all he had, not sure if Kramer was referring to an Abaddon-apocalypse or a giant herd of space cattle, all the time curious if he could scratch his ear and trigger his com without Joseph shooting him. Improbable.
"Of course. We will be spared." The words came as a vow, almost religious, and it chilled Ianto to the core. "So might you, if you step away from the freak. I'll speak on your behalf, tell them you were under one of those alien spells. Controlling your mind, see. You're Torchwood, you fight against aliens."
"You're Torchwood as well. I'm sure you're familiar with the Charter." Ianto stepped forward, positioning himself further in front of Jack and offering more cover. "Section One, Line Ten: 'And by so committing, secure the life and liberties of the Peoples of Britain.' I can cite it in entirety, if you're in need of a refresher of your duties, Mr. Kramer. Captain Harkness here is a citizen of Cardiff, welcomed by the Queen herself to his responsibilities as leader of Torchwood Three. The children you hold hostage are primarily citizens of Britain as well. You commit treason sanctionable by Code 43.2a in any responsibility for death of a British citizen. Do you need me to start listing the deaths at Avalon? Ms. White, Secretary of Research and Resource Allocation, commissioned by Her Majesty to govern Torchwood and Avalon. Simone Archer, former receptionist of Torchwood One, transferred to--"
"Enough!" Joseph shouted as he backed away, even as Ianto advanced, growing bolder with every step he pushed Joseph away from Jack. The other man's gun waved as he emphasized his point and that was all the opening Ianto needed, whipping his gun to the front and firing a fraction of a second before Joseph. Ianto's aim was true, Joseph's body fell near the other crumbled on the floor. Joseph's was not, though unfortunately Ianto felt its fire spread through his belly rather than his head as had been the original aim.
Nasty habit, stepping between innocents and guns. Although this time, the innocent was not so innocent and the bullet not as immediately lethal.
Mortal all the same, Ianto noted as he spun back towards Jack, fixated on the bright red blood staining his hands. Blood on his hands. Literally. He'd killed two today, all technically employees of his. He seemed to have a penchant for shooting employees. Not exactly the makings of a good boss.
Maybe Stephen would step in, become Mr. Grey. Or Mr. Salt-And-Pepper, color of his hair.
God, he was ruining Stephen's clothes. He was going to be irate.
Ianto grinned rather comically as he lurched forward, never forgetting his responsibility to free the man held hostage in the lower level. He had decreed the order himself; if he didn't follow his own orders, why would anyone else? The clasp was slippery beneath his fingers. Ianto struggled to manage with just one hand where two before had failed, but he couldn't pull his hand away from his stomach. Placebo, really. No measurable effect, but it gave him confidence that time wasn't slipping away faster than he could replace it with determined energy.
Twice he'd been shot. Thrown around once.
Too bad Jack couldn't kiss him back to life this once.
No scars.
He felt the buckle give in time with his knees, fumbling forward with an apology to Jack before sliding to the floor. There was a curse above him and the legs which had been supporting him twisted away.
The floor was far more comfortable, at any rate, though he pitied the person who had to remove the blood stains from the floor. Archives were no place for blood, attracted vermin.
An annoying tapping at his face brought his focus forward, blurred gaze finding sky blue. The irony was not lost on Ianto; he thought last time it was pale blue. Odd how blue and his death were so interconnected. "Jack."
"Stay with me." Ianto felt Jack tug at his ear. Funny, Jack being so playful at a time like this. He would have batted away Jack's hand, but he really didn't have the energy. He heard Jack shout, what Ianto couldn't quite make out, something about raining but it wasn't raining they were in the Archives and he was really too busy concentrating on the raised mark just above Jack's hip.
"Jack ... pretend ..."
Jack's face grew large as he leaned close -- he could see Jack's bruised eye clearly at the distance and Ianto could feel him pressing against the wound in his belly but there was no pressure that could fix a broken dam. "Pretend what?"
"That you're real." Ianto's voice came out far more slurred than he'd intended, fear suddenly washing over him in the sudden need for some familiarity. He moved, slowly, but steadily enough to touch the thin ridge on Jack's chest, just above his heart. It was wrong, just as this Jack was wrong.
Scars.
Jack didn't speak, and for a moment Ianto was ninety percent certain he'd left him alone to die on the Archive floor (how appropriate, Ianto deemed, though he'd rather be clutching a large tome, rather like the knights of old clutching their sword), but then the words rang in his ear, a voice Ianto had heard whisper nonsense as he neared sleep. "What's your name?"
Ianto laughed at the innocent question, at least, he thought he did. Turned more into a cough which shook the last vestiges of hope from him. Tumbling down a sand embankment, clutching at the sides which dissolved away and left no purchase to stop his slide into the darkened void, he focused on Jack's hands, feeling so warm against his chilled skin. "Ianto. Ianto Jones."
"I'm very real, Ianto Jones." The words felt real, even though Ianto knew them to be false. But he could pretend, just as this Jack was pretending. He wanted to pretend, had wanted to pretend ever since, well, ever since he'd first met Jack. His Jack. Not this one, marked. His Jack didn't scar.
"I love you, Ianto."
Ianto smiled.
***
Ianto woke viciously, a racking cough tearing through him as if to expunge stale air and distant memory of his lungs' failure to rise. Hands supported him as he spat dark phlegm on the floor, the pressure on his chest abating once he was quite certain he'd coughed up all of his lungs and his stomach lining, too.
"I could have lived without seeing that. Ow! It's true."
Peering through eyes still tearing in response to his lungs' protests at functioning again, Ianto watched as Jean-Luc's face swam into focus. Standing next to him were Stephen, Tosh, and a rather wide-eyed Akira. Ianto could sympathize; he was rather wide-eyed himself.
And horribly exhausted. And freezing, though there was warmth pressed against his back.
"He's lost a lot of blood. I did what I could to help make him make it faster, but he couldn't be pushed much."
"You work miracles, kiddo." Ianto felt the warm wall behind him vibrate with the spoken words and he realized he was propped up against someone. God, he recognized the voice.
Jack.
Jack.
But not his Jack. He remembered that. Fuck, he was so confused.
"We should leave. There might be more still in the building. Jack ... it's good to see you."
Ianto refrained from pointing out to Tosh that he wasn't their Jack, but he couldn't remember why he wanted to say it or how he knew. His thoughts were still tumbling over themselves, loosely, flowing, like waves over a trickling mountain brook from beneath an ice sheet. He knew, eventually, he'd hit that river when hopefully everything made sense but until then, he settled for trickles and hints.
Had he been this slow to recover before?
Rani. She'd sounded so tired. Rani had said something about blood loss. The first time, there hadn't been much blood, not if his shirt had been anything to go by. Rani had treated him immediately. This time ...
Fuck. Had Jack said what Ianto thought he did?
Not his Jack.
Ianto felt himself pulled upright, supported by Stephen and Jean-Luc. Even Tosh was in on it, if only to give him a hug and a peck on his cheek. She backed away just as quickly as she'd darted in, gesturing to Jack. "Can you ...? I'm sure he'd appreciate it if it were you ..."
Whatever her lack of words meant, Jack understood and stepped in to secure Ianto's upright position. Not that Ianto believed it to be out of any familiar concern. He distinctly remembered asking Jack to pretend. And pretend he had.
He didn't complain though, leaning his head on the shoulder of the man who felt very much like Jack but was not Jack. He was wrong.
It hit him, finally, as the group made their way (slowly) up the stairs and through the halls towards the entrance of the building (nothing like being obvious). Scars. His Jack didn't scar. His Jack was immortal, had died multiple times with never a mark on his body.
Never a mark on his body to begin with.
Ianto knew that body. He knew every curve and every line. There were no scars.
There were scars on this man.
Older? Ianto dismissed the idea as quickly as it entered his mind. Jack didn't scar. The immortal, undying quality that kept him going despite gunshot wounds and alien attacks, it had changed him. Unmarked him. Healed him inside and out -- Ianto knew that body, there wasn't a mark on him. Not to mention, he had asked Ianto's name. He didn't know Ianto. So then, a younger version of Jack? A possibility, Ianto hazily concluded as his steps grew stronger the more they walked (limped) towards the entrance. Right when the team needed him most, they get a younger Jack. But how young? Destroy a kingdom young? He looked remarkably the same, now that Ianto was up close and could see ever pore in the man's skin. Less edge.
Maybe more edge. Ianto remembered what Jack had said about his past.
"I'm not from this time." Jack ran a hand through his hair, a move Ianto rarely saw. Frustration? Anger? Jack should be furious and instead he appeared ... frustrated. "There once was a time when I really was not a nice person."
Which Jack had they received?
When was this Jack?
"I know you're not Jack," Ianto whispered against the man's neck, feeling him stiffen beneath him. What was he doing, playing along? What did he want out of it? And why was Ianto allowing it? He should tell Tosh, warn everyone. This wasn't Jack, not as they knew him.
Who was he kidding? The team needed Jack, they had been waiting with bated breath for his return since the moment he'd left. They needed Jack back as they knew him. And hearing the voice of Joseph echo in his mind, Ianto knew that now was not the time to send Jack away. Not if something was coming. Ianto continued, tightening his grip around Jack's bare waist, registering the hiss of pain and vaguely remembering that Jack was injured as well. "Keep pretending, I have a proposition for you."
Jack smirked, as confident a smirk as Ianto remembered, the confidence of a man never turned down, a man who exuded sexuality through his skin, but it felt so off on this face, knowing to the core, Jack was not Jack.
But he had saved the kids, Rani had said. Made the hostage takers angry so they'd take it out on him, not the kids.
Reflecting on Jack in the different light, Ianto wondered how much of this Jack was different from the one he knew.
Maybe it wasn't such a wrong choice after all, pretending . It was almost like having Jack back. "He never said that," Ianto started, continuing the soft conversation so the others wouldn't hear, receiving a questioning look from Jack in response. "He didn't love me," Ianto clarified, tucking that little pain away from the man Jack himself had said was not a nice person. There was no reason to give him anything more to exploit.
"You wanted him to."
Ianto didn't respond, unwilling to give anything away to the other man appearing deceptively like the one he both hated and maybe loved. Didn't matter, now. It was as unimportant as the fact that this wasn't Jack. For all intents and purposes, things were back to normal. Instead, Ianto pulled away from Jack, feeling more steady as they reached the outdoors and the small group that remained -- mostly older graduates as the children had been the first to be evacuated. He knew they were waiting for teachers to arrive, four of them, in vans to ferry the remaining back to Avalon. Ianto had no concept of how much time had passed, but he reckoned they had to be arriving shortly. He didn't wish to linger any longer than they had to outside the walls, not knowing who or where the enemy was.
Enemy.
Something was coming, so Joseph said. Something was here. Something.
Ianto felt pieces of memory slam into place, causing him to stumble, but Jack was there to keep him upright. He didn't want to be touched, not by Jack, but at the same time the body was Jack, and he would be lying to himself if he didn't feel the same stirring of desire pressed against this Jack as he was with his Jack ... even though his Jack didn't care for him any more than this one pretended. Fuck, sometimes he hated himself.
Laboratory. Ianto's thoughts jumped back to his earlier thoughts, plucking moments from throughout the evening, remembering. The labs. Joseph. Aliens. Freaks.
Terror and nausea fought for victory as Ianto stared at Torchwood Four.
Pulling away from Jack once more, Ianto gathered what little strength he felt returning and centered it, knowing he had one shot at this. He fostered a healthy dose of anger and resentment, directing it at his unsuspecting target involved in conversation with Tosh and her cousin.
Jean-Luc didn't even have time to look surprised when Ianto hit him square in the jaw, sending his friend tumbling backwards, one hand to his jaw and the other held up defensively. "The fuck? Ianto? What the hell?"
"You lying bastard." Ianto put as much venom into his words as he could, not needing to search too far as he remembered his earlier encounters with Geoffrey and Joseph. "You claimed you were my friend." Ianto threw another punch which Jean-Luc dodged, his reaction quicker now that he knew he had something to be concerned with. That didn't stop Ianto, driving a counter into Jean-Luc's stomach to knock the wind from him, knowing his hits were more weak than strong, but he was counting on their friendship to hold up; otherwise, a physical fight against Jean-Luc was destined to be a quickly lost battle. "From the start, you used me. Wanted information." Ianto sneered, shaking off the hands that tried to hold him back. He wormed away, landing a few more hits, but he felt himself tiring rapidly. It wouldn't be long before he passed out and the efforts lost. "That's all I was, a game. A bet to win. Wasn't I?"
"No!" Ianto ignored Jean-Luc, weakly swinging but never ceasing his attack as Jean-Luc kept protesting, "Fuck, no. Yes, maybe at first, but not ... Ianto! You're going to hurt yourself. Stop!"
At Jean-Luc's command, Ianto felt his fist freeze, but it wasn't through control of his own. It trembled in defiance, but remained still, a scant hair's width from Jean-Luc's face.
Ianto smirked.
Realizing belatedly what had happened, Jean-Luc's face broke into a grin, hands reaching out to support Ianto instead of defending himself.
Ianto shook his head, pointing at Torchwood Four. "Good. Now, destroy it."
"What?" Jean-Luc's bewilderment mirrored the moment Ianto had first hit him. Ianto really didn't have the patience to explain.
"Ianto, we should leave it be. We can come back." Tosh held up the device ("Time Mime") still maintaining their synchronized time. She looked at Stephen for confirmation, Ianto noted that he was being jumped as far as leadership, and fuck if that wouldn't amuse him on any other day. But not that night. Not after what he'd witnessed.
"No. Destroy it," Ianto all but growled at Jean-Luc, purposefully freeing the memories of what he'd seen, what he'd heard, and stared hard at his friend, willing him to look, to see what he had seen, enormous dark eyes blinking and a foreboding slink of darkness tapping at his consciousness. The long-forgotten tickle crept across his mind and Ianto watched as Jean-Luc's face blanched, more pale than Ianto had ever seen. He nodded, stepping aside to concentrate.
He had only seen the true power of his friend once before, a long time ago when Ianto had almost lost his life (an all-too-familiar experience, of late). It had been both frightening and awe-inspiring, watching two speeding cars collide and topple over each other, others swerving to avoid and all aimed directly at him, standing innocently on the pavement, ice cream dripping on his hand. The rolling cars suddenly leaped over his head, landing upright on the street beside him. The screeching tires of those swerving to avoid the accident and inadvertently contributing bounced harmlessly off an invisible hand a meter away from Ianto. Close enough for him to smell the burnt rubber, but leaving him unharmed.
Ianto also remembered fainting dead away after the last car stopped. He was a kid; he assumed such a response was only appropriate.
That had been years ago, before Jean-Luc had been properly trained, before he had fully matured.
He watched Jean-Luc only for a moment. His friend's fists were held out slightly in front, his gaze focused beyond the building, seeing what, Ianto wasn't sure. Ianto quit watching once the ground began to tremble and turned his focus on the building. He felt someone come up behind him, knew without doubt it was Jack but leaned back against him anyway, weary from his mock-fight with Jean-Luc.
"They're breeding an army," Ianto murmured, though it must have been audible enough given Tosh's gasp and Stephen's curse. Jack didn't say anything, but Ianto could feel his presence remaining resolute behind him. Not Jack. But had apparently seen enough to wish the building destroyed. Or experienced. Ianto couldn't blame him for that.
The foundation of the building began to quake, cracks splintering up the sides like fine glass despite the stone exterior. Ianto heard Jack curse in amazement (in an alien tongue, but Ianto recognized the tone) and knew he was reacting to Jean-Luc's gift.
It was something to be rather in awe of.
Torchwood Four began to sink upon itself. Ianto assumed Jean-Luc had shattered the basement levels after pulling what he had from Ianto (creatures that blink). Ianto's only concern was the device maintaining the time differential. He had done the calculations earlier and knew how powerful a device that would have to be. He wasn't mistaken, seeing the castle walls bulge from the force of the explosion, but the force never hit those watching. Instead the flames shot upwards, pouring fire and fury into the night sky as the entire structure collapsed inward and settled into a deep pit of burning ruin.
Jack let out a low whistle as those around him cheered the destruction. Ianto didn't consider the irony of his anger watching Avalon burn and the revenge by doing the same to Torchwood Four. It wasn't revenge, not really. The place was empty (Ianto hoped, but he wasn't going to think too hard on it, not after what they'd done), the victims already dead (save for the strange creatures and the eggs). Ianto pointed to Jean-Luc, hoping that someone would move because he certainly couldn't, "Someone might wanna ... "
As Jean-Luc fell to the ground, spent, Tosh and Stephen were there to catch him.
Ianto didn't lean any more than he had to on Jack, feeling as weak as Jean-Luc but not really having an excuse other than being mostly dead for a short time. Or nearly dead. He wasn't quite sure which.
The vans arrived, pulling up to a sunken, blackened pit and a small gathering of missing and lost, and one wrong for the time but so right for the moment.
As Jack helped him to one of the vehicles, Ianto couldn't bring himself to care about the difference.
***
German - I'm out of practice and only had formal taught, not every day. But, roughly translated...
Hallo, Nicholas. Mein Name ist Ianto und ich kenne deine Eltern, Erich und Katherine. Sie sind sicher. - Hello, Nicholas. My name is Ianto and I know your parents, Erich and Katherine. They are safe.
Sobald wie moeglich - As soon as possible
Bleib bei Malcolm - Stay with Malcolm
***
Ianto had tried to stay awake on the way back to Avalon, he really had. He had things to organize, details to fine tune, and stories to maintain depending on who he was speaking to. Stephen was driving the SUV back -- Jean-Luc was asleep in the passenger seat, Rani, Tosh, and Akira were in the next row, and Ianto found himself with a bemused, half-naked, and injured Jack who acted as though he was merely tolerating the experience. Ianto didn't care, just sat next to him and tried not to touch. It wasn't his Jack in the rear seat with him, and until he had time to talk one-on-one with Jack, he knew better.Didn't work, though, despite the speed with which his thoughts were spinning and the smell of Jack (not pleasant) increasing within the confines of the vehicle. He woke up when the SUV stopped and doors opened and shut, his head resting on Jack's shoulder. Everyone was out of the vehicle, Ianto noted while he straightened and rubbed sleep from his eyes, pretending not to see Jack's amused smirk. The smirk, while it came naturally, appeared so off on Jack's face, knowing as Ianto did that the same motivations behind it did not exist with this Jack. Or perhaps they did, but Ianto didn't hold for a second that it meant anything. Jack was attracted to everyone. In Jack's smirk, however, Ianto didn't miss the lines of fatigue and pain edging the swollen lips, or the bruise shadowing his jawline where shadows shouldn't live. He mentally kicked himself for forgetting; he'd been too busy thinking about destroying Torchwood Four and, his Jack or not, the man had still been chained to their walls for god knew how long.
Ianto got out of the vehicle first, waiting for Jack as he slid out on Ianto's side, despite an available door on Jack's. That was filed away as well, along with the scars, the cuts, the bruises. And as much as he knew it was inappropriate, Ianto noted the trim waist, the way the muscles in his shoulders twinged when he stepped out of the vehicle. The product of days with his arms stretched out and up, Ianto assumed, not missing the tremor in Jack's hand which he tried to mask with a careful stretch.
"Would you ..." Ianto beckoned Jack over as he spoke, making a show of leaning against the SUV despite feeling much stronger following his rest, "would you lend your assistance again? My legs are still shaky and that's a long walk," Ianto lied smoothly, leaning against Jack as much as Jack was leaning against him.
Ianto could distinctly remember the last time Jack had leaned on him. Strangely (or not so strangely), Jack felt the same.
Stephen caught up with them just inside Avalon's doors. He handed Ianto a rather large bottle of water; only then did Ianto realize just how thirsty he was. He drank while Stephen updated him. "Everyone's been assigned a room and bedded down for the night." Ianto didn't miss the glance at Jack; Stephen wanted to talk. Which was good, Ianto needed to speak with him as well.
Passing the bottle on to Jack, Ianto caught sight of Tosh and Akira standing in the hallway. He really needed Stephen to actually act as Mr. Black in front of them. "We need a cover story for tonight. Can you ask Tosh to work on that? I need a shower, as does Captain Stinky here." Stephen caught Ianto's eyes as they darted a look at Jack's torso, then up. Ianto's quarters, as they were, were located on the second floor. He had a private bathroom, as would the staff, and Jack did need medical attention.
Stephen nodded what Ianto hoped was his understanding with his answer and blithely ignored Jack's protests against Ianto's childish "stinky" comments. "I'll speak with her. You owe me a t-shirt, by the way." Stephen gestured at what Ianto knew, but refused to actually look at, was a rather large hole in the black cloth.
"Dock it from my check, Mr. Black," Ianto deadpanned and Stephen laughed while turning away to visit with Tosh and Akira.
Jack watched the exchange with narrowed eyes; what he was thinking Ianto hadn't the slightest, but he gestured up the stairs. "My room's up there. We can get cleaned up in there."
"Thought you weren't one of them?" Jack asked as together they managed to climb the stairs. Though, at this point, it was far more Ianto leading than Jack. Ianto didn't comment, and neither did Jack.
"I'm not." Ianto led the way to his modest quarters, nothing more than bare essentials and a bathroom, unlike Jean-Luc's room (second largest to the first master bedroom which had been converted to classrooms) which he had insisted be spacious with all the necessities. ("I need a room to relax in after a strenuous day. Besides, if you're not going to take the room, I want it. I'd hate for it to go to waste.")
Ianto hadn't argued.
He drew the bath, making the water hot but tolerable, and let the tub fill while he went back to the main bedroom. He must have surprised Jack, because just for a moment, Ianto saw a very lost Jack. The look vanished as soon as Jack noticed Ianto, though, the familiar smirk curving his lips as his hands settled on his hips. "So, Ianto. Or should I refer to you as Mr. Black? Because that man Stephen downstairs was definitely not Mr. Black."
Of course Jack wasn't stupid, even if he was different, Ianto reminded himself. He must have heard about Ms. White from the Avalon kids -- or the people from Torchwood Four -- and made the connection. "And what should I call you? Because your name is not Jack Harkness."
"Jack suits me, think I'll keep it. Captain Jack Harkness ... captain of what?"
Ianto refrained from commenting that he was captain of nothing as he'd chosen to leave, and was conscious of the glint in Jack's eye -- he had to remind himself -- this man was not Jack. For all Ianto knew, he was a dangerous man. Destroyed a kingdom. Not a good man. Instead, he pointed to the bathroom. "Go, get clean. We'll discuss names when you no longer smell of mildew." It was more than just mildew, but as much as Ianto wanted to dislike the man for being both everything and nothing that he wanted, he couldn't bring himself to kick Jack's pride. He reeked of urine and vomit, sweat and blood. No need to shame the man for the past.
Thankfully, Jack didn't argue, just shrugged and stripped as he walked, gracing Ianto with a full view of his arse as he strutted confidently into the bathroom. Once Jack, always Jack, it appeared, even injured.
With a slight smile that Ianto couldn't help, he walked to the window, staring outside while Jack bathed. He heard the tub drain twice and refill, but he didn't move until he heard a knock at the door. Stephen, with a med kit and a change of clothes that Ianto assumed was for Jack; despite the thinner look, none of Ianto's trousers would fit Jack. They didn't speak, but Ianto understood Stephen's poignant look at the energy drinks and water he brought as well. Raising one in toast before Stephen left, Ianto drank one of the energy drinks (nasty, sickeningly sweet) before he deposited the clothing on the bed and ventured into the loo.
Jack's eyes were closed, his skin rosy where there were no cuts or damaged skin, the flannel thrown on the tub's edge. Ianto discarded Jack's trousers in the rubbish bin and carried it outside his bedroom to be thrown out later; no sense in keeping the smell in his room. Jack still appeared to be asleep when Ianto returned, and he sat on the toilet's lid, flipping through the kit to see what could be used on Jack's injuries before Rani had a chance to work her magic on him.
"Try anything, and I'll kill you before you can blink" came a sleepy voice from the bathtub.
Ianto bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling, maintaining a polite, blank look he'd mastered while working in the Information Center. He slid his coat off, hanging it on a door hook before he walked round to the bathtub and grabbed the shower head from the wall. He'd seen Jack's shoulders spasm; they had to be hurting, making raising his arms next to impossible. "Of course you could," Ianto placated, turning on the water again, warming it before he directed it on Jack's scalp. "But then you'd have to deal with Jean-Luc and Stephen, and I doubt they'd be as willing to wash your hair."
