The Man in the Tower (Part 4)
Rating: PG-13 (for now)
Word count: ~ 2,700
Warnings: Angst, gooey fluff, and a fairly awful cliffhanger.
Summary: Torchwood Tower Three is a place where Earth sends useful exiles: a Prime Talent, a technopath, and a biokinetic, drifting around in a station at the cross points of three universes and six galaxies. Then a man named Captain Jack Harkness falls through a tear between universes, and finds three very familiar faces on the other side.
A/N: Um…hi! Remember this story? *cue crickets* Yeah, neither did I. -.-‘ And then I realized that this chapter has been half-written for weeks, and I should probably get on that. Again, the only computer-like device I've got at the moment is my phone, which doesn’t have spell-check and thinks English is me being stupid. (You should see some of the auto-correct stuff it tries to put in. -.-) Regardless, sorry for the long wait, and I’ll try to be better about remembering my WIPs in the future. *le sigh*
(Additionally, I'm going with the current tradition of naming celestial bodies [planets, in this case] after deities. I know there are already moons and such with several of the planet-names I'm using here, but, um… *handwaves* Just go with it.)
Chapter Four
Ianto wonders, sometimes, if it’s destiny or Fate or some kind of biological imperative-if Ianto Jones is always destined to love Jack Harkness, regardless of their origins or respective universes.
Because this…surely this is not normal. Surely, after a mere month in each other’s company, Ianto cannot feel this overwhelming tenderness, this rush of pure affection whenever he looks at Jack. Surely he can't have fallen in love with a visitor from another universe, who knows-knew-an alternate version of him.
If Ianto overthinks it, the insecurities might crush him.
But Ianto, who overthinks everything else, isn’t overthinking this. It simply is, and that's more than enough to be getting on with. More than enough to build a world on.
Jack looks up and smiles at him across the dinner table, bright and gorgeous even in the face of reconstituted protein rations, which might as well be a mild form of torture. Ianto smiles back, because he can't even think of doing otherwise, and next to them, Tosh and Owen are trading sly smiles and knowing looks. They're the kind of (mostly) blissfully happy couple that wants everyone else to be paired up and equally happy, which is rather unnerving given Owen’s usual personality. But Tosh is good for him, and when Ianto looks over at them and rolls his eyes, it’s fond.
Jack laughs at all of them, and then grins at Ianto, as if inviting him to share the joke. Ianto rolls his eyes at him, too, flicks a chunk of mealy protein at him. Of course, being Jack, he catches it in his mouth and just keeps grinning.
“Real food,” Owen groans, mashing another protein block with his fork. “My kingdom for real food!”
“Oh, yes,” Ianto answers dryly. “The medical lab. People will be falling over themselves to take you up on that.”
Owen levels his fork at him, eyes narrowing. “Hey, Prime, don't mock. There's expensive equipment down there, and if I wanted to trade it on the black market-”
Tosh shuts him up with a kiss. “I’ll put in an order,” she promises. “It’s not like we’re out of the way of shipments here, and it’s not like we don't have enough credits, even for a special rush delivery of produce.”
“Talk to Archie or his Tech in Tower Two,” Ianto advises. When Jack raises an eyebrow in surprise, Ianto smiles at him and explains, “Two’s in geostationary orbit around the planet Astraeus, so they have access to items that the deep space Towers and Outposts don't. Archie also won't mind ‘porting something here without transfer orders, even though we aren’t supposed to make unauthorized jumps.”
“Mmm,” Tosh says dreamily, leaning into Owen’s side. “Strawberries.”
“Broccoli,” Owen offers. “Apples, oranges, kale, spinach, potatoes, pears, grapes.”
“All of the above, and fresh bread to go with it,” Ianto agrees. “I always hated vegetables growing up, and now I don't think I've ever missed anything more.”
Jack smiles at them, but this one’s soft and a little sweet. Fond and wistful, Ianto thinks, reaching over to take his hand and lace their fingers together. “Pizza,” he offers cheekily, to the sound of three despairing groans of naked want.
“That’s low, Harkness,” Owen complains, but there's humor on his face even as he regards the proteins on his plate, and then pushes them away. “Ugh. You can't utter the P word and expect me to finish this.”
With a laugh, Jack raises his hands. “Sorry, just…suggesting.”
“Keep those kinds of suggestions to yourself until we haven’t gone three years without seeing so much as a leaf of lettuce,” Tosh orders, though she’s smiling, too; Owen’s arm is around her shoulders, and they look utterly content.
Then the siren warning of an emergency shipment blares, shockingly loud in the companionable quiet, and the four of them scramble for the Prime Station at the top of the Tower.
