A Matter of Time (14/20)
Rating: PG-13
Summary: In which they try a new tactic.
A/N: Thanks to my betas, thaddeusfavour and bacchae777 for all their hard work.
Previous chapters here.
~
“I’m not a good person, Ianto. Don’t think you know me, just because you know who I become.”
“Goodness isn’t something you learn.”
“No, but it sure as hell can be denied.”
~
It was strange, watching the crew interact with each other the next day. Each of them seemed to feel they needed to treat the others delicately, like their pain at the loss of Brenneth wasn’t as bad as someone else’s. It was a heartwarming sort of thing, watching each member of the crew try to take care of the others. For the most part, the general consensus seemed to be that Ellis, and then Varelle, would be the most affected.
There wasn’t much talk of plans the next morning. Ianto and Kethan had woken up early and spent the first hours of the day curled up together, not talking or doing much of anything, just touching and holding. Ianto had done this before, with Jack, after those missions that didn’t go well, when too many people died. Jack portrayed himself as the cold-hearted leader of Torchwood; this was the image Gwen saw when she accused him of lacking humanity, but Ianto knew the man behind the image, the man who blamed himself for every death, every failure, every not fast enough.
When it was late enough to go for breakfast, Kethan and Ianto had rolled out of bed and made their preparations for the day. The clothes on the hooks had dried, and Ianto had put them aside to be washed as Kethan pulled on his boots, slow and methodical.
“If I leave, you should stay.”
Ianto had looked over at Kethan, who was resolutely watching his own hands as they did up his boots. “Are you planning on leaving?” he had asked mildly.
“If it’s for the best.”
Ianto had expected this. Kethan was sure to think the crew, his friends, would be safer if he went and continued his mission on his own. Knowing them, however, Ianto had been skeptical they’d let him leave. They seemed to believe in this cause, as much as Kethan, if not more, and they also seemed to be prepared to die for it. If Ianto knew anything about Jack, though, it was that he would likely want to protect them from themselves.
“Bit of a cowardly thing to do, isn’t that?”
Kethan’s head had snapped up, and he had looked at Ianto as if he didn’t quite believe what he’d heard. “Pardon?”
“One of your friends dies, and you just, what, run off? Leaving everyone else to deal with the fallout?” Ianto had asked, voice mild. He’d known he was being harsh, that the card he was playing bordered on unfair, but he had also known that short of smacking Kethan in the face with what leaving would mean to the crew, to his friends, he’d see leaving as the better option. The only option.
Kethan had stood still, eyes wide, as if he still couldn’t believe what Ianto had said. Ianto had waited with bated breath until Kethan nodded, and then left the room, touching him on the arm as he had walked past.
He hadn’t said anything more about leaving, and now, sitting around the table in the mess hall, Zoanne gave first Kethan, and then Ianto an inquisitive glance, before giving the barest hint of a nod to Ianto and turning back to face the Captain. She had apparently expected that Kethan would attempt to leave, and rightly assumed that Ianto had headed him off. Well, at least he seemed to be going up in the doctor’s books, though Ianto would have gladly faced her wrath if it meant Brenneth got to survive. It was, in the end, not much of an equitable trade.
It was more of a remembrance than a funeral. There was no talk of afterlife, or this being God’s will, as Ianto remembered from the funerals he’d attended on Earth. The Captain didn’t read any ritual words, and there were no hymns. They simply went around the table in a circle, each talking about Brenneth; how they met him, things they loved about him, funny stories, heroic tales and tender moments. Some of them didn’t say much; Aharon spoke only a couple sentences, and Ashild hadn’t been able to get much out around her tears, but Ellis spoke for a good fifteen minutes, pulling laughter, then tears from the circle. Ianto hadn’t realized he and Brenneth had been lovers, but by the end of Ellis’ memories, it couldn’t have been clearer. Ianto didn’t speak long. He simply said that Brenneth had been kind to him, and had made him feel at ease on a ship full of strangers. Once Kethan had finished his outrageous tale of circuses and strange alien show horses that had them all laughing freely, the circle was complete. One by one they stood, some leaving, some getting drinks and staying to talk about nothing in particular. What they were going to do with the body, Ianto had no idea, but it didn’t seem important.