"They'd take one look at me..." Jack's response trailed off into an appreciative moan which on any other occasion would have had Ianto hard and panting in seconds, and he had to note that if he ever saw his Jack again, to add "shampooing hair" to the list of things that make Jack moan. Ianto wondered if it was the hair; the mass was such an indicator of his mood that maybe it actually was sentient.
He spent far too much time working the soap down into the hair, massaging away the regret and confusion Ianto felt through some cathartic therapeutic offering. But Jack's sigh of contentment made him linger, touching longer than he ought. "Back," Ianto instructed softly, unwilling to shatter the blissful, relaxed look on Jack's face. Not Jack. Not his Jack, at any rate. It was like an echo, still similar from the initial shout, but softer, still reminiscent of the original but lacking the same qualities which made the original the force it had been. He touched Jack's chin lightly to get him to tilt his head and Jack complied, permitting Ianto to rinse away the suds and to comb through the snarls and tangles. His hair was longer, long enough that time and violence had locked the strands tighter than the buckles that had restrained him to the walls. But they unknotted under Ianto's care, fingers running smoothly through clean strands.
"Joining me?" Ianto had seen that look in the Captain's eye before (pupils blown, eyes almost black), heard that tone in his voice, and sure enough (though how was one of those Jack-mysteries Ianto would never understand), Jack's cock rested against his stomach, hard and looking every much the same as Ianto remembered.
"Don't flatter yourself." The moment broken, Ianto stepped away from the tub, shaking the water from his arms and pulling the t-shirt (hole, the size of three fingers, he noted before he could stop himself). He gestured for Jack to step out of the tub, waiting impatiently with a towel. He almost offered a helping hand to Jack as the other man struggled to stand after he'd pulled the drain, but refrained.
Fuck, Jack was a handsome man. Even bruised he exuded an appeal Ianto found hard to resist.
"Come on, we were lovers." Jack sidled up to Ianto, but his words left Ianto cold, any desire he may have felt evaporating quickly to mingle with the steam, strangling within the humid air.
"No, we never were." Ianto ignored Jack and stripped out of his leather trousers and briefs, eager to wash away the night and start fresh with a significant lack of blood-crusted skin. He threw shut the curtain and turned on the water, sending it shooting through the shower head with more force than he had with Jack's shampooing.
"You fucked, then. But you never got what you really wanted."
Ianto could hear Jack clearly, could even hear him wanking, though his movements through clear plastic curtain confirmed what Ianto thought he'd heard. Once Jack, always Jack. No qualms, and definitely less reserved than his counterpart. Ianto stepped out from under the water, soap in his hair, and peeked around the curtain. Sure enough, Jack leaned against the counter, erection in hand, lazily wanking but steadily increasing the pace. Ianto watched for a moment with deliberate casual disinterest, then shrugged. "You're going to hurt yourself doing that."
Jack ignored him, putting on a show worthy of any porn Ianto had seen before Ianto turned away and stepped back under the spray, smirking when he heard Jack's yelp when he came.
Those shoulder muscles were a bitch, especially when one forgot they had been recently abused.
Ianto finished his shower and stepped out to an empty loo. He buffed dry his hair, then knotted the towel around his waist before grabbing the kit, grimacing when he found a single red rose petal resting on top. He found Jack in the main bedroom, clothed in the jeans Stephen had brought. He'd yet to put on a shirt; Ianto didn't figure he wanted to test those back muscles again so quickly.
"What happened?"
Jack's question at first confused Ianto and made him seriously concerned for the state of Jack's mental health, but he realized Jack was asking not about what happened at Torchwood Four, but rather what happened between he and Jack. The other Jack. Ianto's Jack. "You left." Ianto began applying an antibiotic cream to the shallow cuts, most of the injuries appearing superficial (yet painful, Ianto imagined) and nothing required stitches. The bruising would fade, but either Rani had just healed him or Geoffrey had been taking his time.
That thought left Ianto with a rather unpleasant taste, considering that Rani had healed him before.
How long had Jack been with them?
"I must have made a good impression. The one, Tosh, looked ready to pounce on me. Cute girl, bet she's feisty."
Ianto tuned out the tale of Jack and his encounter with the feisty twins from the planet Qzectyl, not particularly caring about Jack's escapades but at the same time relieved for the shield it put between them. He dabbed the last of the cuts with the antibiotic and stepped away, having touched Jack more than he wished. "Her name is Toshiko Sato, technology expert. The medic is Owen Harper and Gwen Cooper is a former constable and our link between the police and Torchwood. They are all part of your team at Torchwood Three in Cardiff."
"And what does that make you, Mr. Black?"
With a barely suppressed scowl, Ianto tossed a bottle of water at Jack who barely brought his hands up in time to catch it. "Only the Queen, Stephen, and Jean-Luc know that information. Otherwise, I'm simply Ianto Jones, tea boy for Torchwood Three."
Jack apparently swallowed a gulp of water wrong, coughing and sputtering while Ianto watched, arms crossed, until he could again speak. "You're the tea boy?"
"So I've been called." Not that Ianto had been operating under that title for some time, nor that he really cared about the name. Oddly it had turned more into a joke between he and Owen than an insult. They had such an odd relationship, he and Owen. Reminded him of the dynamics between he and Elaine growing up.
"Why are you telling me this? I apparently left and if I left, it was for good reason."
Ianto wondered if this Jack had ever met the Doctor. He had to be younger, or Ianto supposed he could be from an alternate world. He'd read the theory, time diverting from each choice, innumerable paths and possibilities existing in simultaneous realities. Would explain why Ianto's Jack hadn't appeared to know details about Ianto - different realities, different times. Somewhere, his Jack and this one's paths diverged.
Possibly.
He wondered what the worlds looked like when he hadn't made the choice to become Mr. Black. Would Stephen had filled in? Would Torchwood Four have been found?
Would those eggs have hatched, down in the darkened pits of Torchwood Four?
"They need you back. And Kramer warned that something is coming. They can't have their attention focused on you when they need to be protecting Britain from whatever is coming."
"And what about you? You don't need me back?" Jack stalked towards him, obviously keying in to the fact that Ianto had failed to include himself with the team. He smelled faintly of medicine, but in general, Jack still smelled the way Ianto remembered him.
God, if he survived whatever was coming, Jack was going to be the death of him.
"I need the team to function as they had, not what they've become. They need Jack back." Ianto stepped away from Jack, digging through the kit and finding a packet of pain relievers. He threw them at Jack and headed to his wardrobe, finding the spare suit he kept at Avalon. Navy blue with a cobalt pinstripe, cobalt shirt and a silk tie to match. He had worn this suit when Jack had kissed him in front of the team -- one reason why it had been banished to Avalon. He dressed while he spoke, "and not just any Jack. They need Jack their leader."
"You want me to keep pretending." Ianto's hands stilled on the buttons of his shirt, remembering what it had felt like to hear Jack speak those words. Ridiculous, unimportant. It was nothing they had ever had and he hadn't wanted it until this Jack had pretended.
Tiny lie, but Ianto was good at those when it came to himself.
"Funny as it might sound, but I see no point in sticking around to find out whatever crackpot-Kramer was talking about."
"No?" He'd quickly buttoned the remaining few buttons and began tucking his shirt into his trousers. Ianto needed the suit, as much as he hated being in this particular one. His suits were as much comforting as they were a professional reminder; in them, he could remember that this Jack wasn't his. If any Jack ever was. "You sacrificed yourself to protect the children of Avalon. You'd leave them to whatever terror loomed? Then what was the point, I ask, in allowing yourself to be chained and beaten for them? Unless you enjoyed the abuse. Was that it, Jack? Did you do it for enjoyment?"
Ianto looked up from buckling his belt in time to catch Jack's face pale and harden, the casual ease (and attempted seduction) he'd been treating Ianto with gone. This was the man Ianto's Jack had spoken about, the one who'd destroyed a kingdom.
He could believe it.
A caged animal, backed into a corner, Jack reacted as Ianto assumed he would (but perhaps not to the severity) by racing across the room, hand on Ianto's throat as he was slammed against the wall behind him. Weak as Jack was, Ianto could nearly see the adrenaline racing down his arms, fueling the fingertips that dug into the sides of his neck, pinching the carotid and crushing down on his trachea.
Ianto calmly blinked.
With a curse, Jack held him a moment longer, then loosened his grip. Spots danced in Ianto's eyes but he remained standing, if not a little light-headed and gasping for air.
"You know nothing about me."
Rubbing his neck, Ianto straightened, smoothing his shirt as he watched Jack pace in front of him. "Quite the contrary. You won't leave, you know their faces, their names. You won't go, not while knowingly leaving the children in danger and especially not without what I am willing to offer you."
His words stopped Jack, if only for a moment, before Jack grinned, edging close enough to run a finger down the straight lines of Ianto's shirt to cup Ianto's cock through the cloth of his trousers.
It took a moment, a long moment, for Ianto to register his offense. "I am no whore," he growled, pushing Jack's hand away, refusing to blush in shame from his body's reaction.
Jack just laughed. His Jack had never laughed at him before. Never in mockery. God, it hurt. "It's sex. What, Mr. Black wouldn't do whatever's necessary to protect Britain? You want me, I enjoy an attractive man in suit or leather, why waste good time not fucking while we face threat and try to save the world?"
"Six months," Ianto spoke after taking a moment to collect himself. "Stay for six months resuming your role as leader of Torchwood Three. You can tell them whatever story you want to explain your departure, I really don't care. If the threat Kramer mentioned still hasn't arrived in six months time, I will conclude our bargain and give what I promised."
"And if you don't?"
"Deliver? Then I will most likely be dead. I will make arrangements to ensure our deal is not broken."
Jack studied him for a time; Ianto remained as determined and calm as he could. He'd withstood greater pressure; he'd hid a Cyberwoman in the basement of the Hub.
"If I do it, I do it for the kids, not for your team and certainly not because I give one damn about you, your country, or your agenda as Mr. Black." At Ianto's nod, Jack continued. "What could you possibly offer me? I can go anywhere, pick up what trinkets you might have at Torchwood for fractions of their value to you."
Ianto smiled then, knowing he had won this match and proceeded to lie through his teeth.
"Immortality."
***
There had been disbelief following Ianto's offer, but he couldn't have chosen a better (and more substantiated) offer. Six months down the road and it might be a different story, but until then, he had Jack's promise to remain and step in where the former Jack had left, so long as Ianto's claims checked out.
They would. The entire team had seen Jack return from the dead twice.
He was also going to keep pretending, while under strict orders not to shag the team or reveal what he knew of Avalon to anyone outside of who was present that night, otherwise the bargain was broken. Ianto knew he wouldn't break their deal. His father had said it himself, the younger Jack had quested for immortality.
And then Jack had somehow found it.
Ianto supposed one had to be careful what one wished for -- Jack hadn't appeared happy with the life of an immortal, even tempting fate by taking his own life. For all the times Ianto had nearly died (or died; he was like a fucking cat, for goodness sakes. How many times could he come that close and Death's final hand?), that did not lessen the importance of life. He knew there were choices that one made, and life was one of them. But at the same time, working for Torchwood, where he spent every moment on duty fighting for the lives of an entire nation, he couldn't understand intentionally ceasing it, not without cause. Although he supposed everyone had a cause, even if he didn't personally agree. It was hard to stomach, though, and just something he and Jack would never agree on simply because he couldn't understand.
If Jack gained that from his other life, far out in time and heavens, well, that dimmed a bit of the space exploration curiosity.
He'd left Jack in his bedroom to get some sleep, walking the halls of the new Avalon searching for Stephen. It didn't take him long; after a day like they had, Stephen would either in the gym or pouring over files. Ianto tried the gym first, grinning at the small victory when he located Stephen there, burning excess energy on a practice dummy. He watched for a while, impressed as he always was by Stephen's physical skill -- almost wishing he'd paid better attention as a youth -- then interrupted. "Not bad for a man your age."
Stephen laughed as he rounded on the dummy one last time, then joined Ianto, collecting his towel and water bottle as he walked. "Careful, boy. I'll have to remind you that with age comes wisdom, and with wisdom comes the ability to defeat any boastful tongue."
Ianto grinned and followed Stephen to the small locker room with their typical banter, but didn't follow him into the showers; odd how his day had turned into following men around bathrooms. Finally, he couldn't wait any longer to know. "Are all the students taken accounted for?"
"Yes. Nobody seemed to have taken any real injury, though some blood samples were drawn," Stephen spoke over the sounds of the shower. "The graduates and Guardian-protected as well. The teachers were all accounted for, with the exception of one."
"Killed at Avalon?"
"No."
Ianto blinked in surprise as Stephen stepped out of the showers, toweling off.
"Tiffany Woodbridge. Taught most of the early Science classes."
"Right, I remember her, faintly. She came just two years back, replaced Ms. Hatfield when she retired." Ianto waited for Stephen to dress before they began their walk to the offices of Mr. Black. "Fuck, she wasn't still in ... "
"No, no. She's still alive, as far as Lana was aware. Her biological parents never married. She grew up with her mother, Elise Standley, who married a man named Peter Woodbridge."
Frowning, Ianto started up a pot of coffee; no office complete without one, really. The fact that it was his personal office, technically, and there was a coffee machine three doors down in the teacher's lounge was beside the point. "That's in her background file."
"Her biological father is apparently Michael Hallings."
Ianto dropped the mug he was holding. "Shite!" The broken ceramic mug forgotten, Ianto stared at Stephen. There was no way he would have missed the name of Torchwood Four's leader in their exhaustive search through personnel records. "How the hell was that missed?"
"I don't know. It shouldn't have been. From what I gathered, Tiffany bragged about the relationship with her father to some of the kids while they were being held, but didn't elaborate. Ianto, what happened in there? And what's Tiffany involved in?"
"The fuck I care about Tiffany," Ianto swore, picking up the shattered pieces of the ceramic mug and throwing them into the rubbish bin. She had betrayed Avalon and Torchwood; she had betrayed Ms. White. He felt no sympathy for whatever the girl had gotten herself involved in.
Actually, he found himself almost disappointed she hadn't been in the building when Jean-Luc destroyed it.
No, no. That wasn't right. He wasn't one of them.
"One of Torchwood Four's scientists, Joseph Kramer, ranted about something coming -- that they were already here." Ianto waited for a moment in front of the coffee machine as it brewed, but then gave up and began pacing, too impatient and anxious to remain still. "Then there was a room. You should have seen it -- no, you should be glad you didn't see it. Giant eggs bigger than a football, about fifty of them, all in a temperature-controlled room. And there were jars ... with ... creatures. Wings, claws, like nothing I've ever seen. At first, I thought Torchwood Four was running experiments, twisting genetics like Nazi scientists. Fuck, they were alive, all of them."
"The eggs?"
"The creatures too. One blinked at me and I swore it...I know the feeling of Jean-Luc trying to creep into my mind. This felt...it was evil. I don't know what it was, but my reaction is not because it's alien, I deal with alien all the time. This was...it wasn't good." Ianto stopped, flustered and at a loss for how to continue. He poured two mugs of coffee, noting he'd have to replace the one he'd broken, before sitting down with Stephen on the couches that filled the room. Office, yes. But with their duplicity, Ianto had made sure there were no hierarchical points in the room -- chairs and couches faced each other, no grand throne-like chair Ms. White had been so fond of; even the office table was round. A person walking into the room would never be confused if they found Stephen sitting where Ianto ought, or vice versa.
"You showed Jean-Luc what you saw and felt."
Ianto nodded at Stephen's presumption, then sipped his coffee, resting his head on the back of the couch.
"Your method of drawing him out was quite resourceful. Always knew he was just blocking his gifts."
"It was a gamble, but as I lacked any C4, that was my only option." Ianto tapped his mug, then continued, "They weren't studying those creatures, they were housing them. With the time delay from the outside, they could bring in eggs time after time, collecting them until it was time."
"Wouldn't you want a fully raised army if you were going to make a run on Britain?" Stephen stood and grabbed the coffee pot from the warmer, topping off Ianto's mug and refilling his own.
"Sure, if you needed to breed an army to fight." Ianto scowled into his mug. He hadn't worked out yet why they had taken the Avalon kids, but he had worked out this. "There's something coming. The fight is coming. But Kramer said they were already here. Those eggs, they were to populate once the fighting was done."
"Instant generations, spit out faster than humans could recover from the death toll. Wouldn't even need to bring creatures capable of reproduction with the warriors or stores of eggs. Hell, it wouldn't matter if the warriors all died." Ianto raised his mug in mock-toast for Stephen's reasoning. His line of thought could be wrong, he could have read the situation entirely wrong and the destruction of Torchwood Four was unnecessary, but Ianto knew, he knew what he'd felt when that thing had blinked at him. "Shite, if you're right, then there are breeders out there. We don't know what they look like, save they come from an egg."
"Yes, we do." Stephen straightened immediately and Ianto cursed his inattention months back. He hadn't thought it real at the time. "A pale dragon was reported in the Brecon Beacons months ago, I filed the report, but marked it unworthy of further investigation. Fits what I saw in that room."
"A...what? Dragons are a myth."
"And I thought it was just a bird. Another reason not to breed the army here -- we'd notice their eating habits. Eggs and what, larva? They can be stored."
Stephen's mouth opened and closed a number of times. Ianto could tell he wanted to argue but opted against it. Instead, he chose an avenue that caught Ianto off guard. "Don't blame yourself for missing this, Ianto."
Ianto pondered Stephen's statement, and decided that yes, there was guilt. But at least Torchwood Four was destroyed and the mistake nullified. At least to the best of his knowledge. For all he knew, there could be other incubators like Torchwood Four. He wondered if Tosh could run a scan on the area, searching for a change in typical time patterns. It might be wise. "It's my responsibility, Stephen."
Silence stretched between the former mentor and pupil, an uneasy silence that Ianto found as unpleasant as soured milk, but that wasn't to be helped. He had nothing more to say, and it was high time he owned the situation. Despite the Oxford branch's disappearance long before he ever stepped in, Torchwood was under his governance. And this...fuck. How does one prepare for this? How was he supposed to make sure everyone was ready for whatever was coming? How was he supposed to prepare for fucking alien dragons?
"The 21st century is when it all changes, and you've got to be ready."
Ianto felt sick. He didn't believe in a god, per se, but he offered a plea to any deity listening. Don't let this be the change. Please don't let an alien victory be the change. Or at least let me be dead when it happens.
"What can I do to help?"
Glancing up, Ianto saw Stephen leaning forward, elbows on his knees and his coffee mug clenched tight within his hands. Ianto set his own down, rubbing a hand over his face. He felt like shite. "I think we should drop the charade. Jack's returned, Torchwood Three can manage without me. I didn't want to let them go before, but now...I should be here."
"No."
Startled, Ianto looked up into the equally determined face of Stephen. If Ianto wasn't mistaken, there was more white hair in his beard. Not that Ianto counted hairs, but Stephen had aged during Avalon's disappearance, if not by years then by stress. "What do you mean, no?"
"They murdered your mother and they had no qualms killing you despite not knowing who you were. If there's something coming...we can't risk them destabilizing our alien defenses."
It took less than a breath for Ianto to realize what Stephen was saying. "No! I will not have you become a target in my stead. Absolutely not."
"If it's as serious as you think, then yes, it is necessary. You can't--"
Ianto jumped to his feet, grasping desperately for reasons and logic as he vehemently denied what Stephen said. He was too emotionally connected, he knew he was. Distance had fled once Jack had returned; he still hadn't even had time to really deal with that. But now Stephen...no. It wasn't going to happen. "Yes, I can. I'll ask for your resignation--"
Stephen stood as well, his voice rising to match Ianto's, which had steadily gained in tone and volume. "Don't be ridiculous, I'm not leaving my post. If we're attacked, odds are they'd come after me, I could create a diversion, giving you a chance to--"
Temper completely flayed, Ianto heard himself more than he was conscious of himself bellowing, "I'm not having you die for me!"
"It's my bloody choice!"
Turns out, Ianto absently noted, that Stephen could yell as well.
A throat clearing behind them had both Ianto and Stephen turning from their nose-to-nose stubborn glare, neither wanting to back down without a fight, and Ianto was determined to win. He was surprised to find Jack standing in front of the closed door. He was wearing the white button-down shirt Ianto had worn the previous day. He was thinner than Ianto's Jack, yes, but the shirt was still tight across the chest and shoulders; probably hadn't wanted to pull a shirt over his head and found the only other option.
Ianto didn't think he'd ever found himself more attracted to the man. Wearing his shirt should not be so...endearing? Erotic. Possessive.
"I have to side with Stephen on this. If there's a threat coming, keeping an element of surprise will help our cause, not to mention maintaining leadership."
Stephen's brow arched and Ianto shrugged, knowing the question. "He figured it out." He rounded on Jack once more, still unwilling to lose this battle. "Your opinion doesn't matter in this."
"No?" Jack smirked and somehow, Ianto knew he'd lost. "As leader of Torchwood Three, I'm pulling on my years of expertise, which as you know, are far greater than yours due to my inability to depart from this mortal coil." When Stephen didn't bat an eye, Jack's grin grew even larger. "My opinion counts, especially as the team would fall apart without our dear Ianto. We need you there, Stephen can pretend to be Mr. Black and we'll get ready for whatever Kramer thought was coming."
Not endearing. How could this Jack ever be endearing? Ianto could feel his teeth grinding against each other, not missing Jack's stress on "pretend" and wondering just what the hell the man was up to. He was being blackmailed -- not that he hadn't used a bit of emotional blackmail on Jack earlier but this...he'd feel better about it if he knew what Jack stood to gain.
He was almost in control of himself again, almost had a response, when Jack tacked on an insincere and for every intent seductive purr, "Sir."
Ianto's mind whited out for a moment, torn between fury and memories, fond memories, his Jack insisting Ianto call him Jack, not sir. The night Jack had invited him to dinner, Ianto hadn't called him "sir" since, except in jest. That night had been...it had been a good night. A really good night.
Focus returned, and Ianto relaxed as he felt his control slipping quickly into place. Distance was easy around this Jack, walls rebuilt and the mask he'd hid behind when he'd first arrived at Torchwood Three replaced. He could deal with this Jack and whatever was motivating him. He'd dealt with far worse. Including alien invasion threat. At least this time they had forewarning; he refused to become Yvonne, head in the sand and arse in the air. They would be ready to fight against whatever came.
Stephen hadn't missed the tension, eyes darting back and forth between Ianto and Jack. Ianto wasn't going to dissuade him from the notion that it was due to the reveal of Mr. Black, if that was the conclusion Stephen had drawn. Given no alternative, Ianto backed down. "Fine, I'll defer to both of you. But Captain Harkness," Ianto found it remarkably easy to separate Jack and Captain Harkness; after all, he had loads of practice with his mother, "pull that again and immortality or not, I will make you disappear."
The air shimmered outside the window, giving Ianto a welcome distraction from the slightly wary Jack. "Jean-Luc's awake. Go ahead and plot your next attempt to undermine me, I welcome your failure."
Ianto stormed out of the room, not missing Stephen's "what the hell happened between you two?" directed at Jack before he shut the door with enough force for emphasis.
Separation would be easy.
Mourn the one, hate the other.
Jack had taught him well.
***
Their return to the Hub was just as Ianto had assumed it would be, though Tosh was a bit confused when Ianto had insisted Jack ride with her. Ianto had needed the time to himself. He had spoken with Jean-Luc after leaving Mr. Black's offices, apologized for causing his friend pain but not for the outcome. Jean-Luc had apologized the same and Ianto felt moderately better; their past was the past and neither refused forgiveness. Ianto felt better, knowing he still had one person he could depend on, though he could tell Jean-Luc was hurt when he refused to allow Jean-Luc "in" to see what was bothering him. They'd had no secrets, for a long time. Now...there were just some secrets which shouldn't burden his friend. If Jean-Luc knew of the earlier conversation with Stephen...actually, Ianto wasn't sure how he would respond. He knew for certain he did not want to hear Jean-Luc swearing upon his life to protect Ianto. Those words would haunt him despite the general understanding that Ianto would gladly give his life for his friend, and he knew Jean-Luc felt the same. But that was the love of friendship. He didn't want to add the taint of duty, not to their friendship. Ianto valued it far too much.
