Fic: Agent Jones Prologue-Part 1/?? Avengers/Torchwood xover.
Title: Agent Jones.
Author: H. H. Gothrykke
Disclaimer: I claim no ownership over Torchwood or Avengers. All copyrighted materials are the sole product of their copyright holders. This is purely for fan purposes. No profit is made.
Characters: Ianto Jones, Clint Barton.
Words: 6476/6476 total.
Fandom: Torchwood/Avengers.
Pairing: Ianto/Clint, past Ianto/Jack.
Rating: Adult
Warnings: Language, Violence
Summary: Giving up shouldn't have been easy. Time was, he stood his ground. Ianto is...was granite, fixed and stable. This time was different, and now, he knew how to admit defeat. Jack taught him that.
While his position may have been lost, the mission continues. Torchwood still exists and so does its original purpose. An effort has been made to clean up the late PM's nasty surprises. For his part, Ianto has been reassigned with a new target to focus on.
His assignment: Investigate this upstart organization calling itself S.H.I.E.L.D. and their connection to the alien Harold Saxon.
The objective: Evaluate, if a threat, eliminate.
Author's Note: Clint and other Avengers character will begin appearing in part 2.
Timeline: early March, 2008. Two months post 'The Sound of Drums'. Four years prior to the events of 'Avengers'. Partial way through Iron Man, Tony is a captive, but hasn't rescued himself.
This fic assumes that Torchwood Institute was more than just a few independent agencies operating in select locations. They are a secret agency of the crown, funded and commanded through a cabinet position. You know, what they were originally stated as being before that part was conveniently forgot about.
This is pure Avengers Movieverse (MCU) only, no comics, no combination of other Marvel Movies.
May become A/B/O in later chapters/sequel.
Prologue: A Distant Notion.
'Stunned - noun, to stupefy, as with the emotional impact of an experience.'
Watching them stepping in together, hand in hand, her in her wedding dress, and him in his great coat, the music playing, it was the perfect moment. She glanced ever-so-lovingly, shy almost, up at him. He stared down in pride, admiration, and more than a little love. The purse of her lips matched the swell of his own.
In another time, they would have kissed. They had on more than one occasion. They probably would again soon.
Watching them sway together felt almost an intrusion. He was violating this private moment between lovers, when the world had already faded away to them.
That should have been him. His is the body that should have been held so tight; the arm around his waist, the hand in his own. The love in Jack's eyes should have been for him alone.
It should have been painful, this was the embodiment of his worst fears. He should have known it wasn't real between them. The pain of this betrayal should have crippled him, it would have two years ago with someone else. Yet, this...emptiness, was almost a relief. Some how, Ianto had always known Jack would never love him.
Before him danced his only necessary proof.
There had been signs before, just ones he could deny at the time. The neglect, the outright hostility at times, even the many indiscretions, all were part of Jack as a whole. The man was more than a legend unto himself, of course there would be negative aspects with the good. That was part of the brilliance that is Jack Harkness.
He had deluded himself for so long. Ianto had let himself believe he was worth more than a quick, mutual wank. It wasn't a strong, lasting relationship, at least he grasped that much. Honestly, he hadn't been ready for another one of those. That hadn't stopped him from living the lie, though, wallowing in a happy fantasy. Yet, every time Jack touched him, there was bit of something missing. It felt that he lived in a vivid dream.
Watching the man dance with Gwen, that felt real.
Honestly, it was a bit of relief. At least now he could move on proper. The plaster had been torn off and the wound exposed. Raw and throbbing, it stung enough to remind him that he was living. Seeing how happy they were together had cut him deep and he wasn't about to forgive this!
Ianto frowned. He meant, forget. He wasn't about to forget himself in fantasies again. Honest, he wasn't. Right? He knew where he stood, just another person to get his leg over with. Jack was a bloody liar and a cheat! The man never denied he wasn't.
Shaking, for he wasn't trembling, he wasn't sure when his hand had covered his mouth or how that it was now crushing his jaw. Ianto had to actively will his hand to slacken and let go. Once it slipped from his face, it clenched up tight enough to make the joints pop.
Unable to watch further, he looked about the banquet hall. Gwen's relatives were about, getting pissed. Rhys was about some where...any place. Owen, Tosh, he didn't see them, they probably didn't see him. No one saw Ianto, no one ever saw Ianto. He could slip out and no one would ever see Ianto.
He wasn't real. It was all but a dream, we spirits who doth offend.
No one noticed when he slipped out the side door. No one followed him down the corridor. No one caught him in the car park. No one rung his mobile as he headed off for the motorway back to Cardiff.
*****
The line was answered exactly after the second ring. It was a prompt and proper time to respond as dictated by custom. He would expect nothing less from a well trained staff.
If there was one thing Ma'am did, it was ensure all members were quite capable in all areas. While the civilized world had evolved, that did not mean a lack of propriety and manners should or would be tolerated. One must always be prepared. A lack of knowledge lead to chaos, formality ensured some stability.
"Ms. Jones, Secretary of State for Crown Staff Service, speaking."
Feeling his cheeks pink, Ianto couldn't hide the tiny smile. Even after three years, some things remained the same. "Yes, Ma'am, I know who you are."
"Mr. Jones, your report, please."
"Assignment is static, Ma'am." Ianto took a moment to breathe before he continued. The worst they could do was deny him. "Requesting transfer of agent."
"Acknowledged. Please state the nature of the contributing factors."
Had he not met the woman once at a private ceremony, Ianto would have considered her an intuitive machine. Her tone was always civil with a bit of corporate geniality. There was never any doubt that she could wish him well and order his extermination in the same breath over the line. Yet, in person, she hardly seemed capable of once ruling the British Empire.
Closing his eyes, Ianto leaned his forehead against the door to his freezer. The cool, ceramic paint chilled his already clammy skin. "Factors beyond on my control have led to a conflict of interest."
"Is the agent compromised?"
"Negative. Control has been maintained throughout. Agent simply cannot continue on. I..." he trailed off, suddenly finding it difficult to breathe. Swallowing, he clenched his eyes shut. He could do this. He had no other choice. "Ma'am, I request a transfer and another, more capable agent be sent to oversee the assignment."
"Mr. Jones, the assignment has been placed in your authority. You assured the Crown Authority that you were capable. Are you now admitting your failure, that you lied?"
Ianto froze. The steadiness in her voice sent a chill down his spine. He had never heard her use that tone in any of their contacts. Some part of him realized that few probably ever had, and those that did, were not long for this world. Still, he could not continue on here.
Covering his face, Ianto turned from his fridge. There was no particular destination in mind. His only urge was to move. "Negative, Ma'am. Assignment is being handled. Agent simply wishes to take another assignment."
There was silence on the line for several moments. Then she exhaled slowly.
"Confirmed. Agent's work of recent has been exemplary."
He winced on her emphasis of 'recent'. Ma'am knew his history and he was grateful not to have been recalled or worse. That he had been allowed to continue was only a slight surprise. The assignment was viewed as more a final punishment than another mission by Members of the Staff.
After a moment's pause for his quiet reaction, she continued on. Ma'am was magnanimous among her many qualities. "Another agent will soon be dispatched to oversee the assignment. Remain embedded until relieved of duty."
Suddenly, a heavy weight was lifted from his shoulders, leaving him weak-kneed. The relief was painful and he gasped. His heart fluttered in surprise. She wasn't going to punish him for his arrogance. Ianto had to bite his lip to keep from whispering his gratitude.
However, she hadn't finished. "An annotation will be added to Agent's file for later review. Agent will remit oneself to Torchwood House for debriefing, with possibility of redeployment, in two days time."
This time, he didn't hold back. The urge to blubber embarrassingly was somewhat less, thankfully. "Thank you, Ma'am. I shall endeavor not to disappoint again."
"Ensure that you do not. Good day, Mr. Jones."