After drinking a cup of coffee while listening to Varelle and Ellis do a surprisingly comic routine - the Captain’s relaxed seriousness playing off Ellis’ bawdy sense of humour - recounting an adventure they’d had two decades ago, Zoanne dragged him off to the infirmary.
“You did say your organizational skills were second to none,” she said, hands on hips.
Ianto looked over at Kethan. He wasn’t precisely asking for permission, but for some reason he was wary of leaving Kethan alone. Kethan waved him off, however, so Ianto followed Zoanne to the infirmary, where they started sorting through boxes of supplies.
“You must think we have no compassion.”
Ianto looked up from the box of small bottles, labeled in incomprehensible text. “Why would I think that?”
“We didn’t go after them,” Zoanne said, reaching out and flipping a bottle around. “We left them to die.”
“You didn’t know that.”
“No,” she said. “But we knew it was likely.”
Ianto sat back on his haunches, bracing his hands on his knees as he considered what to say. On one hand, he wanted to say yes, you should have done something, but on the other hand, he sort of understood. It was how it was done here, and while it wasn’t what he was used to, it didn’t make it wrong. Just different.
“You placed the needs of the many over the needs of the few,” he said eventually. “It’s not a foreign concept; leaders need to do it. I wasn’t a leader.”
Zoanne nodded, sharp eyes glinting. She hadn’t cried that Ianto had seen; Varelle had, which had surprised him, but the doctor conformed to his expectations and had yet to shed a tear for her colleague. She reminded him a little of Suzie, all intense focus and sharp observation, only without the edge of darkness that had made him steer clear of his co-worker for the few months before she’d killed herself.
“Being responsible for others is a hard burden,” she said, pointing to one of the medicines. “Those can all be put away together, in the top left cupboard. I know it weighs on Opal. Kethan has it easy, leading the vigilante life.”
“It must be lonely,” Ianto observed, collecting the bottles and finding the cabinet.
“He comes here when he can, and leaves when he can’t stand it anymore. Kethan doesn’t exactly take on a lot of responsibilities,” she said, watching him. “I’m surprised he’s still here.”
Ianto gave a small smile in acknowledgement of the question she wasn’t asking. “He’s young yet. He grows up.”
She snorted, folding bandages into a drawer. “Aren’t you younger than him?”
“Only chronologically.” She laughed at that, and he continued, thoughtfully. “I don’t know the kind of things he’s done with the Time Agency, not really, but it seems to me that this is the first time he’s stepping out of his comfort zone. Maybe he didn’t intend to join them in the first place, but I don’t think that means he hasn’t reveled in the opportunity. Me, well. I’ve been to the edge and back, more than once. It’s an aging process.”
Zoanne shut the door and turned back to him, leaning against the counter. “You know, Ianto Jones, I think I misjudged you.”
“Apology accepted,” he replied with a flourish of his hands, smirking at her overdone look of outrage. He started sorting the bottles into the cabinet, checking the labels as he went, and quickly realized the ones already there were in no sensible order.
“You know, I don’t know more than the order of the alphabet at this point, and I still think I can arrange these more rationally than they are now.”
She raised an eyebrow, and then came over to stand next to him, looking up at his face rather than at the supplies.
“This is why,” she said as she reached an arm up, and Ianto quickly realized what she was saying; she couldn’t have been much over five feet, and the cabinet was almost out of reach. “I can’t see to find anything in so-called alphabetical order. I fumble around by touch. Or Opal gets it.”
Ianto snickered. “Why don’t you get a stool?”
“Don’t test it, boy,” she growled, elbowing him in the stomach. “I know a few interesting concoctions that could easily end up in your coffee, if an accident were to happen.”
Ianto worked up a suitably indignant reply, relaxing into the easy bickering as they tidied the infirmary. Clearly, there was something with the medical profession and snarkiness, if Owen and Zoanne were anything to go by. Whether it was the familiarity or some newfound confidence in the fifty-first century, born of his belief that he did the right thing yesterday, Ianto could feel himself relaxing into this time. Perhaps being stuck here wouldn’t be the end of the world.
As long as he didn’t lose Kethan, at least. Which, apparently, he would.
~
They met that afternoon to regroup, back in the mess. This time, the atmosphere was one of tense professionalism as they debriefed what they knew about the probable location of the TARDIS, and how likely it was that they would be able to track it.