So he hurt Jean-Luc, just a little. Maybe after the threat came and went, he could show Jean-Luc why he had blocked his friend out. But until then, Ianto's barriers were firmly in place and it'd take Jean-Luc the mental equivalent of a nuclear blast to bring them down (or the pin-point focus of Jean-Luc's full power, but Ianto rather hoped that would never happen again).
Gwen had squealed when he, Tosh, and Jack arrived back at the Hub. She'd slapped Jack, then hugged him until Jack had pried himself away with multiple promises never to leave again. Owen was a bit more reserved, giving Ianto the once-over and noting his reaction (blank, impassive, arms crossed, and watching the team greet not-Jack with open arms) before shaking Jack's hand, calling him a wanker and a git but welcome back. Tosh stood next to Gwen, the two of them clutching each other's hands in joy and excitement, matching silly grins plastered to their faces as they listened to Jack lie about his tales of daring and heroics during his absence.
The broad smile never left Jack's face. Ianto only assumed the adoring fans thing was something he enjoyed and cultivated.
Fuck, maybe that's why Jack left in the first place.
A dysfunctional family, headed by a father-figure one couldn't (shouldn't) trust farther than they could throw him but blinded by the charm and charisma oozing from every pore into a state of deluded family unity. The children would all defer to the father, believing him infallible and wise -- but he was no more wise and infallible than the children were innocent and naive. But they needed the father, craved the stability and support he'd provide. And the stability and support were desperately needed, Ianto wasn't fool enough to think it wasn't, and he wasn't arrogant enough to believe he could provide it. Something was coming, and they were far from prepared.
But with Jack, maybe they could hold together long enough to emerge victorious.
Ianto turned away from the scene to put on a pot of coffee.
***
There were some days in which Ianto hated belonging to a secret operation. Operations. Plural. But in particular, Avalon. In the days following the return of the children of Avalon, Ianto's evenings and part of his days were filled with trying to hire replacements for the teachers who had been killed, psychologists for those who had been taken (though, Stephen and Jean-Luc would benefit as well), and general staff for Avalon duties. Like cooking. Buying food. Housekeeping. Grounds keeping.Nothing was ever simple, no victory without consequence.
And it wasn't like he could post a "help wanted" sign, especially not after the treachery and deception before.
They were making due - everyone pitching in to help, and some of the graduates and adults who had spent their childhood protected by a Guardian offered to stay at Avalon and take over some responsibilities until other replacements were found.
A solution, but not the optimal.
Jack wasn't making it any easier on Ianto, the infuriating man assigning Ianto menial, tedious work to occupy his work hours when Ianto could be focused on Avalon and the coming attack. Nothing was left uncleaned or unorganized at Torchwood Three, not even the unused lower levels. Jack made sure of that. When Jack called Ianto to his office for the sixth time one morning ("how do you spell 'tea-boy'? I'm writing a report for Mr. Black and I would like to note your superior skills in mucking the weevil cells"), Ianto realized he had created a monster.
Ironic, given that was not the first time he'd applied the name to Jack Harkness, but it was the first time he meant it.
The others noticed the strain between Jack and Ianto, but nothing was said, though there were mutinous grumblings spoken when Jack wasn't listening. Ianto heard and was stunned the first time Owen disobeyed Jack's orders and assisted Ianto with the removal of nine alien bodies - the remnants of yet another destructive species causing terror in Cardiff. There had been no opportunity to save them, to give them an option of leaving. They had killed indiscriminately, and the team had responded. They were large creatures, double the size of Ianto and far denser. With spines. Gwen had a spine pierce her arm but she would be fine, according to Owen as he helped Ianto heave a body into the back of the Torchwood trailer designed for days like this.
Owen pulled a muscle in his back that night, bitched about it for the next two weeks, but never in Jack's presence.
Ianto knew something was going on when Gwen joined him in the sewers to collect the body of a young woman a weevil had killed the night before. The team had captured it, brought it to back to the Hub but had apparently forgotten about the victim at the time. Ianto was sent to retrieve the body and dispose of it as per Torchwood protocol. Gwen had followed, insisting she join Ianto in case there was another weevil. Odd in and of itself, but when they arrived, the pipes smelled positively foul, and Gwen never complained. Why she had returned to help didn't exactly comfort Ianto.
"So, Jack's a bit different, yeah?"
And Ianto had his answer. She wanted to talk. He couldn't deny that the help wasn't appreciated, the poor girl's death hadn't been reported as an isolated, clean incident, but he could have been spared the gossip. Or whatever Gwen wanted. His shoes squelched in the silence that followed as he carefully breathed through his mouth - the stench was growing stronger and he really did not wish to know what he had stepped on. Gwen wasn't so fortunate or her olfactory sense was just that much stronger than his (Ianto rather believed he just had a stronger stomach), stopping to retch in a spot Ianto hoped was free from human parts. He didn't fancy digging through even more filth to ensure all evidence of a human death was removed.
"We don't know all that he went through while he was gone, I'm hardly going to pass judgement," Ianto finally lied, helping Gwen stand upright. He kept a hand on her elbow, both to provide a steadying hand and to make sure he didn't lose track of her as they ventured deeper into the dark pipes with two torches lighting the way. According to the reports, the girl's remains should have been located in the immediate area, but of yet, Ianto had not seen even a stitch of clothing, much less human remains.
But from the smell of decomposition, she, or others from the smell of it, had to be nearby.
"You do, though."
"Sorry?" Ianto swung the torch around, shining the light indirectly on Gwen's face.
"Pass judgement. You've never liked me. Was it Jack?"
Ianto stopped walking, he couldn't help himself. He was too busy trying to figure out what the hell Gwen was talking about, much less make sense of it. He was standing in a sewer pipe, smelling the most abhorrent of smells, fetching by request the remains of a human girl dragged into the darkness by an alien with someone who wanted to what, discuss petty jealousy? Not that Ianto was above jealousy, he most certainly had felt a little jealous of the attention Jack bestowed on the new recruit, but wasn't this a conversation for a pub, three pints into an evening?
"You're an innocent, Gwen," Ianto resumed walking, though his attention was split between Gwen and their path. "Your curiosity is childlike. To you, Torchwood is a game, a rush. You got a taste of it and you're addicted, wanting more but at the same time, naive in your beliefs that the darkness is out there and ugly. Easy to spot."
"I know it's not a game! I've seen people die!"
"Of course you have." Ianto tempered, a bit patronizing but he couldn't help himself. God, it was like a badge of honor to have witnessed death. "It's not a bad thing to be innocent, however, the innocent do not belong in Torchwood. The innocent do not see the darkness corrupting them because they think it's wearing a trench coat and looking suspicious. They do not see it reflected in the mirror."
"You think I'm evil," Gwen huffed, storming away from Ianto who rolled his eyes and followed. Grabbing onto her arm, he stopped her headstrong pace, turning Gwen to face him.
"You're not evil. But you are naive to believe that Torchwood hasn't corrupted you."
Gwen opened and closed her mouth a few times, and Ianto cut in before she could argue, noting that this was probably more than he had ever spoken to the woman in their combined history. "You still see the small picture. It's still personal. You see a small child in a jumper you want to protect because it is your need to protect each individual and yourself. It is why you joined the police, yes? Torchwood corrupts because it takes that need, whatever your driving need is, and abuses it, infuses it with power, making extremes of our initial desires."
"I don't understand."
Ianto counted to ten. This was really not the time nor the place to be holding the conversation, but Gwen seemed determined and Ianto didn't want this to end poorly. "Rhys. You cheated on him with Owen. Why?"
"Owen understood..."
"No. We both know Owen and he isn't one to sit around talking about his feelings. Why did you sleep with Owen?"
For a moment, Ianto didn't think Gwen was going to answer. He was encroaching on personal territory, after all. It was not any of his business, but yet, Gwen was.
"You know the secrets we keep, Ianto! I couldn't go to Rhys."
Ianto shook his head, the torch light swinging slightly as well, almost forgetting about the stench they were standing in but a waft of something foul reminded him quickly enough. "Since when does sex involve speaking secrets? You didn't not sleep with Rhys just because of Torchwood secrets. Why did you sleep with Owen?"
Gwen shrugged in defeat. "Because he understood what I needed."
"You needed sex, and you couldn't get that from your boyfriend?"
"No! It was just...a different need."
"It was sex."
"It was different!" The light from Gwen's torch bounced off the interiors of the pipe as she threw her hands in the air. Ianto just raised an eyebrow and waited. And waited some more as Gwen paced a small circle in front of him. "It was rougher, okay?" More than Ianto ever wanted to know, but no more than he had assumed. "It was...I don't know. Passionate. We fucked. It was spontaneous and fast and dirty. And I felt so alive."
And finally, Ianto noted, they were getting somewhere. "You couldn't have that with Rhys?"
"Oh, no." Gwen gave a little giggle and Ianto wasn't sure if that was in response to Rhys or the idea of having a dirty fuck with Rhys. Honestly, Ianto didn't know if Rhys knew the concept of a dirty fuck. "We love each other. I couldn't-"
He watched as the proverbial light bulb flared brilliantly in Gwen's mind, seeing in her eyes the moment when it all made sense. It would have been amusing, if they were standing in filthy, stinking tunnels filled with years of human waste and grime.
"Oh god." Ianto winced as Gwen covered her mouth in shock; he'd have to have Owen prescribe her a broad spectrum antibiotic.
"You were protecting him both from yourself and from losing his love because of what Torchwood had created," Ianto said frankly, resting a hand on her shoulder. Jack should really have been the one to have this conversation with her. He would have chosen a place less foul and with perhaps more alcohol. "Torchwood became the excuse. And when you drugged him? When you locked him in the cell after you stunned him? Who were you protecting? Him or his love?"
She looked on the verge of weeping. "You hate me."
"No." Ianto understood hate, he knew hate and felt it to his core. But it wasn't Gwen he hated, he couldn't even say he disliked her. "But you should never have been involved in Torchwood. Some of us should be able to preserve our innocence."
"I can't go back to how I was."
"You can't." Ianto smiled wryly, knowing that she had broken the grip of Retcon before, there was no question that she could do it again. She sounded scared, and he didn't blame her. He thought of his nephews and sister, his father, all those who died at Torchwood One and all who had died at Avalon. If he could go back, would he? Return to a time of innocence, of childish simplicity when all that mattered was his small world. He wouldn't do it, not for all the ignorance that came from not knowing. He understood Gwen, which frightened him slightly. "But now that you see your reflection, perhaps you can share some of that child with those of us who've lost ourselves within the excuse."
"Like Jack?"
No, Ianto admitted to himself, Jack was just playing within a world that Ianto had forced him into; Ianto's own excuse if he was honest. "Jack's somewhat of an exception." And indeed, he was.
Ianto suddenly found himself wrapped in a tight hug threatening to strangle the breath from him. The hard casing of the torch dug into his back and he feared where Gwen's gun was pointed but he hoped Jack had taught her safety as well as aiming because he rather preferred his backside in the condition it currently was in.
"Ianto Jones. I don't think-"
Gwen's voice cut off before she could say anything further and Ianto wondered only a moment before he was distracted by a slight change in the smell of the sewers. Still foul, but he'd smelled the hint of rotten sulfur before. It took him a moment to remember, clarity a swift blow to his gut. The day Avalon had burned. He'd smelled on the air a similar scent, when he'd stood in the grand entrance of the building. A slow burn of fear and anger coiled in his belly, knowing without a doubt that those responsible for the deaths at Avalon had passed through this pipe at some stage.
Hatred. He understood hatred.
"Ianto?" Gwen's voice trembled against him, still hugging him but by this point, Ianto would consider it far more clinging than hugging. He remembered their conversation and the abrupt end, and he glanced down at Gwen, only to find her staring into the darkness that lay before them.
Only it wasn't entirely dark.
Ianto's heart rate tripled; he could feel it pounding away at his chest in fear, trying to escape just like his feet were screaming at him.
Eyes shined in the dark, large eyes, despite the perceived distance. They had to be at least two hundred meters away, from what Ianto could judge. Large eyes, glowing green.
Dark green; appearing black when an orange filter was applied.
They blinked.
"Run." His voice was just a whisper, coming out more as a hiss than spoken word. Neither of them moved, staring at the eyes hovering in the dark. The eyes shifted, moving; Ianto realized they were getting closer, the smell of sulfur more prevalent. Finding his voice, he pried Gwen's hands off him and clutched one as he pulled her in the opposite direction, back to where they'd come. "Run!"
Run they did, sprinting down the tunnels with the smell of sulfur at their backs. Ianto could hear the rustle behind them like dry leaves blowing in the wind, tumbling over the other. Wet sounds, too, a large body moving through the slime and filth running through the middle of the tunnels. Where Ianto and Gwen ran, it was slightly elevated, but still slick; Gwen nearly tumbled once but Ianto grabbed on to her and pulled her back into motion.
Not fast enough. They weren't moving fast enough.
He wondered if it had any ketchup.
The air currents suddenly shifted, pummeling their faces as it was sucked back down the tunnel. It made no sense to Ianto, there should be no draft, no feeling of movement other than the relative 'wind' they were creating by their own movement as they ran.
When the rumble began, Ianto shoved Gwen into a side tunnel despite her protests, pushing her further into the side tunnel when the air roared past them in the main tunnel, a brilliant orange and red dance of sound and light with heat as their song. Ianto shielded Gwen from the fire ravaging the main tunnel, though he knew that if the flame were to curl around the corners, they'd be toast.
Literally.
Luckily, the fire appeared directed, scorching the main tunnel and creating the most noxious fumes Ianto had ever smelled, causing them both to cough and choke on the air. The heat was intense even twenty meters from the flame, Ianto could feel the sweat beading at his temples and at his neck. They had to get out of there, before the alien caught up with them or they cooked in the heat, they were open to attack in this tunnel. Ianto pushed Gwen on, racing through the tunnel, losing their footing for a moment when they heard the roar of the beast from the main tunnel.
There was a ladder in front of them, just up the tunnel; Ianto dearly hoped it led to the surface and not into say, the dragon's lair. He kept watching behind them, searching for any indication the dragon was following. Not that he could do much to shield Gwen if it launched its fire down the tunnel, but he would like some forewarning of imminent death.
So focused he was on what was behind them, that he never considered monitoring what was in front until Gwen screamed.
Two weevils snarled, confusing Ianto as he'd never known them to travel in pairs before. Gwen sank to her knees, screaming and Ianto saw blood staining the jacket she wore. Without thought of ethics or consequence, he drew his sidearm, firing repeatedly at the weevils before they could attack again, not stopping until the clip was empty and the weevils were dead.
They didn't kill weevils. Not if they could help it. Jack would never allow it. Trap and cage, somehow better than euthanizing.
He'd feel regret later, but for the moment, all he saw was the open ladder and all he heard was the dragon's roar from the main tunnel as it approached, drawn by the gunfire, knowing its prey still lived.
"Come on Gwen. We've got to get up the ladder." Ianto tugged her up, noting the claw marks across her arm and shoulder but wasting little time on sympathy or consoling. They didn't have time. He helped her up the first few rungs, lifting her into place and waiting until she got her footing and clasped the rung with her good arm. And so they moved, slowly up the ladder, increasing with speed as Gwen snapped out of the initial shock and pain, realizing she could brace herself against Ianto as she reached for the next rung.
It took some effort but Ianto managed to knock aside the cover and push Gwen to the surface. His trousers pulled at his legs, straining as the air was sucked backwards (approximately three minutes, forty-five seconds from the first time, but whether that was a recharge or just the time it took for their enemy to find them again, Ianto wasn't certain) and Ianto threw himself out of the opening, taking Gwen with him in a roll as fire burst towards the skies and heat poured over the pavement.
Far too close.
He couldn't move, not until he caught his breath and not until the roar of the fire dulled to the cracklesnap of burning waste, not ignited air. He kept Gwen shielded with his body until he deemed it safe to move. Gwen was crying; he could hardly blame her, he felt like crying himself. They couldn't stay there, however, for all he knew the dragon was on its way to the surface, though Ianto wasn't sure it'd risk the daylight.
He didn't want to test that theory.
Quickly checking Gwen's injuries, Ianto figured she'd make it okay to the Hub. The cuts were shallow from what he could tell, but he was still concerned, especially for the risk of infection. He wasn't going to leave her, she'd have to make it to the SUV with him, and from what he could tell, that was a good distance away. He bound her injuries with his shirt - not the best gauze and certainly not sterile, but given what they'd just been through, he didn't think it'd matter. Standing her up carefully, she finally spoke, pointing at the hole they'd just emerged from, the metal still glowing with heat.
"What...what was that?"
Ianto supported Gwen as she walked, ignoring her feeble protests. Once the welcoming and excitement over Jack's return had died down, Jack (under Ianto's orders) informed the team of the dangers ahead, and the suspicion that they might be large, winged aliens. He had left out the term dragon at Ianto's request - the word seemed so absurd that while it wouldn't be the first nor the last absurd thing Torchwood saw, Ianto didn't think it'd be taken seriously. Not until it was proven. And now ... "That was what is coming," Ianto replied, helping when Gwen stumbled.
"Shite," she squeaked, her eyes round and Ianto would have to agree, whether she was cursing her stumble or the alien, he wasn't certain but the phrase suited the events, none-the-less.
"Quite."
***
Outside the autopsy room that doubled for an operating theater, triage unit, burn center, and general medicine unit, Ianto slid down the wall to rest on his haunches, hands running through his hair as their flight and narrow escape caught up to him. Jack and Tosh caught up with him as well.
"When I sent you out to collect a body, I didn't mean bring another back."
Ianto peered up blearily at Jack, and for a moment, he could almost believe this was the real one and the words' meaning differed with tone and context. His Jack might have said the same thing, but Ianto would know it wasn't to be cruel, that there was concern beneath the words.
This Jack, however, he meant them as they sounded and cared not at all for the injured Gwen or for any of the team, for that matter. But that was what Ianto had created. He had thought it the best action. Now, well, he wasn't quite sure what the best action would have been. But he didn't think it this.
"You'll be relieved to know, then, that all physical evidence of the girl is gone." Ianto slowly stood, giving himself time to adjust to the blood-rush so he wouldn't faint, only then realizing he wore no shirt having used it for Gwen's injuries. Too late now to feel shame; it might explain Tosh's blush.
"Gone? Gone where?" From the question directed at his chest, Ianto assumed Jack had taken note of his lack of clothing as well.
Ianto hardly had time or patience to deal with Jack's questions, despite rationally knowing that as leader of Torchwood Three, Jack should know. But Ianto was tired of the games, tired of the anger, and most of all, just tired of fighting. "Incinerated by dragon fire. We wanted proof; we have it."
Jack's skepticism was evident as he scanned Ianto's figure, searching for burn marks Ianto assumed. "We escaped the first blast and were running for the surface when we encountered two weevils who attacked Gwen. I killed them. We ran some more, climbed to the surface before another blast of dragon fire lit the tunnel we had just been in. Unfortunately, I did not stop to take pictures as I was too concerned for the well-being of Gwen but next time I will make sure to capture some proper action photos. And if you don't mind," Ianto pushed away from the wall, nodding to Tosh who still remained speechless after the mention of 'dragons,' "I need a shower. I smell of waste, dragon and blood."
Ianto ignored Jack's additional questions and commands to stop as he turned towards the communal showers and locker room where he knew he had a spare suit stored.
Nothing was ever simple, no victory without consequences.
***
He retreated to the top of the Millennium Centre following his shower and learning that Gwen would be fine, requiring a few dozen stitches but Owen had seen worse. Ianto didn't want to know when or how.
The air was cold and he was glad he had remembered his heavier coat when he'd left Torchwood Three. He kept Jack's vigil, despite the man being gone, surfacing at eight in the morning and evening to stand on some high point in the city, watching out over the denizens and understanding why Torchwood existed.
He could almost pretend Jack was up here, comforting him, kissing him as the stiff wind whipped through their hair and tried to force them from the rooftop.
There was no Jack, not this time. Not in any time.
Instead of finding comfort, however, all Ianto could do was picture fire, racing across the city and around every bend. It'd leap from building to building, fueled by an alien napalm as it ravaged and burned everything Ianto sought to protect. It'd spread then, the fires and the death. London first, if they were smart, they'd attack numerous cities at one time. London would fall; London would burn.
Ianto didn't need an imagination to picture that, he still had the fires of Torchwood One and Avalon to stand in.
Britain would fall. Britain would burn. He couldn't stop the tears that fell, racing down his cheeks as he envisioned Cardiff burning, dragons flying in the skies. He didn't know when his father's house would succumb, maybe it would escape.
But it was so easy to hear his nephews' cries, his sister's screams.
God, they weren't ready.
He wasn't ready.
Ianto tried to picture what Ms. White would do, how she would react to the threat of invasion. And then, he remembered Torchwood One.
His family lacked a positive track record in prevention.
Maybe Jack would return with the Doctor, just in time to save the day again. It'd be possible, both had contributed to the continued existence of the human race probably more than Ianto knew. But he couldn't count on it, he knew he shouldn't count on it. Besides, what was a Doctor and Jack to do against dragons?
Cardiff was going to burn. And then London. And the rest of the world.
He had UNIT. He'd have to get in touch with his contacts at UNIT but rumor had it they were engineering a series of flying ships based on alien design. They might be ready in time, though that time frame was still questionable. Could they be ready at a moment's notice? Torchwood Four had known of Avalon, did they have their spies in with UNIT as well?
The other nations also needed to be alerted to the threat, though how Ianto was going to alert them without starting an instant war against anything that moved due to antsy trigger fingers, he didn't know. He wasn't sure what kind of tech the other nations had - he wasn't going to assume they had anything. But London had had some dangerous tech, the others might as well. He needed to contact the storage facility where most of Torchwood One's tech was stored - the beams which had taken out the Socorax ship were there, Ianto thought. That hadn't been in Ms. White's will and he wasn't sure if that meant if the weapon was still in functioning order. Or maybe the Cybermen and Daleks had destroyed their single most powerful line of defense. Entirely possible.
How does one prepare for invasion?
He could see the fire raining down on the city. He could see Torchwood Three fight valiantly. And they'd all die, even Jack. There would be none left to protect Britain or Earth.
God, he missed his Jack.
"You come up here a lot, don't you?"
The sound of Jack's voice startled Ianto completely out of his wits, believing for a fraction of a moment that Jack had returned, that some deity had heard his plea. But it was just the other one, the one who didn't fit. Ianto's excuse, his abuse of Torchwood power to serve his own needs. He felt no shame for the tears still wet on his face, but he felt shame for the hypocrisy.
"I had a friend once who said he came up here to remind himself that there's a world outside Torchwood. There's an entire population with no clue about the threats Earth faces -- no concept of space-time, or alien races, or tech so foreign it boggles the mind." Ianto patted his cheeks dry with his handkerchief and resumed his steady countenance as he quoted his Jack. He wasn't sure if it was his words that surprised Jack or the crying, maybe men didn't cry in his time. Or maybe they didn't carry handkerchiefs. "Coming up here reminded him that it was his duty to make sure they're safe."
Jack smiled as though he knew Ianto was speaking about the other version of him. "And is it working?"
So very much like his Jack that Ianto nearly laughed. In fact, that was precisely what Jack had said. He was creating circles within time.
Ianto just smiled in return, turning to face the city of Cardiff again, feeling Jack's heat as he stepped next to Ianto, so close their shoulders touched.
He and Jack had shared their first kiss up on this rooftop.
"How old are you?" When Ianto turned his head in surprise at the non sequitur, Jack just continued. "Your eyes are old, but you look young. Especially just then."
Ianto couldn't remember his Jack ever bothering to ask. "Twenty-seven."
"Twenty...and you're Mr. Black. Is that even legal?"
Shrugging, Ianto ignored the stare he could feel coming from Jack. Indifferent but resolved. He knew what he would do. And his honesty wasn't going to matter. "My mother was Ms. White. I came into the role upon her death."
"They killed your mother," Jack echoed flatly.