"Good day." With weak fingers, he gently placed his phone back in the cradle. Her implied threat left him a bit numb. The relief of it was that the confrontation was over. There would soon be another to take his place and he could move on.
This had been a difficult assignment. He hadn't thought much about it at the time. His concern had been for Lisa and going undetected. Coming to Cardiff had been the most remote chance of being discovered he could find. It truly was the ends of the earth.
But that was done now. His reason for coming, his reason for staying, they were both gone. Looking out over his flat, he took in the sparse furnishings. There had never been a need for anything more. Not once ever was there a visitor. Not even Jack had been interested in popping in for a quick shag.
Covering his face with both hands, he tried not to let it bring him down. He wasn't sure he could sink much further. Ianto knew that he had to be strong now. While he was allowed to grieve, he wasn't allowed to doubt. He could no longer question whether this was the right decision, he had already made it.
Still, he gave himself another moment to stand there, unmoving. He would ring the moving company after.
Part 1. For Queen And Country.
Section housing hadn't changed in the time since his last visit. Cement walls with steel accents and glass features, it was very modern, very utilitarian. A single bunk was provided in the corner. The lighting was recessed in the ceiling and walls, a standard thirty-watt. Everything reminded of nothing so much as a Hollywood ideal for future designs.
The isolation was new.
Each dormitory had come with no less than four bunks. It encouraged social bonding and loyalty. Human interaction was recognized as essential.
Isolation was a punishment. Ianto wasn't quite certain for which failure he was being kept apart. He was allowed minimal contact with the rest of the residents, but denied access to all secure areas. Considering the nature of Torchwood, there were three areas he could go: his dormitory, the communal living space in section housing, or the main corridor.
He could not access the any of the hatches off the main corridor. That included the lift doors. Since it was the only known way in and out, this left little doubt as to his status.
Not that it mattered so much now. Everyone had made their own decisions. All that remained was to learn and live with the consequences.
Sliding a guiding hand down his tie, he straightened it once more. He sat at the foot of his bunk. Trainees might be in the common area. He might pop in, introduce himself. There might even be a cuppa.
Ianto ran another hand down his tie.
*****
Mouth dry, Ianto fought the urge to swallow and wet it. Any nervous actions would be judged harshly. A single moment of weakness was all they might require in justification. The cool air of the Handler's office matched the arctic blue light filtering from above. Despite his severe control, he still shivered.
He had thought they might give him a week before starting. Leaving had taken a great deal of sacrifice on his part. A short period for grieving was standard. Yet, here he was.
Standing before the Handler's desk, he awaited judgment. Here was the one to decide his fate. Guardian, Instructor, Interrogator, and Executioner, she performed all necessary functions required when dealing with an agent. She had been the one to guide him through his training. She would always be the one to do what was required regarding him.
"You have one of two options." Handler Maglyn's steel colored hair hung in a jaw length curtain around her head. Despite shifting in her desk chair, it remained static. "We can spend the next six months studiously picking apart your every action for the past year and seven months."
Eyes forward, Ianto kept his pose at parade rest. If there was one thing he still prided himself on, it was a strict posture. He would not fail even this most basic of lessons.
His time at Torchwood Three had led to many lax practices. The casual atmosphere under Jack's command was dangerous for an agent of her Majesty's service. Many of his team had suffered for their own lack of preparation. That was as much their fault as the team leader's. Discipline may not have saved Torchwood One from the end, but it had spared many lives until that point.
Handler Maglyn waved a casual hand over her desk. The single piece of steel plate molded itself into a dome with the print of a human palm at the center. "Or, you may submit yourself for examination. Considering your training and psychological tempering, the first option would be less, shall we say, excruciating."
Ianto allowed himself a moment to swallow. Sweat pricked at the back of his neck. Closing his eyes, he nodded once.
"Very well. Step forward and place your hand upon the inquisitor."
Nodding again, he closed the distance between the desk and himself. He did not allow his heart to pound nervously. His stomach was not allowed to flutter or climb his throat in an attempt to escape. This was his choice and he would make it with a strong constitution.
Eyes solely for the palm print, he never saw Handler Maglyn's own eyes blank out, then glow white. He had been warned it would happen and did not wish to see it. That action alone might unsettle him enough to waste time. Six months locked away in this gaoler's paradise was not something he was willing to entertain. Thus, his gaze was kept strictly on target.
Palm damp with sweat, he reached out and placed it firmly over the print. His eyes closed unbidden as he steadied himself for....
Nothing. Only silence greeted him. There was no pain, no burning sensation that others had spoke of. Checking his body, he found his suit to be intact. A quick pat of his head revealed only the perfectly coifed hair. He was unharmed. There was only the quiet of...where was he?
Looking about, Ianto found himself alone in aisle. The aisle stood in the center of a vast archive. It was not in a warehouse or the basement. He knew without looking this was no place he had ever been.
Still, he wished to see. Dim light came from sparsely placed lamps high above, giving the impression of untold vastness. The world around him suddenly sprung up where he turned to look. He quickly glanced about, trying to catch the movement of objects. All he found was more of the archive revealed.
It was as if everything sprang from nothingness in anticipation. Something pulled what he saw from a distant void and created the archive the moment before he looked. This continued until the entire world was populated. What it had been populated by, he found, was not at all what he expected.
Drawers lined cabinets two metres tall, spread out upon endless rows beyond sight. Each drawer had a label affixed with a printed combination of standard English letters and Arabic numerals. The one nearest to him held a combination he recognized for the secure archives in Torchwood Three.
"Interesting."
Ianto startled at the whispered word. It seemed to have come from directly behind him. When he turned, he found no one standing there.
"Such an orderly mind. One so young should not have such discipline."
That was Handler Maglyn. It wasn't her voice, yet, Ianto knew without a doubt that she was speaking to him.
His mind. Right. He was in his mind. This was his mind, his memories.
"Congratulations. Most spend weeks exploring their own memories before I can reach them."
Weeks? Ianto frowned in confusion. "How long have I been here," he called out into the shadows above.
"Always." She was amused, but her voice remained even toned. "The correct question would be 'How long have we been here, watching your memories?'"
He continued to stare above him. Some how, he knew it was an empty gesture. She was all around him, but not really there at the same time. This was his mind. "Yes." Clearing his throat, he took a moment to compose himself, to adjust his suit. After checking his tie, he walked to the nearest cabinet. "Shall we begin?"
"That decision is up to you. This is your mind. We have all the time in the world." For some reason, she was being generous, almost giving.
If this was to be how things worked, he would be rid of this entire experience sooner rather than later. Grasping the handle of the first drawer, he pulled it open....
Hot breath exploded over the back of his neck as teeth nipped at his hairline. Ianto barely had time to brace his hands against the desk before he felt it push in. Too much, he clenched his eyes shut against the pain.
Inside him. So big. Bloody hell!
Jack gasped, his arms wrapped around Ianto's chest. "Fuck, you're tight!" He gasped again, ending with a giggle. "God, I know you said I was your first, but... Wow!"
*****
By the time his hand came free of the dome, Ianto sagged against the desk. Both hands were needed to hold him up off the cool surface. His entire body felt wasted and drained. If he looked in a mirror, he knew the sight of a pale and shaken figure would greet him.
How much time had actually passed?
"Your memory's vivid and extremely graphic." For the first time, Handler Maglyn sounded effected. Her voice held a higher pitch. "Your methods are extreme, but effective."
Still gasping for breath, Ianto raised his tired eyes to peer at her. Through a yawn, he studied Handler Maglyn's stern expression. He wanted to ask her questions. The breath for words would not come.
Steepling her fingers, she sat back in her desk chair. "You require some retraining. Our methods have been updated since your last time here." Her index fingers tapped together twice. "After, you will be cleared for your next field assignment." Her ring fingers twitched before she sighed. "That will be all for today."
Nodding, he dropped his chin and yawned once more. Though it was only twenty metres away, his bunk felt beyond reach in this lifetime.