Answer: not very.
“They clearly want me,” Kethan said, tapping his fingers on the table.
“No.”
Kethan gave Zoanne a wide-eyed look. “No, what?”
“No, you are not being bait. It’s a ridiculous idea, and,” she continued, threateningly, “it’s not as if they’re going to drag the TARDIS along to kidnap you.”
Ianto liked her rather a lot, in that moment. He listened for a little while longer as they discussed tracking techniques, possible storage locations, infiltration and full-on bombings, until the conversation slowed under the lack of options. He coughed once, bringing the attention of the crew on himself.
“There is one possibility that hasn’t been considered, as of yet.” He looked around, eventually meeting Varelle’s eyes. “The Doctor.”
“Zoanne?” Ashild asked, puzzled.
“No,” Kethan said slowly, cocking his head. “The Doctor, apparently. The being the ship belongs to.”
Varelle was nodding as Kethan talked. “When Kethan mentioned that there’s supposed to be a pilot, I had Kareh look for prisoner transfers that matched up. Kareh?”
“I found one really suspicious one,” Kareh nodded, flipping open his wristband and flashing a hologram in the air. “This is the data I extracted from the static; I think I’ve sorted out where they’re holding… him?”
Ianto shrugged. “By appearance. Do they refer to him by name?”
“No, just a prisoner code.”
“Then we can’t be sure.”
Kareh shut off the hologram. “I’m pretty certain. It could be a dummy trail, but I searched, and there isn’t any sign it’s covering anything else.”
“Where’s he being held?” Varelle asked.
Kareh hesitated. “Earth.”
There was a quiet beat, and Ianto wondered if that was a good sign or bad until Ashild broke the silence.
“Yes,” she crowed. “Finally!”
“Nothing’s been confirmed,” Zoanne said, with a wag of a finger, but Ianto caught the excited look on her face.
“You’ve never been to Earth?” he asked.
Heads shook around the table, only Kethan and Jotir not joining in.
“Embargo planets, remember?” Ellis said. “We work almost exclusively in that region. Earth is a long way to go for no reason.”
Ianto nodded, turning to Kethan. “You have?”
“The Time Agency is headquartered there,” Kethan replied, tipping back in his chair with a grin. “I was trained there. You guys are going to love it.”
“This is not going to be sightseeing,” Varelle chastised. “And before we get ahead of ourselves; Ianto, do you really think getting our hands on this Doctor would be an advantage?”
“Yes,” Ianto said, fervently. He didn’t need to know much about the Doctor to know that having the alien on your team meant you were probably going to win, even if the odds were impossible. “If he wants his ship back - which he will - the Time Agency won’t be able to stop him.”
“Alright. Kethan, do you agree that this is our best option, for the time being?”
Scrutinizing Ianto, Kethan nodded. “Yep. Best of all, it’s the last thing they’ll expect. I’ve never read anything on the pilot, so I doubt the Agency would think I’d go after him.”
“Then to Earth it is. Soren, plot a course. How long are we looking at?”
“If we go for a hard burn and stop to refuel a couple of times? Three weeks. Maybe a little more.” He stood up, heading for the bridge. “I’ll get the numbers to you right away.”
The absurd feeling of pride Ianto experienced as the crew broke up to execute their new plan made him smile, and when Kethan saw it, he grinned back and shoved him gently.
“What? You didn’t think I was just keeping you around for your pretty face, did you?”
Ianto smirked. “You were at first.”
“Nuh-uh,” said Kethan, shaking a finger. “I kept you around because you arrived by vortex manipulator, and therefore were a threat.”
“You keep telling yourself that, sir,” Ianto said with a grin, standing up.
“Someday, Ianto, you’re going to have to tell me why you keep calling me that.”
“Force of habit,” he replied over his shoulder, dropping his mug into the dishwasher and adding a few others from the counter.
“So we don’t do the kinky sex thing?”
Ianto didn’t answer, just laughed quietly to himself as he finished loading the dishwasher, leaving Kethan and the others - mostly Ellis and Ashild, though Kareh had some surprisingly creative suggestions - to make increasingly obscene speculations about his and Kethan’s future sex life.