And a lot more Ianto thought, but didn't comment, choosing instead to change the topic. "We kissed for the first time up here. Cannibals attacked us. After that, I wasn't certain I would ever belong outside the Archives. You trusted my actions that day, believed in me despite all that I had done and wanted me back in the field. Soon after, Ms. White was killed and Avalon was destroyed. I don't know if I would have taken the role otherwise."
Despite the fact that Ianto wasn't talking about the Jack standing beside him (who was far too cruel, far too deceptive and far too .. self-motivated to be his Jack), he could feel Jack straighten and preen under the praise. That was a quality apparently even time couldn't erase.
"You really did see a dragon, didn't you?"
Jack's segue statement again surprised Ianto, he was out of practice when it came to speaking with Jack and the way his mind jumped from one thing to the next. "Yes. Or rather, I saw its eyes and the fire it breathed. Dragon enough." Watching the clouds move against the horizon, Ianto took a deep breath and plunged on. "Which is why you should leave. I know you picked up your things from wherever you were staying before Torchwood Four took you, I know you can travel through time. Go. I'll conclude our bargain, give you what you wanted."
"What about your team? I thought you needed me here to lead them?"
"I lied. I needed you here." Ianto refused to look at Jack despite knowing he had turned to watch Ianto. He couldn't. "But the battle is approaching and it's not your fight. You don't belong to this time, you shouldn't fight for it - it was wrong of me to get you involved. We'll manage, we did before." It hadn't been against dragons, but they could pull it off. They just needed the time to figure everything out. And some luck. A lot of luck. But they'd survived before. They could do it again. And what were a bunch of dragons? At least those could be killed. Least, Ianto hoped. The Cybermen and Daleks...not so much.
"And our bargain?"
Ianto straightened. He knew what he was doing was right, but at the same time, he'd held a tiny flare of hope that Jack would argue against his request to leave, that he'd insist on staying. Of course, this was Jack. A different Jack, younger. Mortal. Ianto couldn't blame him for running. "Find the times of King Arthur," Ianto said finally, knowing he was damning a kingdom but at the same time, he was just ensuring time's continuance, wasn't he? "Quest for the Grail. There you'll find your answers." Not entirely a lie. Jack just finds the answer that immortality is not possible. Or maybe he did, setting off on another quest in a different time, during which he was successful. Ianto wasn't sure how time worked, how time played. Jack might be irate with Ianto when he found his answers, but at least he wouldn't be in the now, fighting a war for Ianto that wasn't his.
"The Grail? That's an old Earth myth."
Ianto smirked, feeling lighter than he had in the few weeks this Jack had been around.
"So are dragons."
***
Jack had left the rooftop almost immediately following Ianto's response, barely a "goodbye" shared between them. It had been awkward, both of them fumbling around for the proper thing to say or do, but at least this time Ianto had had the opportunity to say the goodbye. That was something. Not much, but something.
Ianto had gone home after phoning Rhys to check on Gwen ("there are bleedin' wildcats in Cardiff now?"). Then he dialed Stephen to tell him about what he had seen and to talk a little strategy.
He didn't sleep, not that entire night.
Between planning what he was going to say to the team to the next actions he needed to take to salvage a win against the threat, Ianto couldn't calm himself enough to sleep. But at least the insomnia had proven productive. By the morning, he had a plan for the day, a schedule of events. First, their daily morning meeting. Ianto would break the news about Jack then, an emergency which had demanded his attention (Ianto couldn't demonize Jack, but at the same time, Ianto couldn't demonize himself). Jack had asked Ianto to pass along his goodbyes and then left with the Doctor, and that would be it. They'd talk about the dragons, the threat, and how they could prepare.
He'd also contact Sheppard that day and the others in the agreement, alerting them to a possible threat. Just for them to be on alert, but not to shoot at anything that moved. It was the best he could do, really.
But sitting at the conference table, watching as the others strolled in, Ianto felt his nerves flee and hide. It was probably going to damage the team, at the very least, if not destroy them to lose Jack again. Ianto knew it had been the right thing to do, that he shouldn't have brought him back in the first place, but... he'd needed. And now, they would be fine. They could do this.
He smiled as everyone walked in the room and took their spots, Owen griping the loudest over his date the previous night that had apparently ended poorly (really, Owen? No accounting for taste, apparently). Gwen's arm was in a sling, no field work for her for a time. She looked better though, flushed and carrying on about Rhys' attention he was doling on her. He couldn't begrudge her this happiness, Ianto was really just lucky she was speaking to him at all after what he had said to her. But it had been said, and now, not that he expected great change from anyone (or demanded it, he wasn't perfect after all), maybe now he and Gwen could get on better as a team. Better than the shaky ground they usually walked around each other.
Ianto would have to fill in when two wouldn't do in the field, but they'd manage. The team had been through worse.
"Where's Jack?" Tosh asked, sipping her tea Ianto had prepared before everyone had arrived. Their favorites for everyone. It was only right. Jack was gone and they were to discuss the end of the world type stuff. Only right.
He couldn't do this. Ianto stared blindly at his notes, tapping his pen insistently but out of rhythm.
But he had to. It was his duty.
"Sorry I'm late! I picked up donuts!" Jack burst into the room with his usual spark, carrying a giant box of what Ianto assumed were donuts. The team cheered and gathered around the box, fighting over the glazed and the Danishes, Gwen demanding the best one since she was injured.
Ianto dropped his pen, remaining frozen as he stared at Jack who most certainly was not there. It wasn't possible.
Jack had left.
Reconciling that with the physical presence of Jack was impossible and Ianto just stared as Jack walked forward, setting a particularly sticky pastry down in front of Ianto. Jack licked his fingers, one at a time, just inches from Ianto's face. He could smell Jack, smell the sweet sugar coating the fingers Ianto knew but didn't know.
This wasn't his Jack. But the smirk....it was a Jack he knew.
But he had left.
"Thought I could pretend a little longer." Jack whispered and winked and used a finger to close Ianto's mouth. Ianto could remember his touch. This wasn't the same touch, but it felt the same. "Eat your donut. You look like you've seen a ghost."
***
Everything changed after that day. Day one, the end of all days and yet the beginning. Alpha, omega. The end of the fighting, the beginning of the team. Or at least as much team as Ianto allowed. He still did the paperwork, still made coffee, but the tension between he and Jack (and thus, the team) was gone. Jack still wasn't his Jack, but he was still Jack. It left Ianto on edge, relieved and wary, wanting so much to trust that this Jack was staying for all the right reasons but knowing deep within that the possibility still existed that he was staying for all the wrong.
What did Jack stand to gain?
Ianto could think of hundreds of reasons why Jack came back to the Hub, from fame, wealth and power following the battle (if they won) to curiosity to, and Ianto nearly made himself considering it, that this Jack could be a plant.
He really hoped it wasn't true - that Jack wasn't spying for Torchwood Four, that he hadn't been placed in the Archives and tortured just to get an 'in' into Torchwood Three. Jack knew too much, about Ianto, about Torchwood Three, about Avalon, about Mr. Black. Ianto didn't want to believe it. But it was just as easy an explanation for him staying as the fame and glory. And if that were the case, Ianto would ensure that Jack's death was not noble, nor proud.
There was also another reason, Ianto knew. The reason why Jack had stepped out of the SUV on Ianto's side when they reached Avalon. Maybe Jack trusted Ianto. Maybe he did care.
I love you, Ianto Jones.,
It was a ridiculous notion. Jack hadn't known Ianto at that point. He hadn't known Ianto at all. They were just words spoken to console a dying man. Ianto understood that. He accepted it. But there was a tiny, selfish voice inside that begged Ianto reconsider his dismissal of that possibility.
Ludicrous, but Ianto knew he wanted it to be true.
Nearly four months passed, and Jack was Jack and the others were ... typical Torchwood Three. Gwen healed from her injuries and amazingly, went on holiday. Ianto couldn't remember the last time any at Torchwood Three went on holiday. Ianto knew why she went - Mr. Black had been asked and had granted permission - she refused to lie anymore to Rhys and it was either that or Retcon her and set her up with the police again. She told Rhys about Torchwood over that holiday, and when he calmed down from the initial shock and denial, proposed.
They had a wedding to attend in three month's time.
The tunnels had been scanned and cleared following Ianto and Gwen's encounter. No dragon had been found. No weevils, either. UNIT and the RAF were aware of something classified taking to the skies and to report any unusual sightings, Nothing had been reported. Not even a blip on the radar.
It wasn't like they had forgotten the danger that lurked, but Ianto could feel the team relaxing after months of no further sign of a threat. They knew it still existed; they knew that dragon still lived. But maybe it wasn't the threat that Ianto had feared. Maybe it was a fluke.
Ianto knew better; he could still feel the slick black creeping in and poking at his mind.
Tosh had found herself a boyfriend, though Ianto didn't know if he fully approved. It wasn't that he was a criminal alien banished from another planet and Ianto feared for Tosh's safety. On the contrary, Ianto didn't believe Tosh could be safer. But ... it was Jean-Luc. Ianto feared what stories Tosh might be hearing. Every now and then, she came in with a smile and a laugh for Ianto and he immediately went to his mobile, dialing Jean-Luc to find out what he had told her now. It wasn't fair. He was Mr. Black, for pity's sake. Tosh wasn't supposed to know what he and Jean-Luc had gotten up to when they had been young.
But, she was smiling. As was Jean-Luc, when Ianto saw him. Goofy, stupid grins on both their faces.
It didn't seem fair, but Ianto supposed he could live with it.
Owen had been rather brilliant of late, not that Ianto doubted the man's intelligence but so often it was easy to forget when he was acting the obnoxious twat he usually was. He'd taken a shine to the research aspect of his job and had created a chemical profile for not only the dragon itself but the flame fuel. Wasn't of earthly origin, though he did mention something about Kallikinos, Greek fire, Nobel Prize and buying his own island with the millions he'd make. Ianto quickly reminded him of the non-disclosure agreement he had signed upon joining Torchwood; Owen had been inconsolable for days.
And Jack. Jack had become a constant in Ianto's life after that conversation on the rooftop; sometimes Ianto wondered if the man doubted his ability to lead because of his age, other times he thought Jack simply was obsessed. When not hunting down various debris and spacial drift which floated through the Rift or chasing down weevils who seemed to be as active as they had during the Billis days, he was assisting Ianto's research or freeing him up so he could attend to Avalon duties. A stress relief, if Ianto wasn't so concerned about the questions concerning Jack's motivations or what near-death stunt he'd pull next. Add to that the resumed sexual interest and Ianto could almost believe the real Jack had returned. He fended Jack off, though, no matter how far Jack pushed the teasing and innuendo. Ianto had practice, after all, with his Jack.
Ianto was almost never alone. Jack had taken to joining Ianto on the rooftops to invade even those personal, private moments. Sometimes they talked, sometimes they just stood there, watching out over Cardiff. When it wasn't Jack, it was Jean-Luc or Stephen, like they were trading off babysitting duties. Granted, it was mostly business excuses, but Ianto was beginning to feel smothered. That tension was almost worse than the building itch that something was coming. It crept under Ianto's skin, making him wary of the slightest movement, the softest of noises. He hadn't felt this jumpy since before discovering the faeries were watching. They still were, though Ianto had grown used to their presence. It was almost a comfort, really. Jack had found a few of the petals they left behind and was suspicious until Ianto explained a bit of who had left them. Jack didn't know of the faeries, Ianto learned, at least not yet. Ianto answered what questions he could, but they mostly consisted of "I don't know."
Ianto knew they killed Estelle, however. He didn't tell Jack of that, though.
Because of the smothering, Ianto didn't make official his one day off every year; he simply didn't show up for work. This year was different. He had different responsibilities and felt the pull to return. He didn't know why this year, maybe it had to do with what he'd spoken to Gwen so many months back. Maybe it was a need to feel like he was taking responsibility for his past instead of avoiding it.
Maybe it was just time.
The drive to London was filled with the Doors blasting from his speakers in an attempt to distract himself from the approaching city and the anxiety creeping into every bone and muscle. He desperately did not want to return to the site. It had been years since he'd last seen it, but those years had brought a sense of security, a distance from the horrors and the near loss of everything. Now, it seemed all the more pertinent for him to return, to see what human arrogance and greed had nearly resulted in, but all the same, the victory won by humankind against invasion that day. Maybe the Doctor had helped, maybe he hadn't. But Ianto still considered it a triumph.
And as he stepped out of his car to see the city block where Torchwood One had stood so proud as it reached for the heavens, Ianto remembered the consequences.
The gleaming building was gone, razed to the ground with a city park built in its stead. People milled about, admiring the statues or sitting at the fountains scattered among the saplings and flowers. The past's horrors had been effectively erased, creating a haven for life and beauty. It was almost...peaceful. He could see Torchwood One overlaying the green, however, seeing what was and what is in a single breath, marring the beauty.
Resolutely, he walked a path to the monument he'd heard of but never seen, recognition of the fallen while defending Britain. Of course, it was no more than the Torchwood symbol on a plaque where the front entrance had once been, but it was enough to steal Ianto's breath, remembering all the lives taken
Susanna Nichols, 32, bioengineer. Clint Hueser, 45, Intelligence. Maybell Case, 54, chemist. Lisa.
All remembered by a single plaque, their lives summed up and accounted for by the Torchwood symbol.
Kneeling, he placed the bundle of white roses by the marker, not 796 stems, but a bloom for every department, even the counsellors. Not to symbolize purity or innocence, because he knew Torchwood One had been anything but. But more, cleansing of spirit, whether his or Torchwood's or all those who had died, he wasn't sure and didn't care to ponder.
He should really look into the families, see how they were faring. Ms. White had set up a fund, but Ianto had had little time to worry about that.
Or rather, he had just been good at avoiding it.
"Excuse me, sir? Sir, just what do you think you're doing?"
Realizing he was being addressed, Ianto stood and turned, facing his interrogator.
Interrogators.
A crowd of twenty gathered near him, a woman with her hands on her hips the one Ianto assumed had spoken. The group was quite the mixed bunch; a couple were smartly dressed, others in street clothes and still more clothed in ragged, tattered clothing, appearing for all intents and purpose a month out from their last bath. Some appeared in good health, others in various stages of illness or disorder from the way the one man's eyes focused on his shoes, speaking with no one. As the crowd shifted, Ianto noted that one woman was missing an arm, a man his hand, another man his left eye, covered by a patch. This group....
These people were Torchwood One.
Ianto recognized them, even the ones in the most failing states of health. He knew their CVs, he'd studied their bios and memorized their pictures. They were the survivors, the few who'd lived when so many had died. This must be the result of the support group, though Ianto wondered where the other four survivors were. He swallowed the guilt, knowing as head of Torchwood he should know, but he was too startled by running into the very people he'd last seen in the halls of Torchwood One that he was struck speechless.
That, or it could be the appearance of the group, all in varying shades of recuperation and grief, both haunted and united by their shared past.
He wasn't prepared for this. He hadn't planned on meeting anyone from Torchwood One.
Fighting off the panic clawing at his throat, the woman, Sophia Owens (reception), who had spoken to him before looked just as shocked as Ianto felt as she stared at the roses he'd placed on the monument. Her face lit up eventually, recovering her ability to speak quicker than he could manage. "Ianto? Ianto Jones, am I right? Bloody hell, you're alive! It's Ianto Jones! From Intel!"
She turned from speaking to the crowd before cautiously approaching Ianto, treating him like the skittish cat he felt. She had experience, it seemed, dealing with the survivors. Ianto straightened from his surprise and pushed aside the panic. There was no need to feel fear, though a certain amount of guilt replaced it. He should be seeing that these people receive the best treatment and care from Torchwood, not leave them to fend for themselves after such trauma.
"Sophia Owens. It's good to see you." He reached out for her, disregarding her polite extended hand and drew her into a hug instead which she enthusiastically returned. He couldn't remember ever meeting her before, but she acted as though they were family; perhaps they were, forged through desperation and sorrow rather than any sort of blood tie or working relationship. Ianto could feel her crying against his heavy sweater he'd thrown on that morning, in what response he wasn't sure but he held on to her, holding her as others greeted him, introducing themselves and touching. He didn't understand the touching. Some touched his shoulder, others touched his arm, still yet another woman (Bertie Finnegan, Archives) awkwardly wrapped her arms around his shoulders and kissed his cheek.
He was pretty sure he had her bright red lipstick on his skin as a result.
Some members of the group were more reserved, hanging back or ignoring him all together, choosing instead to touch the marker and mumble thoughts to the ones they'd lost. They all fit within this small area, all the survivors of Torchwood one.
So many had died.
"I'm sorry," Sophia finally said, brushing off Ianto's sweater when she pulled away. This woman he didn't even know, crying in relief to see him. It was hard for Ianto to accept. "It's just.... we'd assumed you were dead. We haven't heard from four others, either. Lost contact with Simone over a year ago. But you're here! You're alive!"
And now Ianto felt remorse for never contacting the survivors to let them know he lived and was in Cardiff. But there had always been Lisa. He knew he needed to tell them about Simone, or at least of her fate, but he wouldn't spoil the tone of the group now. He'd wait until the end of his visit. "I'm in Cardiff, now, working for Torchwood Three."
"Torchwood Three! Why that's where-"
"Jack."
"Do you know him?"
"Lovely man. Such a fine arse!"
Sophia and the other women (and two men) around him giggled and Ianto had to smile at the power of that single man. Jack seemed to charm everyone he ever encountered. "You should see it in a wetsuit," Ianto winked, using his own learned charmed from the days spent in the Information Center chatting with lost tourists and others who generally just wanted someone to talk with. They laughed and cat-called in response, just as Ianto intended.
"I swear, all you lot do is gossip." A man dressed in a tailored suit stepped forward, extending his hand. "Baxtor Hamilton, Accounting. I work in investment banking now."
Of course he did; Ianto remembered the probe into his assets by Intelligence. Ianto's boss was certain he was illegally squandering away thousands in Torchwood funds, Ianto had discovered the man was just brilliant when it came to finances. Thus why he had initially been hired by Torchwood, of course. How quickly people forgot. Ianto smiled and shook his hand. "A pleasure. Do you, ah, come by every year?"
"Course we do, luv," grinned Bertie, who Ianto took cautious note to stay away from. He'd seen that look in women's eyes before, about the time they began to tell him about their daughter/son/niece/nephew who would be just perfect for him.
"We all go for tea after we meet up here," chimed in Josh Michaels (computer tech).
Sophia interrupted before Josh could continue, "liar! We all go to the pub and get completely pissed. Care to join? Goes on Torchwood's tab."
Ianto looked around at all the expectant faces and those too furrowed in trauma to ever smile again and Ianto found himself agreeing before he could reconsider. That day was still a horror, still etched in everyone's minds and haunting their dreams, but today was white roses and Ianto couldn't run from this aspect of his life and duty any longer.
"I'd love to."
***
It had been about halfway back to Cardiff when Ianto made up his mind.
Torchwood London would be rebuilt.
There was need for a Torchwood presence in London, there always had been. And with the coming threat, maybe it would have a chance to get running before they were attacked, providing another resource and ally.
Ianto had no clue how to recruit people without posting a help wanted sign for "a secret organization that no one is to know about but sign on and we guarantee your life will never be dull or boring," but he knew it had to be rebuilt . A different location in the city, a different purpose, with a code of conduct signed by all preventing a return of Torchwood One's fate.
And he knew the people who he'd put in management.
He was lost in contemplation of the how's and the why's, much less an argument for the Queen as to why Torchwood London needed to be rebuilt, as he closed the front door of his flat. He felt scruffy; he hadn't bothered shaving that morning but as it was his day off, he felt entitled to a day without shaving. And a day without a suit. His jeans and sweater had made for comfortable driving, and that day was all about not thinking business but thinking personal. He'd needed time away from the structured, put-together Ianto he normally portrayed for his coworkers, but today was his and tonight he felt emotionally exhausted.
The bottle of whiskey and Chinese take away in his hands were evidence. No patience or countenance to cook.
"I hope you got enough for two, I'm starving."
Ianto nearly dropped the goods in his hands when he heard Jack's voice from his couch, his typical snark but far softer than Ianto had heard from this Jack. How Jack had gotten in...no. Ianto knew better than to question that. Jack just would. "If you like Moo Goo Gai Pan. It's my favorite and all I ordered."
Jack just jumped from the couch with a smile and urged Ianto into the kitchen, filling the air with nattering about the day as they sat at the table to eat. Ianto didn't mind, it was actually kind of pleasant while they ate, distracting him from the full force of the day that was certain to hit him at some point. It had been easier than he'd expected to return, not something he'd wish to do daily but maybe...maybe he would return next year as well.
"And then I caught Tosh and Myfanwy having sex in the pterodactyl's nest."
Ianto blinked, staring at the chopsticks he held motionless for who knew how long, uncertain whether or not he had heard Jack correctly. "I assume they used protection?" was the best he could come up with, setting the chopsticks down and pushing his half-eaten plate away.
Jack laughed, a rich sound echoing off all the corners of the kitchen. "Not paying attention, were you?"
"Not really." Ianto admitted, assuming Tosh and Myfanwy really hadn't had sex in the pterodactyl's nest, but he'd double check the CCTV footage to make sure.
"I was a bit surprised when you didn't show up to work today. Got an earful from Owen about my insensitivity when I asked where you were. He actually threw a book at me."
"Sorry." But Ianto really wasn't as he poured two glasses of whiskey after he'd thrown the leftovers in the fridge. He couldn't have done what he did today with Jack hanging on his shoulder. Or flirting with everyone. Oddly enough, Ianto felt remarkably selfish in wanting the day for himself. There had been no room for Jack there, in the gardens or in the pub. "I assume you're not leaving."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
Ianto took that to mean Jack was not leaving and he handed the second glass to Jack as he walked to the living room to sit on the couch, bottle of whiskey in hand. Jack followed, sitting beside him on the couch. "Hold up, Owen threw a book at you? Didn't know he could read."
Jack snorted as he took a sip of whiskey but wasn't deterred by Ianto's deflection. "You survived. I read the reports. Nearly 800 died, but you survived."
Closing his eyes, Ianto took a deep breath as he rested his head on the back of the couch. It had been almost easy talking with the other survivors who all knew each other well enough to tease and joke. He'd actually heard the Dalek's weapons referred to as 'toilet plungers' and the Cybermen's conversion units as 'NHS-sanctioned cosmetic surgery.' He'd laughed till he'd cried after getting over his initial hesitation. After all, the man who'd joked about it had only one eye. If anyone could joke about conversion units and cosmetic surgery, it'd be him. "Didn't quite feel like dying that day."
"But you were willing to die for me."
"Yes," Ianto replied simply, downing the glass of whiskey and pouring another. The combined alcohol of the day was sure to rot his liver, but this day was his. No Jack or questions were going to deter him from making this day his. Even if it was to drink until he passed out on the couch, as per his usual Anniversary days. "I rescued one from Torchwood One, my girlfriend. Sneaked her into the lower levels of Torchwood Three after my transfer. She wasn't fully converted, but I was certain..." Ianto stared at his glass, swirling the dark amber liquid before continuing, "I died the day she escaped. Quite literally, actually. You brought me back."
"And I didn't know you had a Cyberman tucked away in the basement?" At Ianto's negative response, Jack's grin broadened. "Just when I think I have you figured out, Ianto Jones..."
"I nearly restarted the Earth's destruction. I hardly think that's anything to smile about."
"But it didn't happen. And you tricked me. Trust me, Ianto, for whatever anger there was, I was equally impressed that you managed to con me, if not slightly scared that it wouldn't happen again."
Ianto didn't know if that really helped his state of mind, but apparently he had just impressed this Jack. He wasn't so certain it was a good thing. "I didn't set out to deceive you. I wanted to save what I could, to save Lisa. I failed."
"So you failed to save a partially-converted Cyberman." Ianto looked blankly, if not angered, at Jack and wondered where this now-serious man had come from. "If you hadn't been focused on saving Lisa, would you have transferred to Cardiff?" At Ianto's negative head shake, Jack continued, "you would have stayed in London, possibly even working for your mother and we know how that turned out. Not to mention, you wouldn't have run Torchwood Three in my absence - yes, I'm aware that you stepped in for myself. And you rescued me, Avalon and destroyed Torchwood Four. I'd say it's a damned good thing you came to Cardiff, intentions or no."