*.~.*.~.*
The quarterly review of all Primes and Towers-undertaken, of course, by the First Prime of Earth-happens several hours later, just as Ianto finishes transferring medical supplies for a sudden outbreak of Grey Plague on Gelos. He’s tired, worn out from too many sequential jumps carrying exceedingly delicate cargo and dozens of passenger ships loaded with medical personnel, and in little temper to cater to the woman responsible for a great amount of the tragedy in his life.
It helps nothing at all that she has to send a conference request through the comms rather than speaking mind-to-mind, because she’s too weak to hold any sort of connection at this distance, and knows Ianto won't make it easy on her.
Settling back in his chair and trying to keep from letting his weariness show, Ianto nods at Tosh. “Put it through,” he orders, waving Owen away when the Healer tries to approach him, hands already glowing with biokinetic energy. “I'm fine. This will be a short conversation, and then you can mother to your heart’s content, Owen,” he says, with a fleeting smile at Owen’s sound of outrage. It disappears abruptly when the screen flickers in warning and Hartman’s face appears.
“Prime Jones,” she says icily. “Your status report is due.”
Ianto glances at Tosh, who nods at him, and then back at the First Prime. “Sent, First Prime,” he answers formally. “Our statistics are holding steady. I formally request-”
“Transfer request denied, Prime Jones. We haven’t the resources to install another Prime in Tower Three. Additionally, the current restrictions on you and your Tower’s personnel forbid you from going planetside, even on temporary leave. Your report has been received. Good day.”
The screen goes blank with a sharp beep, and Ianto mutters softly in disgust, leaning forward to rub his hands over his face. Hartman is in fine form today, indeed.
“Well,” Jack says after a long moment, unfolding himself from the corner where he’d settled himself at the beginning of the shift. “I see she’s just as much a bundle of laughs here as she was back in my world. Who the hell let her keep her job after everything?”
Owen stalks over to Ianto’s chair, slaps him on the back of the head in warning, and then settles a glowing hand on the back of his neck. “Everyone’s attention was a bit scattered, after,” he says. “Prime Jones here shook them all up, and there was no one who wanted to blame the First Prime of Earth when they had a convenient scapegoat already at their fingertips. So she’s still there, the three of us are rotting in this heap where no one ever looks, being productive little drones, and no one has to worry about anything so long as all of the rogue Talents are under control.”
Ianto lets out a slow breath as the Healer’s energy eases every tense muscle and banishes the headache that's been growing behind his eyes since that first emergency shipment alarm. “The First Prime’s supposed to be the most powerful of all the Primes,” he tells Jack, who’s still looking grim. “Even though Hartman isn’t, it’s still ingrained in people to look at that position and be afraid of the power she has. The First Prime is the reason we no longer have wars on Earth. They're not dictators, and they don't control any governments, but they're a powerful deterrent to anyone looking to start a fight, even for the good of the system, and there's some conditioning that you just can't buck.”
“She won't be First Prime forever,” Tosh puts in with forced cheer, spinning her chair around with one foot. “Her tenure’s up in three years, and then we get a new one. So far, it looks like Prime Harriet Jones is going to be her successor. She’s got the backing of UNIT, anyway, and most of the planetary governments, and she’s definitely more powerful than Hartman.”
Jack looks between the three of them, and then back at the screen, as though recalling the image of Hartman in her dark, authoritative office on Earth. “Harriet Jones?” he asks after a moment. “Not you, Ianto?”
Owen snorts and raps his knuckles on Ianto’s head, lifting his hand and stepping away. “Not likely,” he scoffs. “Torchwood Tower Three is the hub of the entire Prime system. We handle more traffic than any other Tower or Outpost, and with only three people instead of the usual station’s worth. But we’re all here so that no one has to deal with us in the civilized world.”
Ianto nods, resting his elbows on his knees and stretching out his spine. “I've killed,” he says simply. “Tosh was used as a pawn in a plot to overthrow the First Prime. Owen-”
“Yes, yes, we’re all horrible people, let’s leave it at that.” Owen cuts him off before he can finish, then glances at the clock on the terminal. “Look at that, the real shift’s about to start. What do we have today?”
It’s about as far from a subtle change of subject as it’s possible to get, and Ianto rolls his eyes at the Healer, but lets it drop as Jack comes to sit by his feet. “Tosh?” he asks, looking at the tech.