~
Ashild had been right; space travel was rather boring, when that was all there was to do. Once the initial excitement over going to Earth had faded, the crew had settled into an anxious mood, alternating between trying to sort out what they were going to do once they reached Earth and passing the time frivolously. Tempers were a little thin, now that they were two weeks in.
Ianto, for his part, had discovered that Ashild had a fondness for chess - Kethan couldn’t stand it, just like Jack, but Ianto was partial to a good game - so they took to passing the slow days over her chess set.
“I don’t have a clue how that’s supposed to look like a queen,” Ianto grouched, sitting cross-legged on one of the beds in the room Ashild shared with Soren. “It’s just an abstract blob.”
“It looks exactly like a queen,” she protested, picking up the piece and waving it in front of him. “If you’re a member of the Tench species.”
“You couldn’t have a human chess set?” he asked, waving at the rest of the pieces. He kept losing simply because he forgot which piece was which, and couldn’t grasp the layout of the board as quickly as he was used to.
“Don’t be prejudiced,” she chastised, setting the so-called queen down on a new space. “Check.”
Ianto opened his mouth to reply when the inter-ship comm beeped and Jotir’s voice came through. Ashild crawled by him - well, nearly over him - to tap the console.
“Yeah?”
“You might want to come down to the mess.”
“Why? Did you make bannock?” she asked as Ianto shifted out from under her.
“No. I’m requesting…” the alien trailed off, and Ianto could hear yelling in the background. “I’m requesting your presence as security.”
“Oh. I’ll be right there,” she hopped off the bed and gave Ianto a suspicious look. “You’re coming with me. I don’t believe you won’t cheat while I’m gone.”
Ianto gave her an affronted look, but followed her out the door anyway. They cut through the bridge to get to the mess, and when Ianto stepped off the ladder, he could see why Jotir had called them. Kethan had Aharon backed up against a wall, and if Ianto hadn’t been able to see the furious look on the older man’s face, he might have thought they were snogging. As it was, he could just barely hear Kethan’s hissed words.
“Fuck you,” he spit, shoving his hands into Aharon’s shoulders, hands twisted into the material of the other man’s shirt. “You don’t know a damn thing.”
“You think it isn’t true?” said Aharon, voice low and taunting. “As if you’d be this angry if it weren’t.”
The punch in the face didn’t seem to catch him by surprise, and in an instant Aharon had the advantage, pressing Kethan’s face into the wall and kicking his legs apart, unbalancing him as he leaned into his ear.
“Brenneth would still be alive if it weren’t for you.”
“Aharon!” said Ashild from beside him, though she seemed unwilling to step forward and separate the men. Kethan wasn’t waiting for her, and twisted out from Aharon’s grasp, elbowing him in the stomach, hard enough to make the man grunt.
“And how many people would be alive if it weren’t for you, huh?” he said, shoving at Aharon challengingly. “I couldn’t save Brenneth from the mercenaries. But I wasn’t one of them. How far away are you from being Brenneth’s murderer, Aharon?”
Aharon’s fist connected with Kethan’s jaw before either of them could move, but it spurred both of them into action, and before anything more could happen, Ashild was pushing Aharon back and Ianto was trying to keep Kethan from getting up off the floor.
“Get out of the way, Ianto,” Kethan growled, swiping at his lip and trying to get his feet under him,
“No,” Ianto said, pressing him down again, and looking over his shoulder to where Ashild was edging Aharon out of the mess. “He’s leaving, anyway.” When they had left, he turned back to Kethan. “You’re bleeding.”
“He pulled it,” Kethan said, the fight in him seeming to disappear as Ianto watched. “He could have broken my jaw if he wanted to. A split lip is preferable.”
“Infirmary?”
“No. But a drink would be nice.”
Ianto nodded and, confident that Kethan wasn’t going to go after Aharon for revenge, stood up and headed to the cupboard where the stiffer drinks were kept. He picked out one in a small, spherical bottle that tasted most like scotch, and poured a shallow glass. When he came back round the counter, Kethan had taken a seat on the couch and was licking blood off his thumb.
“Can I get you a cloth of some sort?” Ianto asked pointedly, taking a seat at Kethan’s headshake.
“Thanks,” Kethan said, taking the glass and downing half of it, wincing at the sting as it passed over the broken skin. He dropped his hands down, fiddling with the glass between his knees, and looked over at the doorway. “I hope he doesn’t give her any trouble.”