He opened his mouth to argue, then shut it again, opting to take a swig of whiskey instead. Put like that, his move to Cardiff had been a positive. But maybe a different Secretary would have been a better choice, maybe one more experienced. And that was the hazard of playing what-ifs. Ianto could drown himself in what-ifs all night. All the same, fates seemed to be watching out for him, twice with Rani, once with Jack, though even Ianto wasn't sure how he managed to escape death in the Battle. "I don't know how I survived London. I remember only flashes, I remember fire and screams."
"Don't think it matters how you did, only that you did."
Strangely enough, Ianto couldn't disagree. With victory came consequences, even ones as convoluted as his victory of life during the Battle. He wasn't sure that it was the best way, but it was the only path now in hindsight. Since he didn't have an answer, he turned on the telly instead, sitting shoulder-to-shoulder with not-Jack, a man whose very existence within time didn't matter so much as that he was present within Ianto's.
***
Next week...
Ianto jumped at the sounds of the obnoxious ring bleating throughout the Hub. It was loud enough to disrupt their morning meeting, but then, Ianto had designed it that way.
His stomach sank into his shoes as he pushed aside his chair, racing for the phone which lit with each ring. Over, and over. The others were confused and shouting their questions over the loud tones; they hadn't even noticed the addition of the phone, but Ianto knew.
He knew it shouldn't be ringing.
Quickly, he recited his code, smiling a bit in response to the identifying code he received in return.
"Sheppard. I take it this isn't a personal call?"
"I don't suppose you're aware of two ships above Cardiff, are you?"
***
Ianto rang his father while he flipped through requisition forms and pages of chemical equations, symbols, diagrams, and notes that should have made sense but in the waking hours of the morning after yet another sleepless night, the numbers and letters might as well have been gibberish.Broderick would be awake, though. He was always at his store at a ridiculous hour to get the shop ready for the day, but Ianto knew it was code for sampling the day's pastries with a fresh mug of coffee while reading a worn paperback novel.
Pleasantries out of the way, Ianto didn't wait for conversations about the weather, his job, or the number of sunny days in Cardiff. He didn't have time for that, not really. Not when he was preparing for battle. "Mom knew she was going to die, didn't she." Statement, not a question. It had taken Ianto a while to feel strong enough to sift through those memories of Avalon and the conversation with his father, but he'd finally filtered through them. Details about the assailant at the hospital were catalogued with the woman who had tried to take Rani -- neither Torchwood Four employees, but given the information about Tiffany Woodbridge, Ianto would say that Torchwood Four was recruiting. A frightening prospect. His father's lack of surprise, however, had been moved from the unexplained aspects of his father to the understood. "So it comes to this." "And she told you."
His father's silence was all the acknowledgment Ianto needed. Of course it wasn't outside the realm of possibility -- Ms. White had had clairvoyants living just a door away.
"What else did she tell you?" Ianto heard the voice of his father echo through his mind, forgotten shadows of the past. "But I know you'll do what's best." "What do you know?"
Ianto heard the distinct sounds of his father taking a drink of his coffee, reminding him of the pot kept warm on the counter in his kitchen. Owen had actually told him to lay off the coffee a bit after a physical revealed an elevation in blood pressure and borderline anemia. A product of stress, Ianto knew, but he had promised Owen to take better care of himself.
He chased an iron supplement with an entire pot of coffee that night, just to spite Owen.
"No more than you, I imagine."
Rubbing his temples, Ianto refrained from banging his head on the surface of the table. "She knew and did nothing to prevent it."
"Maybe she knew and did everything she could to ensure that it happened."
"What?" Ianto felt more than heard his voice escalate despite his best measures not to wake the individuals sleeping in the next room. Jack and Stephen had both grabbed available surfaces for sleep at various points in the night, after extracting confirmations from Ianto that he would get some rest as well. "Be careful, son." He refused to believe it. There was no ... she wouldn't have put the lives of the children at risk. She wouldn't have chosen that; Ianto knew with a certainty she wouldn't risk the children of Avalon. There had been far too many deaths -- Lana's club, at Avalon, the Guardians protecting those who wished not to stay at Avalon ... she wouldn't have made those sacrifices for sake of some greater good.
Speechless, Ianto sat back in his chair as he tried to formulate a response not crafted from caffeine-fueled nerves or the sugar buzz from the chocolate bar, certainly not on Owen's approved diet, registering but ignoring Stephen and Jack who had joined him in the kitchen. His stomach rolled as he considered the possibilities and all that had transpired during the tenure of Ms. White at Avalon and Torchwood, a notion so repulsive that Ianto could hardly choke out the words. "The Battle. Did she work to ensure Torchwood One's destruction as well?"
His father's sigh traveled through to Ianto's ear. "No future is certain, Ianto, you know this. Your mother made her choices and it's not up to you or I to determine which were right or wrong. How can we, since time is left before us, our own lives to live?"
Ianto stared at the door of his fridge, the white edges blurring and blending with its surroundings until just a fuzzy white mass was all that remained. Not a fridge, just a form lacking meaning when all the meaning was held within the name. Is that how his mother had viewed her life, decisions forming a path marked by blurred objects all interconnected and fluid? Even the Battle, small and minuscule when one stepped back from linear time to see the whole rather than the moment identified by a name.
He'd never felt so small. Or so lost. "Who are you, Dad?"
"Ah, but that's not the proper question," his father replied. "What you are asking, Ianto Llacheu Jones, is who are you, and that is an answer known only by you."
He hung up on his father, forgoing proper manners in his frustration. Ianto stared at the phone, hesitating for a moment before throwing it at the white mass; a refrigerator by name, a solid object capable of shattering electronics by occupation. He watched as the cordless broke, plastic parts splintering and flying in direction and speed proportioned to the velocity and angle in which it was thrown. The action cost Ianto his home phone, but at the same time, made him feel moderately better, though he was no closer to answers than when he had first phoned his father.
"Good morning to you, too, Sunshine," Jack drolled from the doorway, arms crossed and leaning so much like the Jack Ianto knew that he was once again almost fooled by the similarities. Stephen didn't say anything, just handed a broom to Ianto without question.
***
Ianto tuned out the recapped reports by Owen, Tosh, and Gwen as to Torchwood's preparation status. Following his discovery of the chemical composition of the fire's fuel and the beast itself, Owen had taken the alien DNA and the chemical formulas and created an enzyme he claimed would break down the peptide bonds of the alien but because of alien protein structures would remain inert when encountering anything native to earth. Ianto doubted the complete accuracy of the statement, but lab tests performed on various substances (including Owen's own skin in an act of defiance to Ianto's questions. "Oi! Who sat through dreadfully boring organic chemistry here, you or me? Right, that would be me. So sod off and stick to coffee.") demonstrated a relative truth to Owen's claims.
Owen hadn't been alone in his research. A geneticist recommended by Sheppard ("he's Scottish, you'll at least understand him when he gets excited") had assisted at Mr. Black's request, although everyone else believed him to simply be a native of Glasgow and knowledgeable in the field. Oddly enough, despite Owen's initial protests at having a secondary researcher on the project, the two had developed a remarkable rapport, even if their communications were via email and phone since Sheppard refused to permit his scientist to come to Cardiff ("he's been through enough, I'm not having him involved in any of the crazy shit you guys in Cardiff have going on").
Despite the directive of Torchwood, Ianto had believed the information far too important to maintain only within the lands of Britain. He had sent the formulas as well as the production notes and dispersal units to the twelve other nations within his small consortium. He hadn't told them what it was for specifically, only that he strongly advised the synthesis of the compound and engineering of the units in anticipation of a possible future invasion. The other leaders, amazingly, hadn't questioned his directive as they understood the secrecy and paranoia that they all operated under, only requested that they be informed if and when the invasion began. Ianto really didn't think that there'd be a doubt once it started.
If it did.
He was certain it would, just that it was a matter of time. It was nearly nine months since the destruction of Torchwood Four, over four months since he and Gwen had discovered the dragon in the pipes.
Ianto was surprised Jack was still around. His time, even if Ianto had held him to his agreement, had long expired. But he was still there, still leading Torchwood Three and believing Ianto's conviction that a battle was coming. He'd asked Ianto once about what he'd meant when Ianto had questioned his father about who he was. Whether Ianto was simply trusting Jack far more than he ought because the lines between his Jack and this one were becoming more blurred daily, or if it was simply because he had grown reckless following the continued stress of anticipation, Ianto had responded that he didn't know anything more than his father was not from this time. Jack had taken it in stride and, over far too many glasses of whiskey one night, created wild tales of who he might be, from banished tyrants to rogue sons of kings to lost travelers, each getting more absurd as Jack's imagination ran wild. Apparently, Jack had enough galactic experience to have a vivid imagination. And quite the romantic streak, truth be told. Ianto would never have pegged his Jack or this one to hold such values, but it snuck into conversation occasionally, making Ianto grin at the extremes within the stories. When Jack weaved Ianto's father into a sordid tale of a prince on the run from the blushing virgins he'd "educated" and in search of his one true love, Ianto had finally laughed at the absurdity between that idea and his father -- much to Jack's delight as he preened like his only goal had been to make Ianto laugh.
Perhaps, it had.
Jack confused Ianto, wavering between obsessed stalker, concerned "boss," and indifferent, arrogant self-righteous twat, as Owen preferred to call him. Jack continued to maintain that the team meant nothing, that he was still around only for the kids, but sometimes, like the occasions when Jack dragged him out of the Hub for dinner because Ianto needed to get out more or to Lana's recently rebuilt club (though she was leaning more towards karaoke instead of comedy, of all things, though some singers Ianto rather believed were comedy acts) or to Ianto's with Stephen to study and build strategy to defend Cardiff in case of attack, sometimes it made Ianto question the truth of Jack's denial and his motivations. Not that Ianto still believed them malicious, but he wondered why Jack still stayed, even after nine months.
Immersed in quiet contemplation, Ianto jumped at the sounds of the obnoxious ring bleating throughout the Hub. It was loud enough to disrupt their morning meeting, but then, Ianto had designed it that way.
His stomach sank into his shoes as he pushed aside his chair, racing for the phone that lit with each ring. Over, and over. The others were confused and shouting their questions over the loud tones; they hadn't even noticed the addition of the phone, but Ianto knew.
He knew it shouldn't be ringing.
Quickly, he recited his code, smiling a bit in response to the identifying code he received in return. "Sheppard. I take it this isn't a personal call?"
"Mr. Black, I don't suppose you're aware of two ships above Cardiff, are you?"
The dead weight of his stomach in his shoes was the only thing preventing him from racing to Tosh's desk to run a scan of the skies above their heads. That and the cord attached to the phone. He didn't understand it though; their equipment alerted them to anything foreign, especially now when Tosh had keyed it to its most sensitive levels. "Coordinates," Ianto demanded rather than asked, waving at Tosh to head to her set of computers. Ianto shouted Sheppard's answer to Tosh while he transferred the call to his mobile, racing to Tosh's workstation while Jack and the others gathered around. Tosh plotted them and ran varying scans, finally gasping when they revealed no ship, no substance, just a lack of anything in two areas of space. Two massive areas of nothing.
"We are now," Ianto deadpanned while Gwen swore and phoned Rhys to instruct him to come to Torchwood immediately. What good that would do when Torchwood would most likely be a primary target, Ianto wasn't sure, but he allowed Gwen the satisfaction of doing something with a possible threat looming above their heads. Tosh squeaked (Ianto was fairly certain Jean-Luc would find that "cute") and pointed out a third abnormality in the scans, different from the other two. "Are you sure you haven't missed one, Sheppard? Our reports say three."
"Ah, well, there's an explanation for that. Don't suppose you'll let me in?"
Ianto frowned in confusion a moment, then pushed through the others to access Owen's desk, pulling up the CCTV footage for all entrances to Torchwood Three. A lone man in a non-descript navy blue uniform stood near the invisible lift, a mobile in his hand. "Three paces to your left, Sheppard. Then don't move." Ianto watched as Sheppard moved to the stone that would lower him into the Hub and entered the code to activate the lift.
He moved quickly to intercept, smirking in response to Sheppard's "cool!" as the lift finally reached the floor of the Hub. The mental image Ianto held of Sheppard failed to match the man's physical presence; for all Ianto had envisioned a square-jawed, burly, grey-haired military commander with an ease borne of experience and skill, he found himself face to face with a deceptively lithe, younger (older than Ianto, but younger than his father) man with a shock of dark hair in a scattered mess rivaling Jack's and a patch over his left eye. Not what he'd been expecting, the eye patch made him appear more rogue pirate than ex-military, but something in the hardened, hazel eye said he'd seen far more than his look belied.
Perhaps some of those stories he had told Ianto were true.
"Welcome to Torchwood Three, Colonel Sheppard. Ianto Jones," Ianto introduced himself, noting the awareness in Sheppard's eyes at the sound of his voice. He smoothly supplied the necessary information and hoped that Sheppard would follow his lead. "Mr. Black is away, but I'll notify him that you're visiting."
"Ianto, who's your friend?" Jack called from the railing; Ianto didn't miss the scowl, nor the deceptively casual posture as he watched Ianto shook Sheppard's hand, one hand resting on his sidearm. "And what's he doing in my base?"
If Ianto didn't know any better, he'd call Jack's tone "jealous."
Sheppard winked and Ianto knew his secret was safe; a quick straightening of his shoulders and Ianto led Sheppard to the others, providing introductions. "This is Colonel John Sheppard--"
"Retired," John drawled, and Ianto again wondered what part of the United States he was from; he certainly didn't sound like Wilson but then, Wilson hadn't really had a particular accent, either.
"Retired Colonel John Sheppard," Ianto corrected, "head of Torchwood's equivalent in the United States, covername JEM Aeronautics. Sheppard, Captain Jack Harkness, leader of Torchwood Three, Owen Harper, Toshiko Sato, and Gwen Cooper. While Jack was away, I took the liberty of establishing contact with their base," Ianto added when he realized the others were looking at him dubiously. He'd neglected that piece of information in his sheer relief that the ships had been spotted, forgetting that all Owen and Tosh knew of the base in the States was that they were the ones who had sent Wilson to spy on them.
"Tosh, set up the system to alert if those ships move, then join us in the conference room," Jack ordered. "Ianto? Are you expecting any more guests?"
Definitely angry, Ianto decided as he shook his head "no," knowing that he should have informed Jack of the United States base and the emergency line. It just hadn't crossed his mind to do so, and now Jack was angry. Definitely angry. Rightfully so, if Ianto was no more than a tea-boy. Jack was never one to be played the fool.
"Then let's adjourn to the conference room, shall we? Ianto, coffee for our guest?"
And Ianto felt once against the same pangs of dismissal as he'd felt when he'd first met Jack Harkness and with Ms. White, relegated again to his place of the lowest denominator, not as though Jack believed that his position, but to exert authority in the presence of one of his equals. He understood Jack's intent this time, however, nodding and quickly leaving to phone Stephen and make him aware of the situation. This was not a time to be angry with petty titles, much less who was in charge or fetching the coffee. And as Ianto believed himself correct in thinking, no time to be wasted on arguments.
They were here. And Ianto could only pray they were ready.
***
"--unable to ascertain their intent, but their geosynchronous orbit over Cardiff and lack of communication with the surface led us to believe they might be the invasion Mr. Black had warned us about."
Ianto entered the conference room carefully balancing a tray of coffee (tea, for Tosh) in one hand, his phone in the other. Stephen was on the other line, having been quickly debriefed and awaiting transference to the conference phone. Before calling Stephen, Ianto had alerted UNIT and the RAF of a possible imminent attack, as well as the Queen, namely to make sure she was under protection since she gave Ianto full support of any resource he requested or alert he was to broadcast in case of emergency.
Pausing to think about it, Ianto realized how awesome a power that was and how much it frightened him to wield it.
"Mr. Black for you, Colonel Sheppard," Ianto said by way of introduction, linking Stephen in through the polycomm in the conference room.
Sheppard smiled at Ianto and greeted "Mr. Black" over the speakerphone. "I was just updating your team on the situation. Twenty-four hours ago, we detected two anomalies approaching Earth at speeds inconsistent with asteroid or comet activity. Once the target location had been pinpointed, we dispatched our ship, the Spes Nostra, to monitor their approach. After we had confirmation of arrival, I contacted Torchwood Three via our emergency communication system."
There was silence before Stephen (Mr. Black) spoke up. "You have a ship?"
***
Tosh's alert sounded while they were eating an early lunch, or rather, while everyone enjoyed their pizza in the conference room and Ianto sat far removed from them all, drinking a coffee and eating the salad Tosh had brought for her own lunch before Jack had decided they needed take-away and Sheppard had chosen pizza as their guest. He'd heard Sheppard questioning after him, Owen answering that he had an aversion to pizza, for medical reasons, and Sheppard's questions stopped.
At times, Ianto almost liked Owen.
Ianto dropped his fork back into the salad and was the first to Tosh's computer, pulling up the radar images of dozens of blobs separated from the two positions in space Tosh had identified as the alien craft (not picked up on radar, but circled all the same). The blobs quickly dispersed out of range, but six remained in Cardiff airspace.
Sheppard was speaking into a communications device with Ianto assumed was his ship, Gwen clung to Rhys (their wedding couldn't have been better planned, Ianto thought, just a week away), Tosh held on to Jack's shirt and Owen ... well, Owen was finishing his slice of pizza like he'd never see pizza again.
Quite the chance, actually.
Not wanting to wait for the images to appear on the CCTV, Ianto ran for the Hub door, trailed by the rest of the team who seemed to be following just to have something to do rather than stare at the dots on the radar. They all crammed into the lift (Ianto was fairly certain it wasn't made for seven adults but it didn't plummet to the lowest level, so he assumed the cables were stronger than the warning label listed), bodies pressing against bodies but no one spoke a word. No one needed to. The breathing was loud, however, drowning the silence in adrenaline-fueled pants. He was almost certain he could hear the heartbeats race in anticipation, but surely that was a trick of Ianto's ears. Gwen was in a panic -- she had seen what Ianto had seen had was rightfully frightened but the others ... they had no idea. They were waiting to see if it was as big a threat as Ianto had deemed it.
Big, literally. Even Jack was skeptical.
The lift dinged their arrival to the surface and they all ran down the hall and out the Information Center to stare at the sky. They weren't the only ones; passersby stopped and stared too once they realized people were looking into the skies, curious by nature to see what was attracting attention.
They weren't difficult to spot, the blips from the radar. Against a startling blue sky, the oblong shapes were easy to find, growing larger as they plummeted towards the ground, burning white-red with the heat of entry. Someone started screaming; Ianto didn't bother to determine who it was, it wasn't really important anyway. But once that one individual started, the chorus joined as the wave traveled down the street. Terror jumped from person to person like a twisted game of phone gossip Ianto had played as a child, repeating itself down the line until the person screaming really had no concept why they were screaming, it just seemed appropriate to add to the cacophony. He could hear screams all around, echoing mass fear he hadn't witnessed since Torchwood One, echoing a fear he hadn't felt since Torchwood One. Not the Brecons, not the sewers, not any of the lesser aliens and demons they'd faced nor the labs at Torchwood Four; nothing held a candle to the strangling grasp of fear as it clawed at the throat and turned hope to ash.
The others, they thought they knew. They thought they understood. Maybe Abaddon had come close. But one can't witness the aftermath or read a report and feel that same trapped, ultimate terror for one's self, for one's family and friends, and for those all over the world that one had never met and probably never would but shared in exchange of breath and life the same time, the same space. That feeling of unity with all the peoples of Earth, an undercurrent of existence, threatened by the witness of an unbeatable foe.
If they didn't understand it before, they would feel it now.
Ianto felt others stand beside him, Jack at his right shoulder (he could smell Jack's aftershave), Sheppard at his left (a block of navy blue, a uniform if Ianto tore his focus from the sky). He could hear Tosh and Owen behind them above the din of terror filling the streets. Gwen and Rhys stood beside Tosh, standing more a single unit than two -- Ianto didn't need to see to know, nor did he need Jean-Luc's gifts; if his Jack were standing beside him instead of the other Jack, Ianto could see himself doing something similar, even if it was just to touch Jack's greatcoat.
Pathetic, he knew, and far beneath his title. But the Ianto of old, the Ianto with fewer responsibilities and naivety on his side, that Ianto still existed somewhere beneath the aged shell hardened by Torchwood. And that Ianto trembled as he watched.
God, he wished his Jack was there.
He wished Ms. White was still alive.
Actually, Ianto just wished he was wrong. Maybe he was.
"Jack..."
The sound of Gwen's voice drew Ianto from his wishes to the heavens; the white-hot oblong objects now cooled to a metallic dark silver sheen glinting sun off their curves.
It was a sunny day in Cardiff, Ianto's mind rebelled. This should not be happening on a sunny day in Cardiff.
Ianto saw what Gwen's voice had feared, a split running the length of the object, visible despite the distance. God, they were large and moving at speeds Ianto's mind could only calculate as "fast," if he had time to figure the trajectory and triangulate from his position and another point, but the objects were falling at too fast a rate, velocity setting course for impact with the Bay. It wasn't the landing that concerned Ianto, though, no matter how large the impact and subsequent shockwaves. The split worried him, pictures of napalm bombs burning across his mind like wildfire. They shouldn't be standing there, watching. They should be down in the relative protection offered by the Hub, preparing to battle whatever was coming. But his knees were locked, his feet rooted to the pavement, and Ianto couldn't help but stare along with everyone else.
Some protection Torchwood was against alien threat, staring into the skies like watchers of a train wreck.
It wasn't fuel that poured out of the split as Ianto had initially believed, a precursor to an explosion the likes of which Cardiff had never seen, nor would ever be aware of given that the combination of six explosions would obliterate all of Southern Britain, much less Cardiff. No, as the silver sides opened innocent as a ladybird taking off for flight, Ianto was certain of one thing.
He was right.
The halves fell away, shed armor no longer needed for protection as the threats revealed themselves in black-red blossoms unfurling in the sky. Their wingspans were massive, Ianto estimated at least forty meters as they spun out from their cocoon and soared on drafts of wind. Black wings, talon-tipped, stretched thin over a ribbed skeletal structure like the corset Gavin had purchased for Elaine after asking Ianto's opinion while shopping in London (that conversation had been awkward at best, but Gavin swore later that the purchase had resulted in the twins. Far more information than any brother or uncle needed to know).
The black bled into crimson over the expanse of the beast's chest, proud and bold and making no effort to blend into the sky as the scarlet streaked up its neck. Warriors, Ianto noted, catching the first glimpse of the alien's head. unlike the few that had been on Earth for some time, pale to be mistaken for clouds in the sky. The head was a massive onyx block of bone and flesh, looking much like what Ianto had imagined a dragon to look like only with a protruding forehead framed by what looked like horns. A monstrous mouth filled with pointed teeth opened to let loose a roar that quaked the ground Ianto stood upon; the answering bellows shattered store fronts and rattled the autos in the streets.
Ianto hated being right.
The beasts fanned out over the city, one angling towards the Information Center where Ianto stood with the others. Someone had a hand in the back of his jacket, he assumed it was Tosh as Gwen had Rhys and Owen ... Ianto felt it best not to consider that it was Owen.
"Ianto. Don't suppose your base is fireproof?"
Ianto jumped at the sound of Sheppard's drawl, pulling his eyes away from the dragon's forelimbs (not at all like a Tyrannosaurus Rex, these were proportionately long and clawed) to nod at Sheppard. "Yes." Belatedly, he realized they were standing in the open, an easy target for the approaching alien. Put him in danger and he froze. He was rubbish at this leading thing. "Yes, of course. Quickly."
It didn't take much to get the team moving once the question had been raised; all of them remembered Gwen and Ianto's report. Sprinting for the Information Center's door, Ianto jerked it open and ushered everyone in, keeping a watchful eye on the dragon that was far larger than the one in the sewers could have been. This one was built for war, down to its clubbed tail -- not aerodynamic by any means, but then, they didn't have to be built for speed.
A black-red dragon.
The color of the icing dragon on his birthday cake almost two years ago.
He didn't have time to contemplate the coincidence, just pushed the heavy door leading to the lift shut as the Information Center burst into flames.
***
"We're tracking six dragons in Cardiff, five en route to London. Ianto? What's the status of UNIT and the RAF?"