She’s smiling fondly at Owen, but turns away at the question and calls up the register with a flick of her hand. “Cargo shipments from Outposts Seven, Nine, and Thirteen,” she offers, “and from Towers One, Two, Four, and Five. Passenger ships from Towers One and Four, and Outposts Four, Six, Nine, and Ten. Then Archie requested a sweep of the planet Arke; he says he’s felt a new high-level Talent coming online, but it’s a bit too far outside of his range for him to pinpoint. Station Echo-Three requests transport from Jupiter to geosynchronous orbit around the planet Eos.”
Ianto sighs and rubs at his temples. “Busy shift, then,” he mutters, but smiles when Jack drops a gentle hand on his knee.
*.~.*.~.*
Watching Ianto and Tosh work, Jack can see how it’s possible for this universe to be so much more advanced than the Earth he left after the 456. Even for the lesser Primes in the transfer system, it’s considered nothing at all to jump passenger ships across whole galaxies, or move exploratory vessels like Station Echo-Three past the edge of explored space and into new territory. For every world that's settled, three new ones are found. The human system is expanding at an astonishing rate, even faster than they can colonize the worlds, and the newly populated worlds are never cut off from the rest, which means it’s safer and easier and people are far happier to leave the central planets as long as the Primes still exist.
Even in Jack's original time, even with the Time Agency, the universe was never anything like this.
“Passenger ship from Torchwood Tower Four, two hundred aboard,” Tosh calls, before Ianto’s even finished with the cargo load he’s currently handling. “Destination UNIT Outpost Nine. On my mark, in three. Two. One-”
Ianto’s eyes never lose focus, even when he’s looking at something that none of them can see. Rather, they're a thousand times more focused, clear and sharp and alert. Outside the clear dome, the ship flickers into view, hovers for a moment, and disappears again. A red light appears on the computer console, and Tosh calls out, “Cargo shipment from UNIT Outpost Thirteen, marked extremely fragile. Destination: Bastet, planetside drop. Talent Kathy Swanson is waiting to guide you in.”
It’s slower this time, but Jack can all but feel the ripple of power bursting outward, the snap of teleportation, and the long, easy glide that the shipment takes as it eases down onto the planet’s surface. He’s had basic telepathic training, can shield himself from most intrusions, but it’s absolutely nothing compared to what Ianto can do, to what any Talent in this universe can do.
He looked up Gwen, once, on a whim. The Tower’s database of Talents gave up her name almost instantly. She’s a minor empath on the planet Gwydion, married to a non-Talent named Rhys, and has a daughter named Anwen and a job as a peacekeeper, this universe’s equivalent of a police force. It’s exactly as Jack had expected, Gwen without any outside influences in her life, happy and content where she is, and makes him ache a little.
Of all of Torchwood Three, Gwen was the only one who didn't need it. Ianto, Owen, Tosh, Suzie-even Jack himself-all needed Torchwood to survive, to keep them going.
Gwen never did, and Jack will never know if that was a good thing or not.
Watching the three lost members of his team here, in a place where they're all completely confident in their abilities and their places, where they've all landed after falling so far from grace, it eases the ache that Jack's carried for so long, and that's good.
He hasn't asked Ianto if there's any way to send him back, and he isn’t planning to.
Even if he’s just an interloper in this universe, even if it’s not really his own, he has his team here.
He’s not going to lose them again.
As if sensing the thought-though Jack knows he can, knows none of them can read him-Ianto glances away from the star-studded sky and smiles at him, warm and sweetly caring, and really, how can Jack even think about losing Ianto, any Ianto, again?
He can't, and that's the end of it.
*.~.*.~.*
They're curled together in Ianto’s bed when it happens.
Jack's Vortex Manipulator starts beeping wildly, sharp and strident in the warm darkness. He jerks upright, already scrambling to reach it. Behind him, Ianto cries out, falling off the edge of the bed with his hands over his ears, as though hearing something that Jack can't. He hesitates, undecided for a moment, and then goes to Ianto, sliding off the mattress to kneel next to him.
The Vortex Manipulator beeps once more before the Doctor’s voice emerges, worried and a little harried. “Jack, where are you? Time to go! Quit playing slave, the Earth’s about to be invaded!”
Something in the background explodes, sharp and clearly nearby, and the message cuts off with a yelp.
“The Hive,” Ianto breathes, curling forward into Jack's grip and dropping his head against Jack's chest. His heartbeat is quick enough that Jack can feel it shuddering beneath his skin. “It has to be the Hive. I felt the Queens tear through the universes. They must be in your world now, heading for Earth.”
Jack's blood runs cold, ten thousand deaths in his memory, ten thousand snuffed out just in the first few seconds of an attack. He swallows hard, thinking of an Earth that has no Primes, no Talents at all to fend off these psychic invaders, and wonders if this is going to be the end.