“She can handle it,” Ianto said mildly, wondering if Kethan was as ignorant to their relationship as Ashild thought him to be. “Besides, she isn’t baiting him.”
“Was that what I was doing?” Kethan murmured, more to himself than Ianto. Ianto was burning with questions, about the argument, about Aharon, about what Kethan had meant when he’d taunted Aharon, but he waited. Jack, at least, didn’t respond well to interrogation, and though that could easily have developed over the years in-between, Ianto wasn’t one to press for personal details. Kethan finished his drink, and eventually settled back into the couch and began to talk.
“Aharon didn’t exactly join the Evening Star under the best circumstances. There was a whole thing,” he said, waving a hand expansively, “where he sort of hijacked the Star and threatened everyone and very nearly destroyed the ship.”
“Why?”
“For money. He was a mercenary. Got paid to kill people, defend people’s personal territory, fight illegal wars. That sort of thing. Like the men who killed Brenneth,” Kethan said, a hard edge to his voice. “The Star became useful to him once, so he used it. Didn’t give a damn about anyone on it.”
“What happened? How come he’s still here?”
“His deal went sour, so he made a deal with Opal. He’d be loyal to her, if she wouldn’t turn him over to some people who would have liked to have seen him incinerated.”
Ianto decided not to ask if Kethan literally meant incinerated, as he considered the explanation. It explained a few things he’d observed on the ship, but it also gave him more questions. Aharon seemed well enough trusted by everyone except Kethan, and even by Kethan, for the most part. They followed his orders without question when Varelle wasn’t around; if he were simply a mercenary who handled the guns for them, that was unlikely to be true.
“How long ago was this?” Ianto asked eventually.
“Ten years?” Kethan said, thinking for a moment. “No, twelve.”
“Ah. So he’s one of the crew now.”
Kethan nodded reluctantly. “Opal keeps telling me I need to let it go, that if I’d been here the whole time, I’d trust him too. Mostly I do, because the Captain’s got good judgment about people, but sometimes…” he shrugged. “He didn’t have morals then. Maybe he does now, but I don’t always believe he’s any different from those mercenaries who killed Brenneth.” He ducked his head, eyes clenching shut, and Ianto placed a hand on his knee.
“I don’t know him very well,” Ianto said, squeezing Kethan’s knee, “So I’m not one to judge, but I can’t see the Captain having someone on board whom she didn’t trust completely to protect her team.”
Kethan nodded, putting his hand on top of Ianto’s. “You’re right, you always are. Do you spend as much time talking sense into people - namely me - back home, as you do here?”
Ianto snorted. “Yep. I have no idea why. I try to project this air of silent aloofness, and still everybody comes to me with their problems.” He spent a lot of time listening to his teammates - though he wasn’t sure most of them even processed that it was him, a real person, sitting there listening while they talked about their weddings or crushes or one-night-stands. Except Jack: Jack listened as well as talked, and for that, Ianto was grateful. Working at Torchwood was isolating enough; before he’d known Jack well enough to be friends, it had been terrible to have no one to talk to.
“What would I do without you, huh?” He frowned. “I guess I am doing without you, now. Or maybe I’m not, maybe I get you back.”
Ianto leaned back into the couch, looking up at the ceiling. “Confusing.”
“Not once you’re used to it, really. But it still kind of sucks that you leave, some way or another.”
“Can you be sure?” Ianto asked, curious.
“Well, if I don’t know you when I see you next, you can’t stay around that long. How old am I when I know you?”
Ianto shrugged. “I don’t know. You’ve never said.” It was the most truthful answer he could give to that question, at least without causing some sort of a paradox.
“I can’t be that much older,” Kethan pressed, poking Ianto in the leg. “Ten years? Twenty? I thought people were more hung up on age, back then. How old do I look?” He frowned, looking anxious. “I hope I look younger than I am. I’d hate to age fast. Time travel can be hell on the complexion, if you’re not careful.”
“Late thirties? Early forties? It’s kind of hard to tell,” Ianto said, silently apologizing for the sort-of-lie.
“So a decade, maybe a little more. Well,” he said, leaning back against the armrest and throwing his legs over Ianto’s lap as he leaned back. “I’ll sleep better knowing I get to see you in not too many years. I just better get you back to myself, huh?”