Ianto joined the conversation at Tosh's desk, having used the excuse to notify the military units to alert all of the nations on the emergency band from the conference room. Hopefully he'd given them enough warning to be be prepared.
But really, how does one prepare for dragons?
"Deploying squadrons armed with munitions filled with the enzyme as well as standard missiles." Ianto took the proffered canisters and hefted the straps over his shoulders. He felt like a fucking Ghostbuster with this setup (wouldn't Jean-Luc be amused?), but the packs had been one of the few methods of effective pedestrian delivery they came up with in the relatively short amount of time they had to prepare. Trials with launched weaponry failed, the heat generated by the launch destroyed the enzyme. The only thing that had worked were the modified flame throwers and slingshot-style delivery of the enzyme. Given they had no information on the protection or armor of the aliens, they hadn't wanted to depend solely on standard issue weaponry, though when they'd seeded the city with caches of weapons, Ianto had made sure they were well supplied with arms that, in Jack's terms, "made things go boom." But their first line of defense was the enzyme -- if it worked, though Owen and his Scottish cohort assured them it would.
The absurdity of the plan did not escape Ianto: they were going to fight dragons with water balloons. His nephews would be so proud.
"Sheppard?"
"My ship's staying in orbit over Cardiff," Sheppard said as he slung a sack of the "balloons" over his shoulder. His ship had some how teleported all of his gear into the Hub, from TAC vest to what looked like semi-automatic guns. Ianto still wasn't sure how that had worked but when he'd asked Sheppard, the man had just smirked. Damned national secrets. "A dozen pods are headed towards North America, but in response to Mr. Black's emergency broadcast, the U.S. and Canada have already launched intercepts. My crew's trying to figure a way past the two cloaked ships' shields, but so far, they haven't had much luck."
Ianto found himself on the receiving end of Jack's stare, not quite as intimidating knowing that this wasn't the Jack stare of old, but unnerving all the same. The man was plotting something and it didn't escape Ianto that this would be a most inopportune time for Jack to choose to leave. He could, Ianto knew; there was nothing tying Jack to this time and he'd long since stayed past his initial six month agreement. When they struck the streets, Torchwood Three would be left vulnerable to Jack or alien attack. Lacking alternative, Ianto returned the stare, hoping Jack would understand the lengths Ianto would go to seeking revenge if Jack should choose this moment to leave. At one time, his sister had threatened it, but Ianto was rather confident in himself that he would carry through if Jack ran now.
"Where is Mr. Black?" Gwen chimed in, splitting her attention between Ianto and Jack. The tension wasn't surprising; Ianto and Jack had been at odds since Jack had "returned," at least through the eyes of the others. But that Gwen would attempt to diffuse it, that was different.
"Returning from business in Glasgow. He should arrive in Cardiff shortly," Ianto supplied, not once looking away from Jack. To his credit, Jack never turned away either.
"Tosh and Owen, head to Cardiff Castle -- yes, Owen, you're going to fight dragons from a castle. If your position is compromised, your secondary location is Llandaff Cathedral. Gwen and Rhys, you're with me. We'll start with the beast who had the gall to destroy our Information Center." Jack paused, whether for dramatic effect or hesitation, Ianto wasn't sure. "Ianto, you're with Sheppard. Head east towards Splott and Rumney. Hopefully we can stave off the worst of it till the cavalry arrives."
His first impulse was to protest, strong as it was Ianto had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep himself silent. He was being separated from the team, and most importantly, from monitoring Jack. Every instinct, every cell of his being violently protested Jack's order, which Ianto could counter-instruct if he chose. He knew he could, could demand Jack stay with him, and send Gwen and Rhys off with Sheppard. But, he realized what Jack was asking.
Trust him.
Trust him not only to stay and fight, but trust his decisions. Jack could go with Ianto, but Ianto knew the captain didn't trust Sheppard to watch out for one Torchwood and one civilian. Ianto could go with them, but he couldn't maintain communications and coordinate the global response to the alien threat as Mr. Black unless he revealed it to Gwen, a prospect not exactly pleasing. Which left him joining Sheppard. And leaving Jack, trusting him with the team, trusting him with Torchwood Three, trusting him with Ianto's Jack.
Ianto wanted to, he really did. If it was his Jack, he'd trust without question in this situation. But Cardiff would burn, and he really didn't have another option.
He nodded, casting a glance at Tosh's monitor for the dragon's locations in the city. "The lift to the Plass looks clear, they seemed to be aware of the Information Center but not the Hub's location. I'll take Sheppard through the other exit, it'll sneak us into Splott."
"I thought there were only two entrances into Torchwood Three?"
Tosh was cute when she was perplexed, Ianto decided, making a mental note to share the image with Jean-Luc, perhaps minus the "cute" label as Jean-Luc was not a happy jealous man. Not that Ianto had any deigns on Tosh, but he could appreciate why Jean-Luc was so smitten. He smiled, refusing to comment on how or why he knew; they most certainly did not need a reminder of Lisa at this time. "I'll show you when we get back."
The group stood in silence, staring at each other as if everyone realized at the same time that this could be the last time they stood together. There were dragons topside; it wasn't every day one went to battle with beasts taller than a greater percentage of the buildings who breathed fire and wrecked destruction where they went.
"So, I'm supposed to say something inspirational and motivating, aren't I?" Jack asked, the frozen moment broken as shaky laughter filled the room. "Maybe a prayer?"
"Oi, a prayer from you, Harkness? You're--"
Ianto cleared his throat, cutting off Owen's tirade before the insults flew and they forgot to leave. He grabbed a "balloon" from Tosh's desk and began, struggling all the while to maintain a steady voice. "Oh Lord, bless this thy hand grenade, that with it thou mayest blow thine enemies to tiny bits, in thy mercy."
Tosh's laughter shook the room, loud and echoing in the confused silence that followed. Trust Tosh to recognize the quote. She'd been around for the display at Torchwood Four, after all. Stepping forward, Tosh kissed his cheek, giggling all the while. "Just a harmless little bunny."
He winked and gave her a quick hug, awkward as it was with all their equipment and weapons. "Come back to us, Toshiko Sato," he quoted back, letting her go, hoping without doubt that his words would come true. If for nothing else, for Jean-Luc. He stood warily, watching with an arched brow as Owen's face cascaded through a variety of expressions until he finally cursed and hugged Ianto like he was a prickly hedgehog, stepping away nearly as quickly.
"I'm shite with burns. Don't get torched."
Coming from Owen, that could be a declaration of love. Ianto just grinned and shrugged away his surprise, tossing the extra "balloon" to the doctor. "Let's hope this miracle of yours works."
Gwen's stranglehold came next; Ianto knew she hadn't forgotten their adventures in the sewers. At least she'd have Jack and Rhys looking out for her, or rather, at least Rhys had her looking out for him. Above her head, he noticed Jack and Sheppard exchanging words, but he couldn't read their lips from that angle, and Gwen was distracting him anyways. "Take care of each other," Ianto gestured at both Rhys and Gwen, and the serious smiles said it all. "You have a wedding to attend in a week, don't want to be late for your own ceremony."
Rhys distracted Gwen with threats if she was late to her own wedding and Tosh and Owen exchanged hugs with the couple as well. It was funny, they faced life and death every day, this should be nothing new. Throwing themselves out in the line of fire, protecting the innocent inhabitants, it was common, really. But this, this was different. Ianto could taste it in the air (along with the faint hint of smoke from the burning Information Center, separated as they were by stone and a firedoor), he could feel the tension and the apprehension. The others realized, despite all their other earlier experiences, that this wasn't a game. The thrill was gone from their job. They finally understood. And perhaps that was a little bit scary. This was something he'd missed at Torchwood One, however, as coworkers had panicked and run screaming into the halls despite their experience. One never knew how they'd react to unimaginable terror. Torchwood Three was learning.
There was only Jack left of the team, and Ianto made no movement to broach the distance between he and Jack. Jack's conversation with Sheppard had ended and now it was just a return to staring; the others seemed to notice as well as the din grew quiet, the only sounds the steady trickle of water down the fountain into the pool. Ianto moved first, extending his hand to Jack in the only fashion he knew acceptable given the circumstances. It wasn't Jack. No matter how he wished him to be, this wasn't the man he had grown to care for, though the past months had given him more reason to care for the elder, if that were possible. He didn't like trusting Jack to the team, he didn't like leaving Jack to his own devices, but it was Jack and he had stayed when he could have left. Ianto at least had to commend the honor in that decision.
Honor seemed displaced as Jack refused Ianto's hand, opting instead to roughly pull him forward. Unbalanced by the equipment and the force, Ianto found himself in Jack's arms, hands holding his jaw steady as Jack pressed a hard kiss to his lips, moving so quickly Ianto had little time to react in protest or agreement. The lips were gone before Ianto could even blink in surprise; just a fleeting action, Ianto would question its actual existence if not for the silence in the Hub.
"Good luck," was all Ianto could think to respond, nodding once at Jack before he gestured for Sheppard to follow him into the lower levels of Torchwood Three towards the tunnels that would lead them to Splott.
It wasn't his Jack, but as Ianto licked his lips, he realized he still tasted the same.
***
"So, you and Jack?"
Ianto would have stumbled if not for Sheppard's steadying hand as they scrambled over the debris of a fallen housing unit. "No." Dusting off his suit trousers, Ianto amended, "Yes. In the past."
A dragon had certainly tore through the area prior to Sheppard and Ianto arriving, and for that Ianto was both frustrated and relieved. Frustrated they missed the beast, relieved that they did. He shouldn't feel that way -- he knew it was his duty to protect the citizens of Britain but guiltily, he felt a bit of relief for the reprieve, short but it might be. He'd be lying to himself to say otherwise.
"What happened?"
Stepping over charred ruins, Ianto considered the question. "He changed." Which, he did. On a time-scale.
"I changed into a bug once."
Ianto couldn't help but blink in surprise. Following conversations with Sheppard was nearly as difficult as Jack, though usually Jack's leaps in thought maintained a semblance of human normality, even if it did involve sex in impossible positions with multi-limbed aliens.
"What?" Sheppard grinned and adopted the worst English accent Ianto had ever heard. "I got better!"
Smiling despite himself, and not wanting to believe Sheppard for a moment, but at the same time, the manner in which he was accepting all the strangeness of the day led Ianto to believe that this was not an extraordinary circumstance. In fact, Sheppard seemed almost comfortable with it all. "Is that how you .. ?" Ianto touched his eye and gestured towards Sheppard's patch.
"Lost a bet, had to play pirates for the month." At Ianto's disbelieving look, Sheppard turned away, scanning the skies and the surface for what Ianto assumed was the dragon they tracked. "We became overconfident, overstepped our knowledge. We lost the city, but managed to save our people. An eye was a small price."
This time, it was Ianto who lent the hand when Sheppard started an ungainly slide down a pile of rubble. Ianto waited until Sheppard had found his balance again before checking his PDA for an update on Tosh's tracking program. Pointing in the new direction, Ianto shifted the pack on his shoulders and continued walking. "We lost nearly 800 when our arrogance superseded logic. For Queen and country." With a snort, Ianto tapped his PDA, pulling up the contact information for the twenty-four other survivors, staring at the numbers. He didn't need the device for recall, but it was good to stop and ponder the decision, seeing the names written in text like stars on a nameless monument. Forget the rebuilding of Torchwood One; he had a job for those in London.
"You're a lot older than you look, Mr. Black," Sheppard commented after a moment, pausing as they stopped for breath, the weight of their packs and weapons more than either was used to carrying.
Ianto grinned. "And you're a lot younger than you sound."
Sharp, barking laughter filled the air as Ianto punched in the first number.
***
"Remind me of the plan?"
Ianto dove out of the way as a section of the wall they were using as a shield collapsed. Sheppard landed right beside him, a louder thump as debris bounced off Ianto's back and shoulders -- mostly tiny particles but occasionally something larger struck him. He would be one massive bruise come morning, if they survived. A quick glance at Sheppard confirmed the man's state of relative good health; they were both covered in grime, small cuts, and coal-black cinder, but they were alive. "Head east. Defend Earth from alien invasion."
"Just making sure we weren't deviating." Sheppard grimaced and rolled to a seated position. Ianto took a deep breath then followed suit, rubbing a shoulder as he stood to look out the glassless window. The dragon had moved away from them for the moment, colliding with trees and crashing into buildings blindly. People were still running in a panic on the streets, but for the moment, the massive beast's attention was not on them; not while its leathery skin bubbled and oozed, its massive head thrashing wildly as it clawed at sightless eyes. It had seemed a good idea at the time: shoot the enzyme at the creature's eyes since they didn't have nearly enough to do immediate damage to outright kill the beast. The enzyme worked just as it was supposed to, destroying the proteins of the dragon hide; there was just a lot of dragon to chew through.
Of course, once the animal was blind, Splott became the blind bull's china shop. A problematic solution, at best.
Ianto had located one of the caches of weapons, sealed behind locks the best thieves of Cardiff couldn't pick. They'd nearly exhausted the supply of ammunition fighting the dragon, bullets bouncing harmlessly off the dragon's hide until the enzyme had opened a patch, revealing the tissue to injury. Took a lot of bullets, though, and even with the help of a few brave citizens of Splott who insisted on picking up a gun and firing as well (Ianto's weapons training had not possessed Jack's seductive flair, mostly consisting of "safety off. Point. Shoot. Don't die.") they had yet to actually kill the beast. The rows of housing units had suffered for the battle; the bulging bony mass on the dragon's head acted as a battering ram, as did the club tail. Not to mention, the creature had a blast range of about fifty meters with its stream of fire. Took three minutes to recharge, but at this rate, there would be little left of Splott if they didn't bring down the beast.
George (at least Ianto thought that was his name, he couldn't keep the three men straight in his head what with the angry, injured dragon intent on killing them. He remembered Dolly, though, the brazen woman who'd come running out of her store front like a hellion, angry and shooting at the dragon after it had destroyed her store's sign. Ianto rather liked her) waved at Ianto and Sheppard from his sheltered location behind another ruined building; Ianto gave a half wave in return, acknowledging that they were okay. The man's eyes widened almost comically; Ianto thought it was just an expression, but no, the man's eyes grew almost larger than his face as he looked not at Ianto but up. Ianto closed his eyes and took a deep breath, then turned and looked up at the sky, the roof long torn away by the tail of their dragon Sheppard had taken to calling "Tim."
Dragons in full view were actually larger than they appeared.
This one (not Tim, gods, they'd gotten another) hovered above the structure, wings fanning a breeze reeking of sulfur and burnt timber, heated to a point just about boiling like the burn of jet engines from a hundred paces. Ianto felt the distinct reversal in the air current and grabbed onto Sheppard's uniform, pulling him to his feet and at an angle perpendicular to the dragon's aim. "Move!"
They sprinted over rubble, hurdling interior walls and furniture as the air exploded behind them. Clearing the structure, Ianto skidded to a halt, pointing to the right as Tim roared and backpedaled in agony, its taloned feet blocking their path and coming perilously close to squashing Ianto where he stood.
A scream of another sort drew Ianto's attention as he and Sheppard ran, angling in the direction of the remains of their weapons cache. The sounds of the fighter jets attracted the focus of the healthy dragon as well, and it launched itself into the skies towards the aerial resistance. The steady thumping rhythm of helicopter blades joined the symphony, music to Ianto's ears -- they were having enough difficulty with one injured dragon, much less two. And they were out of the enzyme, the flame throwing pack discarded long ago, their supply of "balloons" exhausted as well, splattered about Tim's hide and eyes.
Ducking under the broken, sagging door frame, Ianto scanned the remaining weapon as he absently answered his ringing phone. Rapid, excited Mandarin filled his ear and he calmly offered his advice to the Chinese leader on how to handle the four dragons in the skies of Beijing, all the while frantically searching for anything which would finally put an end to their battle with Tim. The Chinese government was hesitant to fire upon the dragons; Ianto did his best to dispel any notion of legend and tradition. The dragons were not gods nor spirits of ancestors nor champions of animal-kind. Ending the call with a terse "just kill the damned fire-breathing aliens" (roughly translated, of course. Ianto hoped the meaning was still applicable in Mandarin as it was intended), Ianto crowed his success as he held up a bazooka; ducking when Sheppard turned his gun on him and started firing. Not at him, Ianto noticed with a distinct lack of pain following the rapid gunfire and after he remembered to breathe, but beside him. Behind him. Ianto turned and stared at the Weevil lying in a bloody mess on the floor.
"What the fuck is that thing?"
"Weevil," Ianto said as he kicked the creature to make sure it was dead. Of course, a battle for the rights to Earth would not be complete without Weevils to complicate matters. Really, while the Earth was open and available for the taking, why not post an intergalactic sign pointing to Earth with a discount price blinking and squatter's rights for the unclaimed areas. "Denizens of the underground. Usually they're not out in daylight." Scowling, Ianto hefted the bazooka over his shoulder, grabbing the case of missiles to arm it. "Usually it's a bag and save, but at the moment, we hardly have the time to subdue, let alone cage."
An explosion in the skies caused both Ianto and Sheppard to look up after they left the ruins of the shelter, armed to the teeth with what few weapons remained. The dragon still flew ("Bill," Sheppard had named it) while fire and smoke danced on the wind, the remains of an aircraft tumbling to the ground.
"Shit."
Ianto nodded, setting the heavy case on the ground, their dragon still bouncing off buildings and running over autos like a bloody pinball machine. It launched a plume of fire wildly, luckily hitting nothing of consequence as the air burned. There were still jets in the skies, firing missile after missile, some loaded with the enzyme, some not. From Bill's pained roars, it sounded like damage was being wrought, but as they'd learned, a lot was required to take these things down.
His phone rang again, this time Germany on conference with France and Egypt, sharing their success in garbled streams of half-English and the language of the speaker's choice. They had tracked two dragons over Syrian and Iranian airspace; both France and Egypt had sent support to help defend those nations. Germany had launched planes of their own to assist Russia and the Scandinavian countries under attack. Their victories had not been without loss, but as Ianto discharged his gun into two charging Weevils threatening Sheppard as he loaded the rocket launcher, he realized that they might very well be winning this battle.
At the sounds of close gunfire, the leaders of Germany, France, and Egypt all began offering their assistance to Britain, willing to spare whatever forces necessary to help with the onslaught of over a dozen dragons terrorizing the single country. Ianto thanked them, but insisted they help the countries without military air support as the skies were fairly crowded over Cardiff and London (and hopefully Glasgow as well; he had yet to hear anything from Torchwood Two and he grew concerned).
He hung up in time to hear Sheppard shout at "yipee-ki-yay, mother fucker" (trust Sheppard to be a fan of John McClane) as he fired the bazooka at Tim. Ianto was so focused watching the trail of smoke as it spun towards dragon that the shockwave and blast from the skies knocked him to his knees. He looked up in time to see the remnants of a massive explosion not far above their heads, the jets and helicopters streaking away as fast as possible.
Holy shite. They'd killed Bill.
A secondary explosion rattled Ianto's ears just fractions of a second after the air had exploded above their heads, Sheppard's rocket had hit its target, ripping one wing clean off and tearing a gaping hole in the other. Ianto almost pitied the beast, thrashing about as it was and keening in pain. Almost, until the clubbed tail swept over his and Sheppard's heads, both men falling flat to the ground to protect themselves. Ianto grabbed the bazooka once the tail had found a building to thump, satisfying Tim's need for destruction for the time being. Quickly, Ianto prepped the launcher with the one remaining rocket, hoping that George and Dolly and the others were out of the immediate danger zone.
With Sheppard shouting curses behind him (at least, Ianto thought they were curses; sound was rather spotty), he darted towards Tim, firing his gun to attract the attention of the blind alien. Ears still ringing from the previous explosions, Ianto shouted taunts at the dragon while he fired bullets into the steaming, bubbling mass of flesh being consumed by the enzyme. The smell was terrible this close, the sour, rotting fumes coming off the dragon enough to make him vomit, but Ianto refrained, focusing instead on causing enough noise to distract the dragon from its pain. Sure enough, his plan worked and as Sheppard caught up to him, Ianto hoisted the weapon to his shoulder, waiting for the precise moment...
Between facing down the barrel of a gun and the stretched, toothed jaws of a dragon, Ianto would have to opt for the gun as his preferred method of sheer terror with the knowledge of possible imminent death. Tim's neck swung and stretched towards the sounds of Ianto's voice and as Ianto distractedly noted that the beast's throat was a bright shade of green, he pressed the trigger on the bazooka. He felt the recoil of the launcher as arms wrapped around his waist and Sheppard yelled in his ear. The curling trail of smoke from the missile formed a circle from Ianto's point of view and as it flew towards the green target, Ianto closed his eyes, pretending for a moment the arms around his waist were someone else's.
***
The shock of cool air forced Ianto's eyes open and he looked about in surprise, smelling the acrid smoke from the bazooka still resting on his shoulder but no hint of sulfur and, most importantly, feeling no percussion blast.
"Welcome aboard the Spes Nostra, Ianto."
Still reeling from the change of environment to answer Sheppard, Ianto turned slowly to take in his surroundings, noting that Sheppard's hands were nearly as slow in pulling away from the grip about his waist. He was on a ship, the Bridge, if Ianto wasn't mistaken. The first thing he noticed was a panoramic view of Earth in her full splendor out the main window, looking innocent and pure in her blue-white-green marbled curve. Ianto stared, his breath struck by the sight, the ringing in his ears dulling as he heard a female voice asking questions and poking and prodding the observable injuries to Ianto's skin, the weapon on his shoulder disappearing to assist her efforts.
Other men and women, all dressed in the same navy blue uniform, raced about while frantically inputting data into tablet PCs and ship consoles unlike any Ianto had seen before -- not that he frequently boarded space ships to know what typical consoles looked like, but they definitely did not appear of Earth origin. An argument between a pony-tailed man and a man with a slightly receding hairline erupted in one corner; Ianto wasn't sure what it was about but he did have to smile at the creative derogatory terms the one used to insult the intelligence of the pony-tailed man. Something about the alien ships' shields, impervious to any weapon on board the Spes Nostra, though the pony-tailed man argued that until they tried, they'd never know. Ianto found himself agreeing with the other's belief that to give away their position in space would be an irrevocable error, and almost added his comment when the fiery physician snapped another question at him.
"I'm fine, thank you for your concern. Please, if you'll excuse me." Turning to find Sheppard in heated conversation with another man, remarkably tall and clad in not the navy blue uniforms of the others but in leather and tunic revealing scattered tattoos and a few scars. He reminded Ianto of a lion with his mane of dreds and fierce expression. The conversation between he and Sheppard ended as Ianto approached. Ianto would have felt guilty for interrupting, but he had other concerns on his mind once he got past the shock and awe of "I'm on a fucking space ship!" "Sheppard? I can't thank you enough for your crew's timely intervention, but I can't stay. If you'll please return me to Cardiff, I'm assuming what brought me here can send me back?"
The other man grunted and turned away, leaving an amused Sheppard behind. "He likes you."
Ianto wasn't quite sure how to respond. "I ... yes, well, pass my sincere thanks." Somehow, despite the cuts and bruises and ash, Sheppard still looked remarkably collected and calm. Ianto wondered if he exuded the same aura, or if that was something won by age and experience, not just the luck Ianto seemed to run on. Sheppard appeared to consider Ianto's request, like there was an option to his response, and Ianto's patience grew thin. "You have no right to keep me here."
Sheppard paused as he took the two bottles of water offered by one of his crew, passing one on to Ianto. He took a long pull from the bottle before answering. "I made a promise, you know. If you were in danger, I was to protect you through any means necessary. Including safe retreat aboard my ship."
Indignant fury boiled through Ianto, leaving him momentarily speechless as he scrolled through all the possible forms of painful retribution he would exact upon one Captain Jack Harkness when he returned to Earth. So that had been the purpose of Jack and Sheppard's conversation: to make sure Ianto was carefully tucked away while Britain burned and fell to the conquests of their alien invaders. "I swore an oath when I accepted my position, Sheppard," Ianto seethed with anger but he maintained a steady, cool voice, "to protect the peoples of Britain through any means required. I will not cower in fear while my country suffers attack from bloody fluffy bunnies or monstrous fire-breathing dragons!" So much for the steady cool, Ianto absently noted while his voice escalated and the others stopped to stare at the argument. "I demand return immediately or I will commandeer your bloody ship and steer it back to Cardiff myself. Have I made myself clear?"