*****
"This is the latest in branch software. Please note the modifications from the last update we sent you. After an incident with some hackers, we've had to upgrade. We are almost done debugging the core systems at Torchwood House before next week's install..." The instructor trailed off, his voice going higher pitched towards the end. "What are you doing?"
Typing, Ianto's vision narrowed on each line of code. Seeing the familiar script settled a solid mass in his chest. Pushing it from his mind, he refocused on his work. What he had found made him wish to groan and slam the programmer's head against the keyboard until one broke. Which gave first, he didn't care. Two more clicks, and the entire mess disappeared from the screen.
The instructor's tablet hit the floor.
Twisting his chair, he looked to the instructor, who remained frozen on the spot. "Basing your entire OS upon coding older than I am is what allowed those 'Unknown' hacker children from America to access your network. I have solved the next crises before it begins." With a helpful grin, he stood and tugged his sleeves down.
"You deleted...everything."
"Yes." He nodded. Stating obvious would get them no where. He needed to get things moving. "If you would please direct me to a terminal where I may access the coding updates we sent back, I may begin to ensure against future breaches." When there was still no response from the man, Ianto sighed.
Maybe they still frowned upon showing initiative? Clearly, his days under Jack Harkness had been a terrible influence. His days on top of the man hadn't been so enlightening either.
*****
Blasters, Stunners, Projectile Launchers, there were a wide array of handheld weapons he had to be re-certified on. While his obvious favorite had been a handheld stunner, there was no denying the satisfaction he derived from holding an actual molecular disrupter. What had been a dream project of Torchwood London fit so snugly in his palm.
Blast shield down, he took aim at the far wall. He triple checked the charge setting, despite knowing they wouldn't allow a dangerous amount to be installed. The power packs on these were limited to six shots, for targets no larger than an apple. Once he was certain he was ready, he nodded.
An orange light flashed on the range. Then Ianto squeezed the grip and pushed the trigger.
A brilliant flash filled the testing range, there was no kickback. This was followed quickly by bits of apple splattering everything, including Ianto.
Face protected, his smock to the brunt of the impact. His heart was pounding as his entire body trembled in excitement. When he raised the blast shield, Ianto knew he was grinning like a loon.
Shrugging, the instructor walked from behind the blast barrier. His blue smock remained untouched. "It's no levelin' a parkin' structure, but it lets one know what you're holdin'."
*****
What he had limited-to-no experience with were mines. The idea of using one was abhorrent to him. Once in primary school, some lads returned from the Falklands had been too happy to display the damage. There wasn't much left of one fellow, but he had managed to survive and scare school children. He didn't forget such horrors.
Sitting in a standard class room, he was among twelve other initiates for seeking field assignment. Part of their training was knowing every possible weapon they could apply in the arsenal. While these were quite different than the mines of his terrified youth, they were just as equally terrifying.
Standing at the front of the class, the instructor was smaller than Gwen, but had the personality of a Dalek. Already, she had destroyed three model humans and a model Slytheen. She had displayed the only emotion to date during that last one, mild amusement.
Ianto could understand why there were few initiates willing to chance becoming a full field agent.
"Easily inlaid among power switches, they are simple to plant and activate." Pulling away the faceplate from a model wall switch, the instructor held up a three centimeter long device. It was cylindrical in shape and gray. She quickly stuck it in the light socket top, then replaced the plate. "With the stroke of a switch, a light panel becomes a death trap. These devices can be programmed to emit intense radiation or a light electrical charge."
Ianto could only watch in sick fascination as a robotic arm swung out and flipped the switch. Once the switch turned on, the entire arm seized and sparked. Smoke emitted from the servos, filling the entire room with the acrid stink of ozone.
Her display over, the instructor moved on to the next model. This was a doorway at the front of the class. She leaned over and twisted the handle.
Ianto knew to brace himself when he saw a glint in her eye. Bright lights flashed from the inner door frame once it swung half-open. From the cries around him, he knew he had been the only one to notice.
*****
A violent fit snapped his jaw tight. The sudden pain in his jaw startled Ianto awake. His face soaked, he reached up to rub at his eyes. It had been the dream again.
After three days of rigorous testing, he had covered the basics of his re-certification. There would be more intimate details necessary to cover later. From the reactions, though, he knew that he would be cleared for a new assignment soon. He had kept up his training while at Torchwood Three and it had shown.
The testing and instruction brought up old memories, many of which he wished never to have known. If Retcon would remove it while keeping others intact, he would have tried that long ago. At some point, it was a far more attractive alternative. The dreams they inspired left him crying in the middle of the night. Very few tests over the past few days had caused him more than the usual nightmares.
Yet, the one that woke him with screaming fits had been the most innocuous.
In a highly shielded lab, a harmless porch light, probably left on for a cat or a late worker, held the deadliest secret. When activated, it triggered a thermal flash. Two words that sounded harmless upon first inspection. It's only when you think about it that the true horror starts to dawn. Not right away, mind, that took time.
A Thermal Flash: A wave of intense heat that instantly vaporized anything caught within the blast radius. As in; see Nagasaki Shadows.
One of the techs had delighted in showing him the perfect outline of an apple left on the formerly white stones of the testing range.
He was unable to think of such a device without his skin pricking in goose flesh. What psychopathic minds had been behind such devices? Who thought harnessing one of the most horrific ways to die and making it pocket sized was a good idea?
After that, the rest became a blur of deadly nightmare fodder. Thankfully, his training went smoothly and he was allowed to bypass their other creative ways to kill.
Getting back to sleep was harder.
*****
He had to pause outside the double doors to take a steadying breath. Just beyond them lay the briefing room for his section. If he hadn't been working hard, he would have thought the invitation a final act before his dismissal. That was still a possibility. One's fate was never completely secure. After another breath to compose himself, he stepped up to the sensor and let it read his face.
With a silent hiss, the doors slid open.
When he entered the room, Ianto was grateful that he had thought to wear his best suit. The briefing room was standard to his memory, a table at the center of a circular room. While the other participants were at it, waiting for him, it was who among them that made him hesitate but a moment. The door slid shut behind him as he crossed to the only empty chair and took his seat.
Ma'am began without introductions or hesitation. "There's been a bit of activity from across the pond in regards to the late Harold Saxon. Those with knowledge of its true nature have become scarce of recent. It appears we have an organized movement working to suppress the truth of alien life." Her head high, she smiled knowingly at him.
There were four people at the table. It was square, each side a metre long. Ma'am sat across from him. Two unfamiliar agents were at their left and right.
Turning to the other agents, she took on a more professional appearance. "Have you any luck in being able to determine a source?"
The room was bathed in blue, indirect light. Caught in the glass table top, it made the built-in holographic displays glow. Each screen shown for the person directly seated before it.
Feeling out of his depth, Ianto sat there watching. Sometimes, it was best to merely be an observer.
"Negative. All contacts remain silent, many may have simply decided against the risk of exposure, others have gone completely dark. Either of which we have no way of confirming. The recent misdeeds at Ten Downing have cost a great deal of our capitol."
Ma'am sighed. Placing her hand against the table, she tapped in a sequence with the other. "All right. For the sake of our returning agent, let's go over what we do know for certain."
Relief flooded him. He was truly here for the reasons he hoped. "Thank you, Ma'am," Ianto acknowledged with a tiny nod.
At her touch, a man in profile appeared on the screen. "Seven weeks ago, a key scientist behind the U.N.'s flying monstrosity went on holiday to Ibiza. His family reported him missing twenty minutes after arrival. He was merely the first." The image began to move through several frames, but the man's face never became fully visible. "This image was taken from an airport security camera. He was on the same plane, but was not a passenger."
The images of five more people appeared on the display before Ianto, their faces in profile, or a frontal view for one. Quick statistics scrolled down the left side of the screen for each.