Ianto hoped the smile he gave Kethan wasn’t as strained as he felt. A decade, a century… however long before Kethan saw him again, it would mean nothing if Ianto never got home.
~
Home, at least in this millennium, was a bustling centre of commerce and trade, mostly due to the fact that humans are a self-centered sort of species and like to keep the books where they can see them. It took two days of waiting in far orbit before they were granted an airlock at one of the several spacedocks orbiting the planet, and almost a whole day before Ianto, Kethan, Ashild and Varelle reached the surface.
“Why Greenwich?” Ianto asked as they finally reached their destination, one shuttle flight, one spacelift, and one equator-to-Britain flight later.
“Historical significance.” Kethan answered, pulling him onto a moving sidewalk and ducking under the protruding trunk of a nearby alien. “Greenwich Mean Time, and all that. Also, a lot of the groundbreaking discoveries about time travel were done in London. Cardiff was pretty pissed, but they decided the instability of the rift meant it was a bad location.”
“Ah,” said Ianto, distracted as he looked around him. Like anyone who lived in London, he’d been in this neighborhood several times, first doing the usual touristy things and later on dates with Lisa. The majority of the people around were human, but well over a quarter were species Ianto hadn’t even seen out on Trell or the cruise ship. The streets, too, were filled with pedestrians, and the only vehicles were trolley-like buses that followed built-in tracks, tucked down below the sidewalks so the little bridges that joined the sides of the road didn’t have to go very high. It was very open, compared to the tube, but Ianto supposed if you didn’t have cars on the street, there was no reason to bury your trains.
“I really don’t like just walking into their territory,” Ashild muttered as they followed Kethan through the busy streets. “Couldn’t they just swoop down and pick you up?”
“Trust me, this is the last place they’re expecting me to be. Besides, we’re not actually going to their official headquarters. They don’t keep their high-risk cells beside the trainees and the bureaucrats.”
“And you have no doubts about your ability to break into their so-called ‘high-risk’ cells?” Varelle asked.
“None whatsoever,” he said, glancing around as if checking for eavesdroppers. “See, there’s no official word out that I’ve gone rogue. The hit out on me that Kareh found is anonymous, and it’s only the people at the top who know I’m after them. Otherwise, they might have people asking why. It’s not as if Time Agents defect every day. So according to all the lowly guards and secretaries, I’m still a Time Agent, no questions asked.”
“Alright. As long as you’re sure.”
“I’m sure. Actually sure, this time,” Kethan replied with a smile, but it dropped away too soon. “It doesn’t mean the higher-ups won’t be looking for me, but they’re not going to be standing at the gate, waiting to arrest me. We’ll have some time.”
When they reached the large grey building that apparently housed the more secretive parts of the Time Agency - why you would put a secret base in the middle of an enormous city was beyond Ianto, though Torchwood One had, admittedly, been the same - Kethan stopped and turned to them all.
“So, we’re hoping my passcodes haven’t been revoked. They weren’t before I met up with you, and they knew I was working behind their back, so with any luck they haven’t gotten around to it. Ianto and I will go in first and disable their internal sensors so the ladies,” and here he nodded to Ashild and Varelle, “will be able to get in with the guns. Clear?”
At the mutter of agreement, he linked an arm in Ianto’s and walked into the building. It was bright inside, not at all like the warehouse they’d broken into almost a month ago, and there was a large round desk with a very small alien behind it, front and centre. Kethan ignored it and went around behind it, where a large oval wall separated the sparse entrance from the doors to the rest of the building, where several guards were waiting. They watched Kethan as he approached, but never moved or talked as Kethan pressed his wristband and the doors slid open. They continued nonchalantly down the hall for a minute, and then Kethan let go.
“Control room’s on the main floor, just this way. Let’s go,” he said, pointing down a hall on their right. Ianto followed him, feeling self-conscious, but no one stopped them on their way. They reached a heavy metal door - twice as wide as normal - and Kethan opened it. Inside were three people and dozens of screens, flicking between views like the CCTV did in the Hub. The man in the room turned to them as they came in.
“I’m sorry, authorized personnel only. Do you have identification?”