A delighted smirk grew on Sheppard's face and Ianto was torn between hitting the man and doubting his ability to deliver a proper threat. "I figured you'd say that. S'why I asked Ronon to grab his coat."
The tall, fierce man returned, apparently this Ronon as he was now clad in a leather duster-looking coat and wielding an unusual gun that his Jack would probably drool over. "Can I kill things now?" Ronon's voice was more a low growl, unsurprising really given his appearance. Ianto was more surprised by how eager the man was to join the fight against the dragons. "I"m tired of doing nothing."
Someone handed Sheppard six new guns, Ianto assumed fully loaded with spare magazines tucked in the pockets of the new TAC vests that were given to both Sheppard and Ianto. Ianto slipped it on over the soiled, nearly black shirt that had once been white and stopped fiddling with the clasps as Sheppard batted his hands away, securing the vest properly.
"We've located part of your team on an airstrip. My crew will drop us off there; no need to commandeer my ship." Sheppard grinned at the thought. "And yes, Ronon. You can kill things."
Ianto heard the man grunt in response before the air shimmered around him and the ship disappeared.
***
Scorched grass and the smell of burning wood assailed Ianto as, for a disorientating moment, he felt himself in two places at once before the ground settled beneath his feet. His first thought was "Tosh!"; his second was "shite, dragon!" It stood calmly on the ground, wings occasionally twitching, but for the most part, it remained motionless, a mountain of black-red in the middle of a grass-green airfield.
Tosh was valiantly fighting not the dragon, however, but six Weevils who threatened her position, snarling and lashing out with claw and teeth. Ianto took careful aim and shot at the creatures, not stopping until all six Weevils were dead at her feet. She appeared unscathed from the attack, a few cuts and bruises but no serious bleeding. A scorch mark ran down her coat; a close call with a dragon, probably, but it appeared not to have gone beneath the surface of the leather.
It took Tosh's cries and pointing to distract Ianto from his cursory appraisal of her health to notice who knelt at the beast's feet.
Owen.
He didn't appear injured; in fact, he was rocking slightly, to Ianto's puzzlement. Why he hadn't run ... Owen may be a prat, but he wouldn't cower in fear; the man had looked into the soul of a Weevil, for fuck's sake. A dragon was a bit different, but still ... Shivering, Ianto recalled the slick, malevolent touch at his mind during his exploration of Torchwood Four, and his heart thundered out of control with the idea that a mature alien may turn that thought against one of his team. Shouting at Sheppard and Ronon to do anything to get the dragon to move, Ianto took aim as well, shooting at the thin membrane of the wings. A red blast from Ronon's gun actually appeared to injure the dragon, sending it flailing backwards in pain before darting into the sky, retreating for the moment.
Ianto ran forward, skidding to a stop in front of Owen as he heard the squeal of tires as two SUVs approached. He knelt before Owen, giving the man a few taps to his face. Owen's eyes weren't focusing, drifting despite Ianto's attempts to draw his attention by shouting his name, and the man still rocked, back and forth, arms clutching the opposite shoulders. Growing desperate, Ianto slapped Owen hard enough to shoot pain down his arm. He restrained Owen's rocking, shaking his shoulders and bellowing his name loud enough to wake the dead. To Ianto's relief, Owen's attention slowly focused on Ianto, eyes roving over his face before something in Owen seemed to snap. His reaction was violent, hands fighting and clawing at the air. Ianto hastily backed off, trying to catch Owen's wrists before he hurt himself. He failed, but Owen quickly calmed, turning instead to vomit his lunch and probably everything he'd eaten since the previous week.
Holding Owen upright, Ianto waited until the man had settled before handing over a bottle of water from his vest. The others had crowded around he and Owen. To Ianto's surprise Jack was still there, a concerned scowl on his face as he eyed Owen. Gwen and Rhys were there as well; Ianto hoped Gwen hadn't had her heart set on a specific hairstyle for the wedding as her long locks appeared to have been hacked away at about chin level. From the appearance of her clothing, Ianto assumed she'd gotten.too close to a blast. Rhys was sporting a nasty gash above his eye, but he was breathing and that was all Ianto could ask for at the moment. Surprising Ianto, Tosh clung to Jean-Luc and Stephen stood beside them, a quick nod telling Ianto everything he needed to know about Avalon.
It was safe.
Owen, however, appeared the worst of all the team.
"Shiteshiteshiteshitefuckingshiteshite" was his mantra, repeated over and over.
"Owen," Ianto commanded, lightly squeezing the other man's shoulder. Owen was trembling, the shakes growing more noticeable the more time passed and it wasn't until Tosh spoke up that Ianto realized the problem.
"He's going into shock. We need to get him to the hospital."
A leather coat suddenly appeared over Owen's shoulders, dwarfing the man huddled on the ground. Ianto smiled his thanks to Ronon before he pulled the edges of the coat tight around Owen's shoulders.
Almost surprised by the contact, Owen looked up, as if noticing for the first time that Ianto knelt in front of him. "Torchwood Four," he whispered, making Ianto first believe he had heard Owen mistakenly.
"What about Torchwood Four?"
"Those ... those things," Owen spoke through chattering teeth, eyes now fully aware and honed in on Ianto's, "those bloody things ... they turned Torchwood Four--" His voice cut off again as once again his body reacted to either the dragon or the thought, Ianto wasn't sure but he pitied the man. He had nothing left in his stomach and he was left retching bile, each heave of his body looking like it was trying to wring everything out of Owen to paint the ground. After rinsing his mouth out yet again, Owen finally spoke, "the Weevils. Fucking ... they're Torchwood Four. The bloody aliens turned 'em into Weevils."
Ianto sat back on his heels following Owen's statement, absently noting the helicopter still circling in ready for a fight with the dragon which had fled, stunned, but god, it made sense. It was why they couldn't find the bulk of Torchwood Four. It was why they had recruited. Still didn't explain their hunt of Avalon, but the slight empathic link between them, the rise now, during the dragon attack, fuck, Gwen's attack in the sewers. It hadn't made any sense then, but slowly ... Ianto had no notion of how Torchwood Four had gone from human to Weevil, but if Owen's reaction was anything, perhaps the influence of the alien mind altered them somehow, breaking and bending until the human reflected the creator.
No wonder it made Owen sick.
Realizing that Owen was being helped to one of the SUVs by Ronon and Tosh, Ianto stood and rubbed a hand over his face, cringing at the grit he felt. He must look a mess, but then, the rest were no beauties either. His mobile distracted him from the others, turning to listen to a heavy Russian accent speaking of the combined success of the German and Russian fight against the dragons. Ianto winced at the numbers lost in Russia, both military and civilian, but the dragons were defeated. Running Tosh's scan on his PDA, Ianto realized there was only the one left in Cardiff, though he didn't know about the rest of Britain. Clicking off the mobile, he asked Sheppard if there was any word from the Americas. All targets had been destroyed, Sheppard reported, few casualties.
"Hold on, the Weevils in our cells at Torchwood ... they're Torchwood Four?" Gwen's voice echoed everyone's surprise at the information; Ianto was still trying to--
Ianto felt himself go pale, turning to look at Jack a moment as the thought flew across his mind. Jack. Jack never permitted them to kill the Weevils, just capture and lock them up in the cells. That's the way it always was; in fact, at times Jack almost seemed to mourn their deaths. His Jack knew they were Torchwood Four.
Didn't he?
The more Ianto considered it, the less confident he became in what Jack knew. His action, they made no sense. If this was truly a younger, time-traveling Jack, it made sense for his Jack not to kill the Weevils. Although, Jack was never vicious in the attacks on aliens; in fact, he went quite contrary to Standard Torchwood Operating Procedure. He allowed many to live; death only came to those who gave no alternative. That didn't mean he knew about the Weevils. But it would make a bit of sense.
Then why did his Jack never say anything about Ms. White before her death?
"Ianto, we have a problem."
Sheppard's hushed voice interrupted his thoughts, the others in tight conversation while Tosh remained in the SUV with Owen and oblivious to their conversation. "You mean outside of Torchwood employees mutating into Weevils and dragons attempting to turn the world to ash?"
From the look on Sheppard's face, Ianto knew he wasn't going to like what he heard.
"The two alien crafts, they just launched what appears to be thousands of those pods. It's estimated they'll enter Earth's atmosphere in five minutes."
If Ianto had felt pale before, he must have gone sheet-white as the conversation around them stilled as the others took notice. Gwen was the first to react with a soft "Ianto?" Jack took a more direct approach and demanded to know what was going on. Ianto ignored the others and stared at Stephen a moment before turning away, dialing his UNIT contact and inquiring as to the status of London, UNIT, and the RAF.
What he heard turned the little hope he had to dust.
They were out of enzyme, over fifty air craft had been damaged or lost, mostly over London as the dragons had engaged the fighters in a fierce air battle, including three airliners carrying two hundred civilian passengers each. London survived, with assistance from the ground; UNIT didn't know who or what the weapons were, but the ground weapons had been an effective defense against the dragons (Ianto made note to thank the survivors of Torchwood One, they must have found plenty of alien tech in the storage units Ianto had directed them to). Buildings had been destroyed and lives lost as a result of the falling dragons, but the dragons' attack on the people of London had been limited.
Cardiff was a different story, but Ianto knew that. He'd seen it.
Ianto knew Russia had suffered great loss in their defense and he had yet to hear from China or Australia. He had believed them to have emerged victorious, that they had defeated their enemy, but Ianto realized the cold facts.
They had been toyed with.
Their defenses had been scouted and partially destroyed in the first wave. At least one dragon survived; if they truly were a telepathic race, then the ships most certainly were aware of their limitations and the dangers humankind presented.
They had fought hundreds and survived with loss. Now, Earth would fight thousands.
"Ianto?"
Ianto didn't even bother trying to hide this information from Jean-Luc, feeling his friend's tickling knock on his mental door and permitting him entrance. Turning his eyes towards his friend, he opened his public mind, staring into the shocking pale blue, losing himself, just for a moment. Jean-Luc's gasp and subsequent colorful (yet eloquent) cursing in French led Ianto to believe his fear wasn't unfounded. The others were confused by Jean-Luc's reaction and it started a line of questions Ianto couldn't keep up with had he wanted to try. Jean-Luc continued to vent his distress in a blur of French, pacing and pausing to look at the SUV before starting again.
A hand on his torn sleeve, tugging at it nervously, reminded him the others were waiting for an answer. He spoke to no one and everyone, staring at the ground as he tried to work out a solution before their time was up.
"This has just been a test of our defenses. Thousands more have been launched from the ships; we have about four minutes, twenty-five seconds until they breech our atmosphere."
The silence that followed (interspersed with Jean-Luc's continued swearing) was gratingly tense, broken by a stifled sob by Gwen. She understood. They all did. They had struggled to defeat the six over Cardiff, and even if they weren't fully aware of the rest of the world, they knew how difficult it had been. Ianto didn't know the stories of their victories, but if they were anything like his and Sheppard's, he knew it had probably occurred by slim margins. And with help from UNIT and the RAF.
And now ... thousands.
***
Ianto's mobile rang, the number identifying the Japanese director, Yasuo Watanabe. Turning away from the others for a moment (and just a moment, time ticked past Ianto's eyes faster than he would have liked) he rapidly exchanged information with the man, snapping his mobile shut to disconnect the call when it was finished (four minutes three seconds, two, one...). He stared at a scorched patch of earth, seeing the globe and the continents as they had been laid out before him on Sheppard's ship. Billions of people, a few hundred aliens. It should have been simple, the math was in their favor. Simple was never the Torchwood way, however, and in the superimposed map of the earth, Ianto began to draw question marks."Japan killed three and ran off five dragons which attacked Tokyo. Those aliens split up and were tracked to two other locations," Ianto didn't look at the others, maintaining his focus on his map. Another question mark. "Japan lost communications with Beijing and Seoul approximately fifteen minutes ago and have sent two squadrons to assist. There's been no contact with Sydney or New Delhi since the incursion began."
Of course, no contact didn't mean much, those cities could very well be intact and fighting. The chances that the members of those alien-fighting communities were still alive were another question. He'd been concerned, sending off the formulas to the various Torchwoodesque institutions around the world; some were no more than poorly funded civilian groups who wouldn't have the ear of the government, or possibly even their respect if a warning was issued. Some countries might not even have means to produce the enzyme to assist their fight. But he hadn't wished to bypass channels and trod upon political relationships of which he had no understanding; upon reflection, perhaps he should have. As time ticked away (three forty-five, forty-four, forty-three...) and thousands approached, Ianto realized once again that he was in part responsible by both his action and non-action.
This time, however, there would be no Lisa.
And cities were falling.
"What are our options?"
Ignoring Jack's question, Ianto flipped open his phone again, this time connecting to the emergency broadband to alert the nations he hoped were listening in, adding UNIT and the RAF to the signal. "Prepare for another attack. Thousands more approaching Earth in a matter of minutes. One weakness appears to be their internal systems -- aim explosives down their throats and run as fast as you can. I repeat, prepare for another attack. Thousands more approaching." Ianto paused, then added, "May mankind prevail. Britain, out."
Three minutes, twenty-two seconds, twenty-one, twenty...
Sheppard was speaking into his communications device, nodding as Ianto closed his phone and slipped it into his TAC vest. He wouldn't be needing it again.
"U.S. military are headed towards those four cities as we speak from naval and air force bases in Japan."
For the sake of their "guests," Ianto pretended he didn't hear Jean-Luc pause mid-rant to begin cursing and railing about the infectious, hegemonic U.S. military.
Three minutes, one second, three, two minutes, fifty-nine...
Ianto turned to look at Jack, knowing this would be the most opportune time for him to leave. The battle was no longer his, of his time, and Ianto certainly didn't see any blue police boxes lingering, offering hope. Not that Ianto was defeated, he most certainly wasn't. He just understood the odds, he could do the math. The world's military resources would be extinguished quickly by a concentrated air effort; a ground battle might last a while longer. Cities would burn in the mean time. One country would fall, and then another. Thousands of lives would be lost -- or altered, Ianto grimly reminded himself -- and how soon would it be before the militaries turned desperate? Used more and more vicious weapons leaving a greater scar on the people of Earth than the dragons themselves? To what ends did a country go?
Blanching, Ianto realized it was he who had to make that decision. This was an alien attack. Torchwood was in charge.
God, he wasn't prepared.
"Use me."
Ianto blinked and turned away from his Jack stare (which had earned him a raised eyebrow as Ianto's focus slipped and he lost himself in the small hole in Jack's shirt) and found Jean-Luc standing in front of him, looking far too determined. "Use you for what?"
"Let me fight."
Shaking his head in a firm negative, Ianto ignored Sheppard and Gwen's confused questions. He glanced at Stephen who slowly approached, before turning back to Jean-Luc, his hands clutching the straps of the TAC vest like an anchor. "Absolutely not. You destroyed a building and then collapsed for twenty-four hours. These are thousands of massive, moving objects. No, it would kill you."
"Let us fight, Ianto," Stephen's soothing voice added, and Ianto looked at him incredulously. Stephen's powers were limited, Ianto knew that. There was no way Stephen could fight in any effective manner and survive. Not against many; he'd burn out his mind. These were thousands of dragons, and Jean-Luc and Stephen were not volunteering to fight with weapons. They would fight as the weapons.
Two minutes, thirty-three seconds. Thirty-two. Thirty-one... "What about your ship, Sheppard?" Ianto turned away from Stephen and Jean-Luc to address the figure who looked remarkably unruffled for what he and Ianto had been through. Yet another testament to what Sheppard must have gone through. He kept darting looks between Ianto and the two men from Avalon, but finally his gaze stilled for a moment. "Don't you have weapons on board that can destroy these things?"
Sheppard shook his head, appearing as apologetic as Ianto had ever seen him. "Limited arms -- the Spes Nostra isn't a battle cruiser. And my team still haven't found a way to get past their shields, so even if our battle ships arrived in time, they wouldn't be able to take out the enemy ships. We can open fire, certainly, but we'll lose whatever surprise we might need to destroy those ships."
"Ianto, you're missing the point." Stephen interrupted Ianto's blink of surprise at the idea of battle ships (he wondered if UNIT had anything similar in the works and if they did, why the hell they weren't in the air), standing proud next to Jean-Luc and looking equally convinced of his choice. "We can all fight, all of Avalon, through Jean-Luc. Like our security when he's not playing solitary sentinel. They link up, are stronger together. You've fought and won. Let us have our turn. Let us have our fight."
Ianto couldn't look at Stephen, couldn't face the impassioned plea he was making to take that risk, to risk the lives of all the children of Avalon. Instead, he watched Tosh rush towards the group (two minutes, eight, seven, six...), and a flash of Akira floated across his mind. And Rani. And Lana. All the faces, all the names. If they didn't fight, they were at risk. If they fought, they most certainly at risk. But they were children, for god's sake.
He couldn't.
And he refused to think of Jack's sacrifice with Jasmine. He refused. He wouldn't have to make that choice. That was Jack, an older Jack, far more wise and capable. His Jack made those choices. Ms. White made those choices. Ianto didn't.
Tosh arrived, out of breath but reporting that Owen was resting comfortably and stable, then asked what was wrong amidst the deafening silence of the group. Ianto interrupted before anyone could respond. "What would you say, Tosh, if Akira chose to fight?"
Stunned by his question, probably by the reveal of Avalon secrets in front of the others as much as the content, Tosh looked at Jean-Luc and Stephen before stubbornly lifting her chin. Ianto didn't think she had forgotten Torchwood Four, nor the kids' fear or relief at being rescued. "If Akira wished to fight, then my family would be honored by her choice."
"Thirty seconds, Ianto. We will be ready in thirty seconds."
Ianto looked at Jean-Luc whose eyes were distant -- staring through Ianto, but Ianto knew he was fully aware of his vow -- then to Stephen and Tosh. All he could see was confidence smothering the fear, a bravery Ianto felt he himself truly lacked.
He understood fear; knew it perhaps better than the others, but that didn't mean he knew courage.
And upon the face of Jean-Luc, the others' (god, even Jack's, Jack who wasn't his but was still ultimately Jack) and those behind Jean-Luc's eyes, courage was written.
The helicopter which had been circling their area landed roughly near where the group stood, startling Ianto. He flinched out of instinct as much as concern for the aircraft and the pilot. He watched as the pilot stepped out even as the blades still spun, standing at attention and watching the group, never moving to join. He was confused for a moment by her actions until he understood what thirty seconds had possibly meant; Jean-Luc had given a warning, thirty seconds to get ready and out of harm's way.
Like pilots flying helicopters.
God, what sacrifices did one make to save a world and her people?
Torn, Ianto looked back at Jean-Luc, his friend for almost two decades, and suddenly the pale blue eyes focused on Ianto, the power behind those eyes causing Ianto to stumble back a few steps before hands steadied him (Ronon, judging by the close smell of leather). Jean-Luc's voice rang softly in Ianto's head, but it wasn't just Jean-Luc's voice. It was melodious, dozens upon dozens of voices, he could hear individuals, Stephen's lilt, Lana's sultry purr, many more he didn't recognize but felt he knew, a multi-toned voice humming with power.
"We wish to fight."
They were kids. They were adults (one minute, forty-four seconds, forty-three, forty-two...). Hundreds of voices, filling his mind, all united by the power that was Jean-Luc. So many. Ianto felt love, a tender hand smoothing over his mind, knowing it had stemmed from Jean-Luc but was echoed in force by the hundreds of children and adults lending their power. Avalon. All the gifted. All echoing the same wish, the same hope, the same love and willingness to sacrifice.
"Let us fight."
There were thousands coming. Losses equalling that, maybe more. Probably more. They might fight a military battle, but at what cost? What cities would fall? Would Cardiff? London?
Britain would suffer.
Britain would burn before they could save her.
He couldn't allow that (one minute, fifteen seconds, fourteen, thirteen...). He had duty; he had his responsibilities. He had his family. He had a choice -- the fate of Britain and the world or the fate of Avalon. Avalon had made their choice, they had their own families, their own friends and responsibilities, their own nations to defend and they had made their choice.
Now it was time for his.
Ianto worked his jaw furiously for a moment, teeth grinding in an effort not to throw up his hands and throw the tantrum he so wished to indulge in. Fairness had no value here, nor did want (fifty-seven, fifty-six, fifty-five...). Only desperation and the bravery of hundreds of souls staring back at him from behind Jean-Luc's eyes.
Ignoring the wet fall of sorrow on his face he could scarcely blame on rain, Ianto jerked his head into a nod and turned away as Jean-Luc's face broke into a grin and Stephen's face blanked completely. He paid no attention either to the air crackling with power behind him as he strode away from Jean-Luc and Stephen, Avalon and his decision. He couldn't watch as the gifted partook in a battle he couldn't join, a fight which very well could destroy Avalon. He stared at the skies instead, countless white-red dots appearing like falling stars in the skies. There was commotion behind him, voiced but wordless, a mere muffled rumble falling on his ears.
"Ianto!" His head nearly shook off his shoulders; Ianto absently realized Sheppard was shaking him to get his attention. His eyes never left the sky as Ianto listened to Sheppard shouting, "What the hell is going on? Three of my crew just stopped, blank as your friend and the pilot."
"The dragons are about to learn the wrath of Avalon," Ianto smiled, pointing up to the hundreds of dots filling the sky. Wrath they had ten-fold, all those of Avalon (and the few outsiders who Avalon had missed) who had been taken from their homes, lost family members and friends, and been forced into cells.
"What the fuck is Avalon? Who-"
Sheppard's voice suddenly cut off, though his hands still clasped Ianto's shoulders, at the same moment as Gwen released an "oh my god!" and Ianto heard Ronon's growled question to Sheppard. It didn't matter now, Ianto's choice. Perhaps this was what the faeries had meant, all those ages ago. It felt a lifetime. Maybe they meant not his choice to become Mr. Black, but rather this sacrifice, his friend and mentor and all the gifted in the world.
The dots were quietly blinking out of sight, vanishing before Ianto's eyes and he knew this was what had distracted Sheppard. He supposed they were exploding, there was a brief moment when each dot grew larger and then ... nothing. Over and over, the dots across the sky vanished into the twilight of dusk. Ianto felt a hand at his shoulder, he knew without looking it was Jack and while he desperately didn't want to, he found himself leaning into the touch all the same. He was quite stunned that Jack hadn't left yet but this other Jack was proving him wrong time and again, acting more like the Jack he knew than not. It didn't seem right, there ought to be something wrong, something different because the man was most certainly not his Jack, but he felt just the same. He touched just the same.
Ianto caught sight of a flash of black on the horizon, barely visible as night crept her hand over Cardiff. At first, he thought it was just a UNIT or RAF jet, sweeping the land but then he saw the wings curl. He stiffened, heard Jack's concerned "Ianto?" and felt his heart leap to his throat and threaten to strangle him. In a breath, clarity came to Ianto and he saw why Avalon had been taken, why all the gifted had been rounded up and locked away in psi-proof cells.
He'd felt their touch; Owen had as well. The dragons were a telepathic race.
They knew.
Fear tasted bitter on his tongue. "Protect Jean-Luc!" Ianto shouted, reclaiming the ability to move once the thread of hope he'd been clinging to unraveled before his eyes, hands burning as the thread was torn away to leave him tumbling back into the sprawling nightmare of the day. Turning his back on the beast, Ianto sprinted to where he had dropped his weapon. He quickly phoned UNIT, requesting immediate assistance at the airfield as he picked up his gun. Stuffing it back in his vest, he directed the others as he moved between Jean-Luc and the dragon. "Do whatever it takes, do not let that dragon touch him!"
The others quickly armed themselves; Jack raced back to the SUVs; Ianto figured now was as good a time as any. They might not make it past this battle with the dragon; Ianto wouldn't have to explain why Jack left. Gwen came and stood beside Ianto, forming a feeble line of defense with Ianto's semi-automatic from Sheppard's ship. "I'm an ace shot, ya know."
Ianto spared a moment in his calculations to glance at the shorn head of Gwen, her face tilted up in a smile. "Are you, now?"
