Ficlet Four
Jack rushed forwards through the underground tunnel where he’d been hunting Weevils, trying to find his way out of the maze. He fought the small inner voice that urged him to panic.
He knew Ianto had made it out. It had just been the two of them; an evening together under the pretence of Weevil hunting had turned into actual Weevil hunting when Toshiko had called them, after finding evidence that the Weevil sightings, disappearances and the discovery of this subterranean prison were indeed connected.
Ianto had located the woman with the baby who’d disappeared and got them both to the surface. Jack had been following behind, watching their backs, but then he’d heard a roar further back in the tunnel. Unable to leave the thing, he’d doubled back. He’d killed the thing - he’d had to - but now he was lost. Trapped. The exit had disappeared.
Something caught his attention; something so small he wasn’t even sure, in the first few moments, which of his senses had been alerted. Had something moved? Was there a flash of light? Or a noise? Yes, it was noise. He paused, listening intently, neither blinking nor breathing, cursing the fact that his heartbeat in his chest was so loud. And then he heard it again.
It wasn’t a threatening sound. It sounded … wary. Not quite frightened. He wasn’t stupid. When he was younger, when he first returned to Earth in the middle of the nineteenth century, he’d been taken in by the seemingly innocent cries coming out of the darkness, and paid for his naivety with several painful deaths. By now he knew that anyone who was truly afraid would fear him, at first. It was a trick used by sly and cunning enemies, and the one he despised the most.
It was a breathing sound, as if a sob was being stifled. He couldn’t quite identify the source, but if he had to guess, he would’ve said it sounded human. Taking a deep breath he turned a sharp corner, ready to fight, expecting to fight. At eye level the room appeared to be empty, but when he looked down he saw an old man, half sitting, half lying on the floor, clutching his side.
He rushed over to the man, still cautious, but no longer braced for combat. He saw the man look at him slowly, familiar confusion in his eyes. People never knew what to make of Jack at first; comfortable and familiar in a strange world, subtly but clearly out of place. Oh, and more drop-dead-gorgeous than any person had the right to be. Some people trusted him, and deferred to him. Others were suspicious and afraid.
Thankfully, this man fell in the first category. He allowed Jack to check his injuries, and told him his name, and how he had been hurt. His injuries didn’t seem to be too bad, but he was clearly in pain, and Jack wanted him out of there. But without leaving him, all he could do was make the man comfortable and wait for his team.
Suddenly, he remembered a vial of alien painkiller he’d slipped into his wallet as an anti-torture precaution. Owen had assured him that it was ten times as powerful as anything on Earth and completely free of side effects. It would be wrong to administer it without Owen there to give him the green light, but … what the hell. The man had been through enough.
He reached into his inside pocket for his wallet, but as he attempted to remove the tiny top from the vial he let his wallet fall to the floor, open. The man picked it up and looked at it with interest.
“Who’s that?”
Jack froze, vaguely horror-stricken. The photo he carried in his wallet was an absolute secret. Sure, he kept photographs and mementos of old friends and lovers in his office at the Hub, but there was only one he carried around with him.
He took the photograph from the man gently, and ran his fingertips across it. “That’s Ianto.”
“And who’s he?”
“He’s … he’s probably going to be here any minute. He works with me.”
“Son, I never carried around pictures of the lads I worked with!”
Chuckling slightly at being called “son”, he folded his wallet up and slid it back into his pocket. “Well, this one’s special.”
He patted the pocket of his coat, smiled to himself, and returned his attention to the old man, knowing that help was on the way.