"These six individuals were noted at recent events where scientists involved in Saxon's varied projects have completely vanished. Everyone else at these events has been identified and investigated for possible links. We know almost nothing about them. Their faces do not match any known database, and aside from these images, they left no traceable evidence. In every instance, it is as if they simply did not exist before and after being caught on camera."
Staring at the faces, Ianto tried to memorize their features. Being able to recognize them at a moment's notice might save his life.
Ma'am tapped her screen to bring up three videos. A quick tap of each one in turn ran it without audio. The unknown suspect in each bumped into a person and apologized. "There is one unifying component in the case of every one of these people. The people they collided with each individually identified it. They all spoke with an American accent."
Ianto was watching the third video of a man slam into a woman from behind, causing her to drop her purse, when something struck him. He tapped it to bring up the progress bar, then dragged it back several frames. The way the man moved, how he caught the nudged woman's purse before it hit the ground, he recognized the skill. "Ma'am, is this woman the target, or a bystander?"
"The target's wife." She smiled, lacing her fingers on the table before her. "She didn't get a good look at the suspect. Her husband disappeared four hours later and she had completely forgotten about the incident. Is there something you recognize?"
He nodded once, buying himself time to organize his observations. "The man is/was a professional stunt performer, and a good thief. Most likely, he's spent time on the street as a youth before or after he had some gymnastics training." He ticked through the video, stopping it on a frame to show the man's hand on the bag, two fingers stuffed past the snap. "He's slipped something in her purse."
Ma'am rewarded him with a dazzling smile. "Brilliant catch there. It took our researchers three days to notice that. By the time they did, her purse had gone missing as well."
But he wasn't done. Heart pounding at the praise, he had a little difficulty maintaining focus. Yet, he managed. He was able to see what piqued his interest. There were obvious tells in the suspect's grace and movements. "His balance and skill are too refined to be self-taught. He must have had a professional teacher at one time."
The shrewd, assessing look she gave him stated clearly that she was impressed. It wasn't an everyday thing with Ma'am, no matter her giving nature. "You're catching on faster than we anticipated. Interpol has identified two such assassins with the requisite skills and body type, brothers. One was doing time in a prison camp just south of Usolye-Sibirskoye, the other robbing a bank in Singapore at the time of the disappearance. I'll let you suss out which I think is our assassin."
Listening to her explanation, he felt like he missed something. "If we know who they are, why haven't we identified them and brought them in?"
She gestured with her hands as she spoke. Each point was made with a gentle flick of her fingers. "Because we don't have any solid evidence. There are no photos of these brothers. At least, not in our possession. Our Russian neighbors are less than forthcoming. When they are caught on camera, one wears a mask, the other a mask and a hood. They have since they were children performing in..."
Something clicked in his head. The grace, the training, the thievery, it was all connected. Suddenly, it all made sense and he cut her off. "A circus." Sitting up straight, he traced the outline of the man's hand on his display. "I request to be involved on this assignment."
The agent on his left snickered, but was quickly quelled by a look from Ma'am.
"You already are." She tilted her head slightly, an open look of concern on her face. "This is your briefing, everything we have covered here is for your benefit."
Quickly ducking his chin, Ianto's face burned. "Right." How could he have forgotten? "I guess in all the excitement..."
She gave him a quick nod before looking to the others. "It's understandable, you are a very focused agent. That is why it was decided to give you a third chance." And another reminder of how much she had given him.
He wondered how long before the Torchwood House cut its losses with him. More subdued, he spoke in a calmer manner. "Thank you, Ma'am." His up-and-down reactions today were a bit worrying. Maybe he should give himself a little more time to absorb all the recent revelations.
Jumping from one assignment to another in a week was actively discouraged. Agents were given downtime between missions for a reason. The mind and body needed time to repair and adjust. While he had been here, thinking about his future, Ianto hadn't really given himself time to grieve for his loss. In fact, he had spent most of his time denying they had happened.
Not that Ma'am noticed his indecision. "Enough of the non-sense, we have a briefing to finish." Posture straight, she raised her head and stared at each of them in turn. "Our possible assassin has recently relocated to New York. Interpol assures us that there are multiple witnesses that place him there in the last two days."
"What resources are available?" Leaning forwards in his chair, Ianto dragged two fingers across the screen to the bring up the images individually. "Are we capable of establishing an assignment on-site?" The second was an elderly black man with one eye missing and a look that sent a shiver down his spine.
"Limited. A profile for possible assignment has already been calculated, but the intel is limited and dependent upon unverifiable sources. Setting up on-site requires more details." Sitting to Ianto's left, the agent tapped her display and brought up the file menu. "Up-to-now monitoring of non-sovereign events has been left to others' discretion. Torchwood Staff is still in recovery mode, and estimated to remain so for another ten months. Between Yvonne and that Martian cunt, we've barely a chance to catch our breath!"
Ma'am cleared her throat in warning, but a tiny smile twitched her lips. "Despite the indelicate choice of words, the assessment is correct. Torchwood resources have been stretched thin cleaning up yet another of the Doctor's messes, to the point we have been forced to cede some of our authority to UNIT and Interpol. This case has been under their jurisdiction, until now." Meeting Ianto's curious stare, she raised her chin slightly. "To that effect, a new directive has been issued from her Majesty. A KOI order has been given for the Doctor, no matter his incarnation."
A moment of stunned silence greeted Ma'am's words.
Ianto had been expecting something similar in the wake of Canary Wharf. When it hadn't materialized, he hadn't given it much more thought. At the time, he had been far more concerned with his Lisa. Still, that it would be issued now seemed troubling. Clearing his throat, he leveled his gaze with hers. "May I inquire as to what has changed?"
The thought pained Ma'am and she tried to cover it with a smile. "Her Majesty believes we have lost control of the situation. Her word is that it was ignorant to believe we ever had a chance." She cleared her throat softly, looking down at her screen. "A similar order has been given for any non-human entity attempting to influence our government. That one comes with the explicit instruction to shoot on sight."
Given their past experiences, Ianto nodded. "A wise precaution."
Her eyebrows raised in agreement, before she tapped an image on her screen. "Back to the matter at hand, we are in dangerous territory with our lack of knowledge on this new movement. If they can so thoroughly overcome our best efforts, we need to become better." She tapped an image and it appeared on all four screens. "My briefing this morning with MI6 detailed little new information. They've only been able to ascertain that they are united under a single banner. This extrajudicial organization calls itself S.H.I.E.L.D.."
His own eyebrows shot up. "How perfectly Orwellian." The irony of the statement was not lost on him. Smiling uncomfortably, he focused more intently upon the screen. "I guess it takes one to know one, Ma'am."
"Torchwood is far from an Orwellian name." She didn't correct the assumption about their organization, just his faux-paus about the names.
*****
As the plane had landed, Ianto had never wished for a death spiral in all his life. Yet, somehow, he had landed safely. The crew had opened the doors and everyone coming from home was exiting the place.
So, here he was, standing in a terminal, waiting for his baggage next to the carousel with two dozen other travelers in various states of disarray. Somehow, in all their disparate appearances, his stood out. He couldn't imagine how that could possibly be.
In a pair of trackpants and a vest with a few choice rips that showed off his body hair, he was far from elegant. His trainers were the most expensive part of the outfit. Best yet, they litup when he took a step. It still stung where the chinks of gold links had pinched his neck and removed several chest hairs. But that wasn't even the worst part.
A cool breeze over his newly shorn scalp made him shiver. His beautiful locks, that Jack had so thoroughly run his hands through, were gone. A greasy mess had taken their place. He had drawn the line at the cap. No one looked fit in Burberry.
Trembling, he would not let his bottom lip stick out. The gold ring in the corner drew enough attention.
As much as he tried to avoid it, there were enough mirror surfaces to catch his reflection in. Gelled hair molded perfectly against head, sunglasses hanging from the bleached out vest, a chav stared back at him. Throw in the love handles and a softness to his features, there was no way anyone would recognize Ianto Jones.