"Yup." She cocked her gun, eyeing the still-too-far-away dragon in her line of sight. "Two bullets in this gun, but I only need the one."
He couldn't help but smile in return at the bravado, knowing full well (as did Gwen) it would take more than one bullet and no enzyme to defeat the dragon, but willing to play along with Gwen's confidence. They just had to buy time. He checked his magazine, realizing he had the single bullet in the chamber left. "Fancy a wager? Your one bullet over mine."
"You lot are certifiable, you know that?" Rhys stood beside Gwen, looking very uncomfortable with his gun but apparently willing to put up a fight. Ianto wouldn't deny him his chance any more than he had denied Avalon, he just hoped Gwen had instructed him how to disarm the safety.
Tosh stood on the other side of Ianto, touching his arm before standing tall. "For Torchwood?"
"For Torchwood."
Ianto blinked in surprise and momentarily turned away from the approaching dragon to stare at the smirking Jack over Tosh's head. He had a bazooka thrown over his shoulder and tossed Ianto a spare clip. Ianto didn't question where or how he'd gotten it, just snapped it into place, a bit more relieved to have more between him and the dragon than a single bullet. (Gwen protested and called their bet off but immediately reinstated it when Jack passed another semi-automatic down the line to her. Ianto didn't think he'd seen Gwen's eyes light up like that since Jack had called a three-day weekend.) Ianto glanced again at Jack, certain there had been a swap, that his Jack had shown because only his Jack smirked like that in the face of death. No swap, however, there was the small scar above Jack's right eye where he'd misjudged an alien's attack. But no matter how Ianto tried to tell himself otherwise, the other man looked like Ianto's Jack, minus the greatcoat.
Ianto missed the greatcoat.
"For Queen and country," Ianto softly quoted, pretending he couldn't feel Avalon behind him. Turning to face their enemy, Ianto figured the dragon's flame-reach and the probability they would have in all of them surviving. Better odds minus the fire. They were toast if it started spitting fire. They stood in the open field with no shelter, protecting equally unprotected Jean-Luc and Stephen. Protection. 'And who protects us?' he'd asked Tosh, back when their enemy were human, and still to the day, the words rang true. It was only luck and experience which protected Torchwood, heavily favoring the luck. And an occasional bout of heroics from Jack. Ianto wondered if those heroics held in this version of Jack, for they were running short on luck and experience had run out with the last attack.
Twin roars caught Ianto's attention, breaking to his far left and his far right. He had to turn his head to quickly scan the horizons at opposite links, sight confirming what instinct told him. Their attacking dragon had brought back-up; pale white against the darkening sky.
The breeders.
The power thrumming behind them was palpable, a tension so thick in the air that Ianto didn't need to look to know Jean-Luc was hard at work, destroying their foe in whatever method that worked for those kids. Adults, too. But god, the kids.
And their UNIT backup was still not in sight.
Panic threatened to overwhelm him as Ianto tried to remember from his lessons and time spent at Avalon as to what would happen to all the others linked up with Jean-Luc if his friend were to be killed. Ianto gestured sharply at the three dragons approaching. "Gwen, Rhys, focus on the white to the southeast. Shoot for its eyes, we know those are unprotected and might buy us time. Jack? Take the other. Tosh and I will-"
Helicopter blades thumping to life stunned them all, and the front turned to see the pilot still standing still, blank faced and motionless, still a part of the Avalon meld destroying the thousands raining down upon the Earth. There were two in the helicopter, however, and as it rose from the ground Ianto saw the unmistakable figures of Sheppard and Ronon.
Sheppard? A pilot?
Ianto watched in disbelief, feeling the syncopation of the blades just out of step with his racing heart as the helicopter darted past, launching twin missiles at the white dragon to the southeast, scoring a hit that left them cheering and the alien shrieking in pain. From what Ianto could see, the whites were significantly less protected than their black and red brethren; a point in Torchwood's favor. Sheppard's missiles had torn easily through the hide, leaving a gaping wound which failed to bring down the white but it had altered its flight path from a straight shot to a wobbly, drunken swerve reminding Ianto of late nights following a binge at the local pub, he and Lisa leaning on each other for support as they laughed and made their way to her flat.
Those nights were easy to sleep off. Unfortunately, he didn't believe this night would be as easily cast aside with a pain reliever and club soda, if the red glow of fire on the horizon meant anything.
Sheppard evaded the shaky stream of fire ejected as the white dragon sputtered a retaliatory blaze; Ianto noted with relief that the man knew how to fly a helicopter as it veered away. A lesser pilot might have been charred to a crisp and while Ianto knew the American was old enough to make his own choices, Ianto couldn't bear the burden of that guilt. Too much guilt; too many deaths. Guilt for what he controlled, guilt for what he couldn't.
Glancing up at the darkening night sky, the flares of falling warrior dragons twinkling in the distance, Ianto lost count as each alien life blinked out of existence.
Guilt with purpose.
One torching flame down for at least three minutes, two remaining as steadily beating wings carried the dragons closer to the line of Torchwood defense. Ianto calculated the distances; not promising, but perhaps better odds with one injured dragon. He kept a mindful watch on Sheppard and Ronon as they sped out of harm's way and tried to figure out how to best take down the two before they turned to cinder.
"I can do better than a one-eyed pilot. Eat my missile, lizard-breath."
Ianto blinked and wished the roar of the approaching black and red war dragon had been a little less than eardrum-shattering, but he was fairly certain he hadn't misheard Jack when Tosh giggled, then burst into peals of laughter as Jack squared his shoulders and fired his rocket-launcher at the remaining healthy white breeder. The situation wasn't funny; it really wasn't. In fact, the situation was about as dire as Ianto had faced; the battle of Canary Wharf running a close second to the utter chaos and desperation. But despite the threat, despite the fear and the hopelessness, Ianto couldn't help himself, the corners of his lips twitching with effort to maintain a calm demeanor completely failing.
He laughed, right along with Tosh.
Not nervous laughter, not a chuckle borne from extremes sounding false and hollow. Ianto couldn't help it; the ridiculousness and arrogance of Jack; still so true even if he knew this Jack wasn't his, his laughter rang true, echoing down the airfield and bouncing off distant trees. God, was Jack trying to show up Sheppard? In the middle of a battlefield? Leave it to Jack to know his priorities.
Still far more amused than he ought to be given the situation, Ianto watched the rocket spiral towards the white dragon whose wings beat a rhythm drawing it closer and closer (thump.thump. slower than his heart dancing double-time with adrenaline against his ribcage thumpthumpthump) to the group until Ianto could swear he could smell the sulfur pouring off the beast blend with the heavy scent of scorched earth into a cloying mixture suffocating Ianto's senses. He knew that feeling and he could almost see the levity fleeing as tendrils of memory crept along his consciousness, leaving a fight to keep his mind clear of doubt and fear, of failure on the grandest scale when only a handful survived, a handful witnessing the failure of man and the downfall of one of the strongest organizations in the world. They'd thought themselves invincible. They'd believed themselves superior. And oh, how they'd fallen amongst fire and savagery, humanity erased to mechanical purity. Thump. Thump. Clank. Clank. Dragging Lisa through the halls, screaming as the ceiling burned and smoke snuffed the air from his lungs.
God, he'd been here before. Living again. How many times can one fight and still live? Who would he be dragging through the halls to safety this time?
"Ianto!"
Ianto blinked at the sound of Gwen's voice, dazed for a moment as black and red encroached into his peripheral vision. He did the only thing he could think of -- he hit the ground (and hard) as the downdraft power of the wings assisted gravity. Rolling to get himself as far away from the warrior dragon as he could, Ianto felt the ground explode where he had just lain, the beast's club tail cratering the earth and showering him with pebble and chunks of clumped grass and dirt. He scrambled to his feet as quickly as he could even as he felt arms pulling him up, Rhys providing both support and hindrance to his action. Ianto's ears were still ringing as he took in his surroundings, chest heaving when he chased his breath. There was a lump on the ground a distance away, a white writhing lump. One of the whites, Ianto's mind slowly supplied. He wasn't sure where the other was, but the one was at least temporarily down. Tosh and Gwen stood beside Rhys, but their attention was focused elsewhere, a spot beyond Ianto's shoulder, a look upon their faces which Ianto wished he could burn from his memory.
Brushing dirt from his TAC vest, Ianto spun to see what had drawn the horrified looks of Gwen, Tosh and Rhys.
Without thought to action or consequence, Ianto bolted forward, a roar of protest on his lips echoing with the dragon cries across the field. He didn't think, he couldn't think of the consequences. What would happen to the past and present if timelines were altered? The grandfather paradox. He'd read and studied this in one of Torchwood One's databases. There was plenty of evidence in the Archives of the disasters that could happen should past, present, and future collide and erase. Theories from across the universe and expanse of time, all indicating cessation in time/space as one understood it. The butterfly flapping its wings. Or as others would argue, multiple branches of reality fractured upon the back of a butterfly's wings. Ianto couldn't fathom what implications this would have on the present, if this really was grandfather's paradox in action.
Could they have already lost?
As he got closer, he could see the hint of once-blue shirt between the claws and familiar boots sticking out beyond the cage the dragon's claws had created. The black and red dragon had yet to singe its prey (had yet to eat its prey too, Ianto's mind helpfully supplied), and he could see Jack struggling to escape the alien's grasp as it pinned him to the ground. He passed the used missile launcher as he ran, not giving it a second thought as he had nothing to arm it with, his hands tearing at his TAC vest for the blade he knew was inside. Of course. Jack had been the biggest threat on the ground with the bazooka and after he'd struck the other white, the warrior beast had targeted Jack.
It was what Ianto would have done, had he been a building-sized fire-breathing dragon hellbent on conquering earth to turn it into a lush dragon paradise with billions of humans-turned-Weevils running about at his command.
The blade Ianto unsheathed was hardly a threat, measuring a mere six inches in length but it looked sharp and Ianto briefly thanked Sheppard's crew for maintaining their equipment. He had no idea what he would do with the knife against the impossibly hard armor covering the black and red dragons; Ianto hardly had a chance of slicing through an artery or striking its heart. If it had arteries and a heart. But his momentum was already carrying him forward and he really had no other recourse as Jack was still pinned to the ground and the possibility of this Jack dying and thus unraveling space/time was too much for Ianto to consider.
Ianto pretended the notion that it was still Jack didn't cross his mind.
The dragon was actually scaled, Ianto realized, long, thick stripes covering its red belly like a snake and he wasted no time shoving the utility knife up between the scales as the dragon's attention focused on Jack. The rotten stench of dragon blood was the first indication that he had succeeded in damaging the dragon, puncturing the hide beneath the scales. He had no idea how deep he'd struck, what he'd struck, if anything, but he knew he had shed the dragon's blood and caused it pain as Ianto felt himself being lifted upwards, hand still on the blade embedded elbow-deep between the scales. He quickly let go, the hard scales scraping across his arm stealing his breath but the sheer panic of the situation masked it in victory. He'd hurt the dragon; he watched as it reared upwards, a blast of fire burning the skies, not Jack and the ground. Darting forward under the alien's talons, he grabbed at Jack who was slow standing but seemed relatively unharmed. There was no time, no time to check him over but Jack was alive, alive and well, and not causing a catastrophic shift in timelines or proving himself an alien in disguise.
Jack was alive.
"Come on!" Ianto shouted at Jack as he half-dragged, half-guided the man towards the others, his voice sounded like a whisper next to the boom of the warrior dragon's bellow. The ground quaked beneath his feet, causing Ianto to stumble, Jack all but falling to his knees if not for the support Ianto was bodily providing. Ianto didn't want to look behind him; didn't want to see death approaching in shades of black and red. It was almost better, death at their backs as they ran from the angry beast. At least Ianto wouldn't know if he'd failed Torchwood and the Queen, his family and his nephews, his fellow survivors in London and the rest of the world. The wind picked up, nearly blowing them over as they ran; Ianto could hear the whooshing thumpthump (Clank. Clank.) behind them, the dragon's wings building speed to give chase. Maybe if they split up, Ianto could push Jack to the side, Ianto could distract the dragon, provide cover while the others escaped. Jack had to live. Jack needed to live. As much as the world needed him to survive this far, Jack needed to survive this. Get to the SUVs. Drive away as fast as possible. He needed-
"OI! Ugly! Over here, you bloody tosser!"
This time Ianto did trip up, crashing inelegantly to the ground with Jack in tow, surprise and fear contrasting elements as his feet continued escaping but his mind tried to rationalize and understand what it had heard. He looked down when he felt a hand upon his wrist, Jack steadying him with both hand and eye, a calming gesture which allowed Ianto to look towards Owen in time to catch another sight he wished to wipe clean from his mind. The dragon's neck billowed like a balloon for an instant before splitting like a pulled zipper, dragon blood splattering a heavy rain on the ground while the neck collapsed inward, the head pulling back, looking as though it were withdrawing but it did without control as the long neck crashed into the body, its head falling to the earth and soon its body tumbled after, the air currents knocking Owen to the ground like a domino.
Ianto stared in disbelief as dirt kicked up by the fallen alien pelted Jack and him, stared as Owen stood and brushed off his denims, stared again at the dragon and tried to comprehend the incomprehensible.
Then again, Owen had stared down a Weevil.
By the time Ianto and Jack made it over to where Owen stood, Tosh and Gwen were already latched onto him like large versions of Ianto's leech nephews, and an embarrassed Owen was trying to retain dignity and poise by pretending it didn't matter. The women stepped aside as Jack and Ianto approached; Owen raising his chin in defiance and pride.
"Some dragon slayer you are, St. George. What'd you think you were going to do with a bloody bamboo shoot under its fingernail? Tickle it to death?"
Ianto was just as surprised as Owen when he hugged the obnoxious doctor. And nearly fainted when Owen returned the embrace. "Thought you were cowering in the auto."
"Couldn't let you lot bollocks up saving the world and all now, could I?"
"You still look like shite." And the doctor did, his trembling hands and pallor visible even as night descended. Ianto gave Owen's shoulders a squeeze then stepped away, partially embarrassed by his own relieved display. Jack wasn't nearly as restrained, stepping forward to give Owen a hug before turning it into a grandiose snog of thanks, which left the women giggling and Owen slapping at Jack's back in blustered affront.
Ianto smirked and watched a moment before drawing his attention towards Jean-Luc and Stephen who remained as still and statuesque as they had before the dragons attacked. Beads of sweat lined Stephen's forehead, showing the strain of his contribution. Jean-Luc's battle, however, was much more apparent as blood curled over his fists where his fingernails had dug into his skin, arms vibrating with tension and Avalon's wrath. His pale blue eyes were still as powerful as ever, so intense that Ianto couldn't bear to look; like a nuclear flare it was just too much to see. A thin trickle of blood ran from his nose; what that meant Ianto hadn't the slightest, but it couldn't be good -- his own experience with Jean-Luc's shout and all the time spent at Avalon had never indicated blood was a positive sign. A touch at his elbow let him know Tosh had seen it as well.
"Ianto? Is he-"
Ianto wrapped his arm around Tosh's shoulders, turning her away from what they couldn't help. Avalon was out of their control; out of his. He couldn't stop his friend no matter how hard he'd try, no matter the destruction or danger to Jean-Luc. Ianto didn't understand Jean-Luc's plan -- he didn't understand anything outside the concept. But whatever he was doing, whatever Avalon was doing, it was working.
He quickly stepped in front of Tosh as a screech laced with pain sounded to the north of the group; dim light reflecting off the white leathery hide reminded Ianto instantly that their celebration was too soon. He'd forgotten the others, the two white dragons. He wasn't sure if the lump on the ground had risen, in the failing light it was hard to discern objects on the ground but he could see the pale hide of one careening for the group at breakneck speed, reminding Ianto of shuffleboard and he wondered how far he'd bounce when the kamikaze dragon struck.
Too soon to figure out what could be done against this threat, the heavens erupted into a brilliant white flare. Ianto slammed his eyes shut and threw his arm up as a shield against the blinding light, but even then, the negative afterimage bounced on his eyelids, giving a false sense of movement. Unsteady but keeping his balance, Ianto watched behind his arm as the light flared again and the screech from the forgotten white dragon sounded far more to his left than it had from in front of him seconds before. Warily opening his eyes, he saw the world returning to its moonlit blacks and greys, an unusual light in the sky as large blotches grew dim.
Two flashes. There were two alien ships. Ianto refused to consider the idea that the Spes Nostra and her crew were gone; Avalon was better than that. There were two alien ships and the skies had just exploded. Perhaps it was too much to hope for but maybe, just maybe, there was reason to hope against the alien threat. Dragons. Bloody-
Dragon. Ianto scanned the horizon, then the ground and the skies, searching for the white breeder. He could hardly see, however, his eyes watering furiously from the initial shock of the light and specks of what he knew were false images still dancing in front of him. Another roar, to his right, but then a steady echo, more a throb. Disoriented, Ianto shouted for Torchwood to search for the dragon, but the others were having as much a problem as he between the sound and the blasts in the sky. He could feel Tosh holding on to the back of his TAC vest; at least he hoped it was Tosh and not a Weevil snuck up behind them. Gwen, Rhys, and Owen responded as well, weapons aimed at everything and nothing.
Twin flashes blinked in the night sky; Ianto caught them shining like two red eyes. They were unmistakable, those flashes, as were the dozens of others as they dotted pinpricks across the horizon. Trying to track the missiles was impossible, so Ianto settled for listening to the sound as they passed overhead, ending in an explosion not quite on the scale of the two before. But this, this had been smaller, more dragon-sized.
It seemed their back-up had arrived.
More blasts and a corner of the field lit up in a fireball, the shockwave rocking Ianto back on his heels, but nothing threatening to topple him. Spotlights turned on as jets screamed over their heads; Ianto turned his head up to watch before watching the strobe-effect of the lighting on the airfield battered and burnt, but with the Torchwood team still standing.
Two familiar figures exited one of the helicopters, the exceedingly tall man indicating to Ianto who the pair were.
"Sorry about that, had to rearm and then we ran into some friends of yours."
Ianto breathed easier, relieved to hear Sheppard hadn't been battled from the sky and that he and Ronon were in one piece.
And made quick friends with the RAF and UNIT, it would seem.
"I reckon there aren't many who claim hatred against their fellow man right now," Ianto shook Sheppard's hand before he was pulled into the umpteenth hug of the day; for one so reserved he had been on the giving or receiving end of far more tactile acts than he had probably in his career at Torchwood. But it didn't matter, a lot of things would be excused from the day. 'The Spes Nostra?"
"Commander Weir reports that the two alien vessels were destroyed; how she could only guess since there were no reports of ballistics fire from the surface. They're off to help the Chinese since their cover is no longer necessary." Sheppard nodded towards where Stephen and Jean-Luc stood. "Seems your friends were rather angry with those dragons, no signs of any of the pods breaking atmosphere as well."
"They had their reason to defend Earth." Ianto thought back to his own family, tucked away safe he hoped in the lands far removed from Cardiff and all the trouble. And of his mother. Ms. White. And of Simone, Caleb, and all the other innocents lost. And their families. God, how many had been killed trying to prevent this?
"So what exactly is Avalon?" Sheppard asked, Ianto's stomach flopping as he realized the secret and hidden nature of Avalon was probably secret no longer.
Ianto didn't have time to answer when Tosh's cry sent that stab of fear spiking again. Dragon? More? At least with the RAF and UNIT circling overhead they had more protection but how much fighting could take place before the fighters collapsed? Ianto shook himself free of any thinking in general when he saw Tosh kneeling near the prone form of Jean-Luc; Stephen appeared down as well.
Racing to his friend's side, Ianto felt for a pulse first, hope surfacing once he determined that it was at least steady, if faint. "Owen!" Ianto barked, laying a hand gently on Jean-Luc's chest to make sure he still breathed. The doctor appeared to have forgotten his own earlier medical concerns as he ran for Ianto's side, unceremoniously shoving Ianto out of the way so he could triage with the shaken Tosh.
"What the fuck am I dealing with here, Ianto?"
Ianto shrugged as he moved to Stephen's side. "Over-exertion? I don't know symptoms or treatment for any of this. Jack? Do you know?"
Sheppard interrupted, hand on his communication device. "Three of my crew just collapsed. Ianto?"
"And I've got about two hundred kids likely in the same state, Colonel. I don't know." Ianto tersely answered, ignoring Tosh's gasp of 'Akira!' and Owen's curses, nodding at Ronon who broke from the shadowed darkness, carrying the forgotten helicopter pilot in his arms. "Avalon's a school for the gifted."
Owen scoffed at the idea, his contempt and disregard lying thick on every word, something Ianto was used to under normal circumstances, but not these. "A school? You let kids get involved in this?"
Ianto wasn't aware he moved, but suddenly he was on his feet, forgetting Stephen and lunging for Owen, determined to do something to displace the guilt into anger rightly served as a fist across Owen's jaw. Or perhaps the eye. Either location would feel equally justified since Ianto couldn't hit himself.
"Ianto! Focus on what's important." Ianto's shoulders strained against the two hands restraining his arms; Jack's grip was solid and as much as he wanted to wipe the condescending scowl from Owen's face, he knew Jack was right. He fought Jack's hold a moment more, just to prove to Jack (and himself) that Owen wasn't right to question his judgment, the twat just didn't know he was wrong. Jack finally released him, Ianto grimacing as Jack's hands tugged and pulled at the scratch from the dragon scales he'd forgotten. "You're hurt."
Ianto pointed to Jean-Luc and ignored Jack. "We need to get them to Avalon. Sheppard? Can you transport us?"
"Lead the way. I assume you at least know how to get there."
Ianto let the jibe slide past and bent to lift Jean-Luc; Jack helped, to Ianto's relief. Sheppard and Rhys carried Stephen, and between the five of them, loaded the three unconscious heroes into the helicopter. "Owen!" Ianto called for the doctor despite his anger, "we're going to need you at Avalon."
Tosh stopped him before they left and Ianto sighed, closing his eyes, not wanting to deal with the knowledge that he might have killed both her niece and her boyfriend. It was too much for the moment, too much to consider. They'd destroyed the threat, but at what cost? Could they have succeeded militarily instead? He'd been so willing to believe Jean-Luc that it was the only viable option. And now...
"Don't listen to Owen. They chose this, Ianto. Avalon wanted to fight."
He tried to smile, he really did. Tosh wasn't fooled, and the sympathy was far too much for Ianto at the moment. If he stared too long, he'd just sit down on the spot and weep, weep for what was lost, what might be, and what never was. It was hard to believe the battle was over; they'd only fought a day but the morning seemed a lifetime ago when Sheppard first appeared on Torchwood's doorstep and the horrors had descended once again. The horizon glowed with fire, but Cardiff still stood; Britain still stood. It should have been a victory; Ianto should have felt elation; joy, if the old Jack hadn't left, he'd have asked Jack to go out for a drink. And then to fuck him slowly on the crisp linens of Jack's bed.
But for as much as victory there was loss; and Ianto didn't know where the two met. Watching Ronon carefully lift Jean-Luc into the helicopter, it seemed as though the victory didn't matter. Not if it was at such a cost. He'd done it. He'd followed in his mother's footsteps and made the choices she made, choosing one life over another.
Ianto wished he could ask her how she lived with herself.
"Take the Rovers, meet us at Avalon." Ianto replied instead, turning away from Tosh. He climbed into the helicopter and made certain the three were secure before he strapped himself in, ignoring Owen and refusing to look out at Jack as he shut the doors on the craft.
Six collapsed, unresponsive. Probably all of Avalon.
Many questions would be sought; and Ianto feared every answer. He had no answers, not even Tosh's reassurances meant anything. Avalon had chosen to fight, but Ianto had permitted it.
He began listing the gods he knew, a prayer in every tongue to every deity across space and time, any who might listen and respond, and even those Ianto really doubted listened at all.
Pray, let Avalon be safe.
***
Next part of Shades of Ianto - Series 2.
- Main Torchwood slash page
- New stories page
- Jack/Ianto stories
- Ianto/Owen stories
- Other pairings stories - ie threesomes
- F/F stories
- Gen stories
- Amazon.com - Torchwood: Children of Earth
- Amazon.co.uk - Torchwood - Children of Earth [DVD] [2009]
- Amazon.ca link - Torchwood - The Complete First Season (7DVD)