"Oh, bloody hell."
TBC
Author: H. H. Gothrykke
Disclaimer: I claim no ownership over Torchwood or Avengers. All copyrighted materials are the sole product of their copyright holders. This is purely for fan purposes. No profit is made.
Characters: Ianto Jones, Clint Barton.
Words: 6476/6476 total.
Fandom: Torchwood/Avengers.
Pairing: Ianto/Clint, past Ianto/Jack.
Rating: Adult
Warnings: Language, Violence
Summary: Giving up shouldn't have been easy. Time was, he stood his ground. Ianto is...was granite, fixed and stable. This time was different, and now, he knew how to admit defeat. Jack taught him that.
While his position may have been lost, the mission continues. Torchwood still exists and so does its original purpose. An effort has been made to clean up the late PM's nasty surprises. For his part, Ianto has been reassigned with a new target to focus on.
His assignment: Investigate this upstart organization calling itself S.H.I.E.L.D. and their connection to the alien Harold Saxon.
The objective: Evaluate, if a threat, eliminate.
Author's Note: Clint and other Avengers character will begin appearing in part 2.
Timeline: early March, 2008. Two months post 'The Sound of Drums'. Four years prior to the events of 'Avengers'. Partial way through Iron Man, Tony is a captive, but hasn't rescued himself.
This fic assumes that Torchwood Institute was more than just a few independent agencies operating in select locations. They are a secret agency of the crown, funded and commanded through a cabinet position. You know, what they were originally stated as being before that part was conveniently forgot about.
This is pure Avengers Movieverse (MCU) only, no comics, no combination of other Marvel Movies.
May become A/B/O in later chapters/sequel.
Prologue: A Distant Notion.
'Stunned - noun, to stupefy, as with the emotional impact of an experience.'
Watching them stepping in together, hand in hand, her in her wedding dress, and him in his great coat, the music playing, it was the perfect moment. She glanced ever-so-lovingly, shy almost, up at him. He stared down in pride, admiration, and more than a little love. The purse of her lips matched the swell of his own.
In another time, they would have kissed. They had on more than one occasion. They probably would again soon.
Watching them sway together felt almost an intrusion. He was violating this private moment between lovers, when the world had already faded away to them.
That should have been him. His is the body that should have been held so tight; the arm around his waist, the hand in his own. The love in Jack's eyes should have been for him alone.
It should have been painful, this was the embodiment of his worst fears. He should have known it wasn't real between them. The pain of this betrayal should have crippled him, it would have two years ago with someone else. Yet, this...emptiness, was almost a relief. Some how, Ianto had always known Jack would never love him.
Before him danced his only necessary proof.
There had been signs before, just ones he could deny at the time. The neglect, the outright hostility at times, even the many indiscretions, all were part of Jack as a whole. The man was more than a legend unto himself, of course there would be negative aspects with the good. That was part of the brilliance that is Jack Harkness.
He had deluded himself for so long. Ianto had let himself believe he was worth more than a quick, mutual wank. It wasn't a strong, lasting relationship, at least he grasped that much. Honestly, he hadn't been ready for another one of those. That hadn't stopped him from living the lie, though, wallowing in a happy fantasy. Yet, every time Jack touched him, there was bit of something missing. It felt that he lived in a vivid dream.
Watching the man dance with Gwen, that felt real.
Honestly, it was a bit of relief. At least now he could move on proper. The plaster had been torn off and the wound exposed. Raw and throbbing, it stung enough to remind him that he was living. Seeing how happy they were together had cut him deep and he wasn't about to forgive this!
Ianto frowned. He meant, forget. He wasn't about to forget himself in fantasies again. Honest, he wasn't. Right? He knew where he stood, just another person to get his leg over with. Jack was a bloody liar and a cheat! The man never denied he wasn't.
Shaking, for he wasn't trembling, he wasn't sure when his hand had covered his mouth or how that it was now crushing his jaw. Ianto had to actively will his hand to slacken and let go. Once it slipped from his face, it clenched up tight enough to make the joints pop.
Unable to watch further, he looked about the banquet hall. Gwen's relatives were about, getting pissed. Rhys was about some where...any place. Owen, Tosh, he didn't see them, they probably didn't see him. No one saw Ianto, no one ever saw Ianto. He could slip out and no one would ever see Ianto.
He wasn't real. It was all but a dream, we spirits who doth offend.
No one noticed when he slipped out the side door. No one followed him down the corridor. No one caught him in the car park. No one rung his mobile as he headed off for the motorway back to Cardiff.
*****
The line was answered exactly after the second ring. It was a prompt and proper time to respond as dictated by custom. He would expect nothing less from a well trained staff.
If there was one thing Ma'am did, it was ensure all members were quite capable in all areas. While the civilized world had evolved, that did not mean a lack of propriety and manners should or would be tolerated. One must always be prepared. A lack of knowledge lead to chaos, formality ensured some stability.
"Ms. Jones, Secretary of State for Crown Staff Service, speaking."
Feeling his cheeks pink, Ianto couldn't hide the tiny smile. Even after three years, some things remained the same. "Yes, Ma'am, I know who you are."
"Mr. Jones, your report, please."
"Assignment is static, Ma'am." Ianto took a moment to breathe before he continued. The worst they could do was deny him. "Requesting transfer of agent."
"Acknowledged. Please state the nature of the contributing factors."
Had he not met the woman once at a private ceremony, Ianto would have considered her an intuitive machine. Her tone was always civil with a bit of corporate geniality. There was never any doubt that she could wish him well and order his extermination in the same breath over the line. Yet, in person, she hardly seemed capable of once ruling the British Empire.
Closing his eyes, Ianto leaned his forehead against the door to his freezer. The cool, ceramic paint chilled his already clammy skin. "Factors beyond on my control have led to a conflict of interest."
"Is the agent compromised?"
"Negative. Control has been maintained throughout. Agent simply cannot continue on. I..." he trailed off, suddenly finding it difficult to breathe. Swallowing, he clenched his eyes shut. He could do this. He had no other choice. "Ma'am, I request a transfer and another, more capable agent be sent to oversee the assignment."
"Mr. Jones, the assignment has been placed in your authority. You assured the Crown Authority that you were capable. Are you now admitting your failure, that you lied?"
Ianto froze. The steadiness in her voice sent a chill down his spine. He had never heard her use that tone in any of their contacts. Some part of him realized that few probably ever had, and those that did, were not long for this world. Still, he could not continue on here.
Covering his face, Ianto turned from his fridge. There was no particular destination in mind. His only urge was to move. "Negative, Ma'am. Assignment is being handled. Agent simply wishes to take another assignment."
There was silence on the line for several moments. Then she exhaled slowly.
"Confirmed. Agent's work of recent has been exemplary."
He winced on her emphasis of 'recent'. Ma'am knew his history and he was grateful not to have been recalled or worse. That he had been allowed to continue was only a slight surprise. The assignment was viewed as more a final punishment than another mission by Members of the Staff.
After a moment's pause for his quiet reaction, she continued on. Ma'am was magnanimous among her many qualities. "Another agent will soon be dispatched to oversee the assignment. Remain embedded until relieved of duty."
Suddenly, a heavy weight was lifted from his shoulders, leaving him weak-kneed. The relief was painful and he gasped. His heart fluttered in surprise. She wasn't going to punish him for his arrogance. Ianto had to bite his lip to keep from whispering his gratitude.
However, she hadn't finished. "An annotation will be added to Agent's file for later review. Agent will remit oneself to Torchwood House for debriefing, with possibility of redeployment, in two days time."
This time, he didn't hold back. The urge to blubber embarrassingly was somewhat less, thankfully. "Thank you, Ma'am. I shall endeavor not to disappoint again."
"Ensure that you do not. Good day, Mr. Jones."
"Good day." With weak fingers, he gently placed his phone back in the cradle. Her implied threat left him a bit numb. The relief of it was that the confrontation was over. There would soon be another to take his place and he could move on.
This had been a difficult assignment. He hadn't thought much about it at the time. His concern had been for Lisa and going undetected. Coming to Cardiff had been the most remote chance of being discovered he could find. It truly was the ends of the earth.
But that was done now. His reason for coming, his reason for staying, they were both gone. Looking out over his flat, he took in the sparse furnishings. There had never been a need for anything more. Not once ever was there a visitor. Not even Jack had been interested in popping in for a quick shag.
Covering his face with both hands, he tried not to let it bring him down. He wasn't sure he could sink much further. Ianto knew that he had to be strong now. While he was allowed to grieve, he wasn't allowed to doubt. He could no longer question whether this was the right decision, he had already made it.
Still, he gave himself another moment to stand there, unmoving. He would ring the moving company after.
Part 1. For Queen And Country.
Section housing hadn't changed in the time since his last visit. Cement walls with steel accents and glass features, it was very modern, very utilitarian. A single bunk was provided in the corner. The lighting was recessed in the ceiling and walls, a standard thirty-watt. Everything reminded of nothing so much as a Hollywood ideal for future designs.
The isolation was new.
Each dormitory had come with no less than four bunks. It encouraged social bonding and loyalty. Human interaction was recognized as essential.
Isolation was a punishment. Ianto wasn't quite certain for which failure he was being kept apart. He was allowed minimal contact with the rest of the residents, but denied access to all secure areas. Considering the nature of Torchwood, there were three areas he could go: his dormitory, the communal living space in section housing, or the main corridor.
He could not access the any of the hatches off the main corridor. That included the lift doors. Since it was the only known way in and out, this left little doubt as to his status.
Not that it mattered so much now. Everyone had made their own decisions. All that remained was to learn and live with the consequences.
Sliding a guiding hand down his tie, he straightened it once more. He sat at the foot of his bunk. Trainees might be in the common area. He might pop in, introduce himself. There might even be a cuppa.
Ianto ran another hand down his tie.
*****
Mouth dry, Ianto fought the urge to swallow and wet it. Any nervous actions would be judged harshly. A single moment of weakness was all they might require in justification. The cool air of the Handler's office matched the arctic blue light filtering from above. Despite his severe control, he still shivered.
He had thought they might give him a week before starting. Leaving had taken a great deal of sacrifice on his part. A short period for grieving was standard. Yet, here he was.
Standing before the Handler's desk, he awaited judgment. Here was the one to decide his fate. Guardian, Instructor, Interrogator, and Executioner, she performed all necessary functions required when dealing with an agent. She had been the one to guide him through his training. She would always be the one to do what was required regarding him.
"You have one of two options." Handler Maglyn's steel colored hair hung in a jaw length curtain around her head. Despite shifting in her desk chair, it remained static. "We can spend the next six months studiously picking apart your every action for the past year and seven months."
Eyes forward, Ianto kept his pose at parade rest. If there was one thing he still prided himself on, it was a strict posture. He would not fail even this most basic of lessons.
His time at Torchwood Three had led to many lax practices. The casual atmosphere under Jack's command was dangerous for an agent of her Majesty's service. Many of his team had suffered for their own lack of preparation. That was as much their fault as the team leader's. Discipline may not have saved Torchwood One from the end, but it had spared many lives until that point.
Handler Maglyn waved a casual hand over her desk. The single piece of steel plate molded itself into a dome with the print of a human palm at the center. "Or, you may submit yourself for examination. Considering your training and psychological tempering, the first option would be less, shall we say, excruciating."
Ianto allowed himself a moment to swallow. Sweat pricked at the back of his neck. Closing his eyes, he nodded once.
"Very well. Step forward and place your hand upon the inquisitor."
Nodding again, he closed the distance between the desk and himself. He did not allow his heart to pound nervously. His stomach was not allowed to flutter or climb his throat in an attempt to escape. This was his choice and he would make it with a strong constitution.
Eyes solely for the palm print, he never saw Handler Maglyn's own eyes blank out, then glow white. He had been warned it would happen and did not wish to see it. That action alone might unsettle him enough to waste time. Six months locked away in this gaoler's paradise was not something he was willing to entertain. Thus, his gaze was kept strictly on target.
Palm damp with sweat, he reached out and placed it firmly over the print. His eyes closed unbidden as he steadied himself for....
Nothing. Only silence greeted him. There was no pain, no burning sensation that others had spoke of. Checking his body, he found his suit to be intact. A quick pat of his head revealed only the perfectly coifed hair. He was unharmed. There was only the quiet of...where was he?
Looking about, Ianto found himself alone in aisle. The aisle stood in the center of a vast archive. It was not in a warehouse or the basement. He knew without looking this was no place he had ever been.
Still, he wished to see. Dim light came from sparsely placed lamps high above, giving the impression of untold vastness. The world around him suddenly sprung up where he turned to look. He quickly glanced about, trying to catch the movement of objects. All he found was more of the archive revealed.
It was as if everything sprang from nothingness in anticipation. Something pulled what he saw from a distant void and created the archive the moment before he looked. This continued until the entire world was populated. What it had been populated by, he found, was not at all what he expected.
Drawers lined cabinets two metres tall, spread out upon endless rows beyond sight. Each drawer had a label affixed with a printed combination of standard English letters and Arabic numerals. The one nearest to him held a combination he recognized for the secure archives in Torchwood Three.
"Interesting."
Ianto startled at the whispered word. It seemed to have come from directly behind him. When he turned, he found no one standing there.
"Such an orderly mind. One so young should not have such discipline."
That was Handler Maglyn. It wasn't her voice, yet, Ianto knew without a doubt that she was speaking to him.
His mind. Right. He was in his mind. This was his mind, his memories.
"Congratulations. Most spend weeks exploring their own memories before I can reach them."
Weeks? Ianto frowned in confusion. "How long have I been here," he called out into the shadows above.
"Always." She was amused, but her voice remained even toned. "The correct question would be 'How long have we been here, watching your memories?'"
He continued to stare above him. Some how, he knew it was an empty gesture. She was all around him, but not really there at the same time. This was his mind. "Yes." Clearing his throat, he took a moment to compose himself, to adjust his suit. After checking his tie, he walked to the nearest cabinet. "Shall we begin?"
"That decision is up to you. This is your mind. We have all the time in the world." For some reason, she was being generous, almost giving.
If this was to be how things worked, he would be rid of this entire experience sooner rather than later. Grasping the handle of the first drawer, he pulled it open....
Hot breath exploded over the back of his neck as teeth nipped at his hairline. Ianto barely had time to brace his hands against the desk before he felt it push in. Too much, he clenched his eyes shut against the pain.
Inside him. So big. Bloody hell!
Jack gasped, his arms wrapped around Ianto's chest. "Fuck, you're tight!" He gasped again, ending with a giggle. "God, I know you said I was your first, but... Wow!"
*****
By the time his hand came free of the dome, Ianto sagged against the desk. Both hands were needed to hold him up off the cool surface. His entire body felt wasted and drained. If he looked in a mirror, he knew the sight of a pale and shaken figure would greet him.
How much time had actually passed?
"Your memory's vivid and extremely graphic." For the first time, Handler Maglyn sounded effected. Her voice held a higher pitch. "Your methods are extreme, but effective."
Still gasping for breath, Ianto raised his tired eyes to peer at her. Through a yawn, he studied Handler Maglyn's stern expression. He wanted to ask her questions. The breath for words would not come.
Steepling her fingers, she sat back in her desk chair. "You require some retraining. Our methods have been updated since your last time here." Her index fingers tapped together twice. "After, you will be cleared for your next field assignment." Her ring fingers twitched before she sighed. "That will be all for today."
Nodding, he dropped his chin and yawned once more. Though it was only twenty metres away, his bunk felt beyond reach in this lifetime.
*****
"This is the latest in branch software. Please note the modifications from the last update we sent you. After an incident with some hackers, we've had to upgrade. We are almost done debugging the core systems at Torchwood House before next week's install..." The instructor trailed off, his voice going higher pitched towards the end. "What are you doing?"
Typing, Ianto's vision narrowed on each line of code. Seeing the familiar script settled a solid mass in his chest. Pushing it from his mind, he refocused on his work. What he had found made him wish to groan and slam the programmer's head against the keyboard until one broke. Which gave first, he didn't care. Two more clicks, and the entire mess disappeared from the screen.
The instructor's tablet hit the floor.
Twisting his chair, he looked to the instructor, who remained frozen on the spot. "Basing your entire OS upon coding older than I am is what allowed those 'Unknown' hacker children from America to access your network. I have solved the next crises before it begins." With a helpful grin, he stood and tugged his sleeves down.
"You deleted...everything."
"Yes." He nodded. Stating obvious would get them no where. He needed to get things moving. "If you would please direct me to a terminal where I may access the coding updates we sent back, I may begin to ensure against future breaches." When there was still no response from the man, Ianto sighed.
Maybe they still frowned upon showing initiative? Clearly, his days under Jack Harkness had been a terrible influence. His days on top of the man hadn't been so enlightening either.
*****
Blasters, Stunners, Projectile Launchers, there were a wide array of handheld weapons he had to be re-certified on. While his obvious favorite had been a handheld stunner, there was no denying the satisfaction he derived from holding an actual molecular disrupter. What had been a dream project of Torchwood London fit so snugly in his palm.
Blast shield down, he took aim at the far wall. He triple checked the charge setting, despite knowing they wouldn't allow a dangerous amount to be installed. The power packs on these were limited to six shots, for targets no larger than an apple. Once he was certain he was ready, he nodded.
An orange light flashed on the range. Then Ianto squeezed the grip and pushed the trigger.
A brilliant flash filled the testing range, there was no kickback. This was followed quickly by bits of apple splattering everything, including Ianto.
Face protected, his smock to the brunt of the impact. His heart was pounding as his entire body trembled in excitement. When he raised the blast shield, Ianto knew he was grinning like a loon.
Shrugging, the instructor walked from behind the blast barrier. His blue smock remained untouched. "It's no levelin' a parkin' structure, but it lets one know what you're holdin'."
*****
What he had limited-to-no experience with were mines. The idea of using one was abhorrent to him. Once in primary school, some lads returned from the Falklands had been too happy to display the damage. There wasn't much left of one fellow, but he had managed to survive and scare school children. He didn't forget such horrors.
Sitting in a standard class room, he was among twelve other initiates for seeking field assignment. Part of their training was knowing every possible weapon they could apply in the arsenal. While these were quite different than the mines of his terrified youth, they were just as equally terrifying.
Standing at the front of the class, the instructor was smaller than Gwen, but had the personality of a Dalek. Already, she had destroyed three model humans and a model Slytheen. She had displayed the only emotion to date during that last one, mild amusement.
Ianto could understand why there were few initiates willing to chance becoming a full field agent.
"Easily inlaid among power switches, they are simple to plant and activate." Pulling away the faceplate from a model wall switch, the instructor held up a three centimeter long device. It was cylindrical in shape and gray. She quickly stuck it in the light socket top, then replaced the plate. "With the stroke of a switch, a light panel becomes a death trap. These devices can be programmed to emit intense radiation or a light electrical charge."
Ianto could only watch in sick fascination as a robotic arm swung out and flipped the switch. Once the switch turned on, the entire arm seized and sparked. Smoke emitted from the servos, filling the entire room with the acrid stink of ozone.
Her display over, the instructor moved on to the next model. This was a doorway at the front of the class. She leaned over and twisted the handle.
Ianto knew to brace himself when he saw a glint in her eye. Bright lights flashed from the inner door frame once it swung half-open. From the cries around him, he knew he had been the only one to notice.
*****
A violent fit snapped his jaw tight. The sudden pain in his jaw startled Ianto awake. His face soaked, he reached up to rub at his eyes. It had been the dream again.
After three days of rigorous testing, he had covered the basics of his re-certification. There would be more intimate details necessary to cover later. From the reactions, though, he knew that he would be cleared for a new assignment soon. He had kept up his training while at Torchwood Three and it had shown.
The testing and instruction brought up old memories, many of which he wished never to have known. If Retcon would remove it while keeping others intact, he would have tried that long ago. At some point, it was a far more attractive alternative. The dreams they inspired left him crying in the middle of the night. Very few tests over the past few days had caused him more than the usual nightmares.
Yet, the one that woke him with screaming fits had been the most innocuous.
In a highly shielded lab, a harmless porch light, probably left on for a cat or a late worker, held the deadliest secret. When activated, it triggered a thermal flash. Two words that sounded harmless upon first inspection. It's only when you think about it that the true horror starts to dawn. Not right away, mind, that took time.
A Thermal Flash: A wave of intense heat that instantly vaporized anything caught within the blast radius. As in; see Nagasaki Shadows.
One of the techs had delighted in showing him the perfect outline of an apple left on the formerly white stones of the testing range.
He was unable to think of such a device without his skin pricking in goose flesh. What psychopathic minds had been behind such devices? Who thought harnessing one of the most horrific ways to die and making it pocket sized was a good idea?
After that, the rest became a blur of deadly nightmare fodder. Thankfully, his training went smoothly and he was allowed to bypass their other creative ways to kill.
Getting back to sleep was harder.
*****
He had to pause outside the double doors to take a steadying breath. Just beyond them lay the briefing room for his section. If he hadn't been working hard, he would have thought the invitation a final act before his dismissal. That was still a possibility. One's fate was never completely secure. After another breath to compose himself, he stepped up to the sensor and let it read his face.
With a silent hiss, the doors slid open.
When he entered the room, Ianto was grateful that he had thought to wear his best suit. The briefing room was standard to his memory, a table at the center of a circular room. While the other participants were at it, waiting for him, it was who among them that made him hesitate but a moment. The door slid shut behind him as he crossed to the only empty chair and took his seat.
Ma'am began without introductions or hesitation. "There's been a bit of activity from across the pond in regards to the late Harold Saxon. Those with knowledge of its true nature have become scarce of recent. It appears we have an organized movement working to suppress the truth of alien life." Her head high, she smiled knowingly at him.
There were four people at the table. It was square, each side a metre long. Ma'am sat across from him. Two unfamiliar agents were at their left and right.
Turning to the other agents, she took on a more professional appearance. "Have you any luck in being able to determine a source?"
The room was bathed in blue, indirect light. Caught in the glass table top, it made the built-in holographic displays glow. Each screen shown for the person directly seated before it.
Feeling out of his depth, Ianto sat there watching. Sometimes, it was best to merely be an observer.
"Negative. All contacts remain silent, many may have simply decided against the risk of exposure, others have gone completely dark. Either of which we have no way of confirming. The recent misdeeds at Ten Downing have cost a great deal of our capitol."
Ma'am sighed. Placing her hand against the table, she tapped in a sequence with the other. "All right. For the sake of our returning agent, let's go over what we do know for certain."
Relief flooded him. He was truly here for the reasons he hoped. "Thank you, Ma'am," Ianto acknowledged with a tiny nod.
At her touch, a man in profile appeared on the screen. "Seven weeks ago, a key scientist behind the U.N.'s flying monstrosity went on holiday to Ibiza. His family reported him missing twenty minutes after arrival. He was merely the first." The image began to move through several frames, but the man's face never became fully visible. "This image was taken from an airport security camera. He was on the same plane, but was not a passenger."
The images of five more people appeared on the display before Ianto, their faces in profile, or a frontal view for one. Quick statistics scrolled down the left side of the screen for each.
"These six individuals were noted at recent events where scientists involved in Saxon's varied projects have completely vanished. Everyone else at these events has been identified and investigated for possible links. We know almost nothing about them. Their faces do not match any known database, and aside from these images, they left no traceable evidence. In every instance, it is as if they simply did not exist before and after being caught on camera."
Staring at the faces, Ianto tried to memorize their features. Being able to recognize them at a moment's notice might save his life.
Ma'am tapped her screen to bring up three videos. A quick tap of each one in turn ran it without audio. The unknown suspect in each bumped into a person and apologized. "There is one unifying component in the case of every one of these people. The people they collided with each individually identified it. They all spoke with an American accent."
Ianto was watching the third video of a man slam into a woman from behind, causing her to drop her purse, when something struck him. He tapped it to bring up the progress bar, then dragged it back several frames. The way the man moved, how he caught the nudged woman's purse before it hit the ground, he recognized the skill. "Ma'am, is this woman the target, or a bystander?"
"The target's wife." She smiled, lacing her fingers on the table before her. "She didn't get a good look at the suspect. Her husband disappeared four hours later and she had completely forgotten about the incident. Is there something you recognize?"
He nodded once, buying himself time to organize his observations. "The man is/was a professional stunt performer, and a good thief. Most likely, he's spent time on the street as a youth before or after he had some gymnastics training." He ticked through the video, stopping it on a frame to show the man's hand on the bag, two fingers stuffed past the snap. "He's slipped something in her purse."
Ma'am rewarded him with a dazzling smile. "Brilliant catch there. It took our researchers three days to notice that. By the time they did, her purse had gone missing as well."
But he wasn't done. Heart pounding at the praise, he had a little difficulty maintaining focus. Yet, he managed. He was able to see what piqued his interest. There were obvious tells in the suspect's grace and movements. "His balance and skill are too refined to be self-taught. He must have had a professional teacher at one time."
The shrewd, assessing look she gave him stated clearly that she was impressed. It wasn't an everyday thing with Ma'am, no matter her giving nature. "You're catching on faster than we anticipated. Interpol has identified two such assassins with the requisite skills and body type, brothers. One was doing time in a prison camp just south of Usolye-Sibirskoye, the other robbing a bank in Singapore at the time of the disappearance. I'll let you suss out which I think is our assassin."
Listening to her explanation, he felt like he missed something. "If we know who they are, why haven't we identified them and brought them in?"
She gestured with her hands as she spoke. Each point was made with a gentle flick of her fingers. "Because we don't have any solid evidence. There are no photos of these brothers. At least, not in our possession. Our Russian neighbors are less than forthcoming. When they are caught on camera, one wears a mask, the other a mask and a hood. They have since they were children performing in..."
Something clicked in his head. The grace, the training, the thievery, it was all connected. Suddenly, it all made sense and he cut her off. "A circus." Sitting up straight, he traced the outline of the man's hand on his display. "I request to be involved on this assignment."
The agent on his left snickered, but was quickly quelled by a look from Ma'am.
"You already are." She tilted her head slightly, an open look of concern on her face. "This is your briefing, everything we have covered here is for your benefit."
Quickly ducking his chin, Ianto's face burned. "Right." How could he have forgotten? "I guess in all the excitement..."
She gave him a quick nod before looking to the others. "It's understandable, you are a very focused agent. That is why it was decided to give you a third chance." And another reminder of how much she had given him.
He wondered how long before the Torchwood House cut its losses with him. More subdued, he spoke in a calmer manner. "Thank you, Ma'am." His up-and-down reactions today were a bit worrying. Maybe he should give himself a little more time to absorb all the recent revelations.
Jumping from one assignment to another in a week was actively discouraged. Agents were given downtime between missions for a reason. The mind and body needed time to repair and adjust. While he had been here, thinking about his future, Ianto hadn't really given himself time to grieve for his loss. In fact, he had spent most of his time denying they had happened.
Not that Ma'am noticed his indecision. "Enough of the non-sense, we have a briefing to finish." Posture straight, she raised her head and stared at each of them in turn. "Our possible assassin has recently relocated to New York. Interpol assures us that there are multiple witnesses that place him there in the last two days."
"What resources are available?" Leaning forwards in his chair, Ianto dragged two fingers across the screen to the bring up the images individually. "Are we capable of establishing an assignment on-site?" The second was an elderly black man with one eye missing and a look that sent a shiver down his spine.
"Limited. A profile for possible assignment has already been calculated, but the intel is limited and dependent upon unverifiable sources. Setting up on-site requires more details." Sitting to Ianto's left, the agent tapped her display and brought up the file menu. "Up-to-now monitoring of non-sovereign events has been left to others' discretion. Torchwood Staff is still in recovery mode, and estimated to remain so for another ten months. Between Yvonne and that Martian cunt, we've barely a chance to catch our breath!"
Ma'am cleared her throat in warning, but a tiny smile twitched her lips. "Despite the indelicate choice of words, the assessment is correct. Torchwood resources have been stretched thin cleaning up yet another of the Doctor's messes, to the point we have been forced to cede some of our authority to UNIT and Interpol. This case has been under their jurisdiction, until now." Meeting Ianto's curious stare, she raised her chin slightly. "To that effect, a new directive has been issued from her Majesty. A KOI order has been given for the Doctor, no matter his incarnation."
A moment of stunned silence greeted Ma'am's words.
Ianto had been expecting something similar in the wake of Canary Wharf. When it hadn't materialized, he hadn't given it much more thought. At the time, he had been far more concerned with his Lisa. Still, that it would be issued now seemed troubling. Clearing his throat, he leveled his gaze with hers. "May I inquire as to what has changed?"
The thought pained Ma'am and she tried to cover it with a smile. "Her Majesty believes we have lost control of the situation. Her word is that it was ignorant to believe we ever had a chance." She cleared her throat softly, looking down at her screen. "A similar order has been given for any non-human entity attempting to influence our government. That one comes with the explicit instruction to shoot on sight."
Given their past experiences, Ianto nodded. "A wise precaution."
Her eyebrows raised in agreement, before she tapped an image on her screen. "Back to the matter at hand, we are in dangerous territory with our lack of knowledge on this new movement. If they can so thoroughly overcome our best efforts, we need to become better." She tapped an image and it appeared on all four screens. "My briefing this morning with MI6 detailed little new information. They've only been able to ascertain that they are united under a single banner. This extrajudicial organization calls itself S.H.I.E.L.D.."
His own eyebrows shot up. "How perfectly Orwellian." The irony of the statement was not lost on him. Smiling uncomfortably, he focused more intently upon the screen. "I guess it takes one to know one, Ma'am."
"Torchwood is far from an Orwellian name." She didn't correct the assumption about their organization, just his faux-paus about the names.
*****
As the plane had landed, Ianto had never wished for a death spiral in all his life. Yet, somehow, he had landed safely. The crew had opened the doors and everyone coming from home was exiting the place.
So, here he was, standing in a terminal, waiting for his baggage next to the carousel with two dozen other travelers in various states of disarray. Somehow, in all their disparate appearances, his stood out. He couldn't imagine how that could possibly be.
In a pair of trackpants and a vest with a few choice rips that showed off his body hair, he was far from elegant. His trainers were the most expensive part of the outfit. Best yet, they litup when he took a step. It still stung where the chinks of gold links had pinched his neck and removed several chest hairs. But that wasn't even the worst part.
A cool breeze over his newly shorn scalp made him shiver. His beautiful locks, that Jack had so thoroughly run his hands through, were gone. A greasy mess had taken their place. He had drawn the line at the cap. No one looked fit in Burberry.
Trembling, he would not let his bottom lip stick out. The gold ring in the corner drew enough attention.
As much as he tried to avoid it, there were enough mirror surfaces to catch his reflection in. Gelled hair molded perfectly against head, sunglasses hanging from the bleached out vest, a chav stared back at him. Throw in the love handles and a softness to his features, there was no way anyone would recognize Ianto Jones.
"Oh, bloody hell."
TBC