“Yes I do,” said Kethan, flashing the same hologram. Whatever it was, the man seemed to recognize it, and he nodded towards the screen.
“Are you looking for something? Is there a breach we should know about?”
“The Agency got wind of a temporal disturbance on level six,” Kethan said, lying baldly. Ianto couldn’t tell if he’d planned this, or if he was just making it up on the spot. “They’ve sent me here to investigate. Can you pull up the feeds from that level?”
“Certainly. Manya, level six?”
The alien nodded and pressed her control panel, and suddenly a section of the screens switched to display rows of cells; they looked disturbingly like the cells at Torchwood, something like Plexiglas with holes drilled in for air. Perhaps this was where Jack had gotten the idea.
“Play it back, last two hours, please. Not too fast, I need to see it all,” Kethan said, tossing himself into one of the chairs and giving the man a dismissive look. “Can I get a coffee for this? Might take a while. Ianto will go with you, if you need another set of hands.”
“Whatever you like,” the man said, and Ianto realized, suddenly, that he was being very deferential towards Kethan. Perhaps Time Agents didn’t deign to visit the cells very often. “This way, please.”
Ianto followed him out of the room, and down the hall to a small lounge, complete with a fifty-first century coffee maker. He made up drinks for all five of them - excellent, that made this easier - and Ianto dropped a pill in each when he wasn’t looking. This was his small part of the plan, and it was familiar enough. All the practice he’d had with administering retcon was paying off. The less weapons fire, the better, according to Kethan. At least, until they needed to shoot their way out of the place. They made tedious small talk on the walk back that continued in the rear of the control room while Kethan ostensibly watched the feeds from level six, but it didn’t take long before the two humans passed out. Manya, on the other hand, just looked suspicious as her colleagues drooped to the floor.
“Wha-”
She didn’t get to finish her sentence, and Ianto watched in surprise as her thick body thunked to the floor.
“What happened?”
“Prenacapian,” Kethan said in response, his fingers already flying over the controls. “Immune to that drug. Fortunately, they have an exposed nerve that, if you know what you’re doing, can induce paralysis.”
Ianto looked at the body of the floor skeptically. “So you gave her a Vulcan nerve pinch?”
“A what?” Kethan asked, distractedly, working at the console When he finished what he was doing, and the screens flickered before settling back into what they’d been showing initially. Nodding in approval, he contacted Ashild and Varelle.
“It’s done. See you at the meeting point,” he said into his wristband, and then left the control room, locking it behind him. “They won’t budge for at least half an hour. Someone will probably notice they’re not responding first, but not for a bit. Thank god for automation.”
They met the women as planned beyond the doors, and they handed over Kethan and Ianto’s blasters. The bright hallways seemed an awfully conspicuous place to be exchanging blasters, but Kethan didn’t seem concerned by it as they found the lift and ascended several levels.
“Aren’t dungeons supposed to be below ground?”
“Why?” asked Kethan as they watched the numbers go up - Galactic A, Ianto could now proudly identify.
“Harder to escape, isn’t it?”
“Not when there’s just as much development underground as there is overhead,” Kethan pointed out as the lift dinged - how come all of London was different but the ding of a lift remained the same? - and they stepped out. “Level eight, home of this mysterious prisoner. I checked in the control room,” he added at Ashild’s look of curiosity.
The hallway here, too, was white and clean, and there were no cells along it, but Kethan pointed at the regularly spaced doors. “All of the cell blocks are through those doors. There are guards on the other side, so we’ll take them out and leave Ashild and Varelle to make sure nobody disturbs us as we break the good Doctor out.”
After they found the correct block, Kethan opened the door, motioning at Ianto to stay put. Ianto gave Varelle a confused look, but watched as the door slid shut. Not ten seconds passed before Kethan hauled it open with a grin. The body of a guard lay just behind him.
“That’s done. Come on, Jones, let’s find this Doctor of yours.”
“Which cell?”
“Sixty-six.”
Ianto nodded and he followed Kethan down the corridor between the rows of cells that twisted around, winding back and forth. There was only one way out that Ianto could see; the block seemed to be designed to fit as many cells as possible behind one door. Kethan was chanting the numbers aloud as they got higher.
“…fifty-eight, sixty, sixty-two,” he said, watching the even side of the hall. “sixty-four, sixty-”
He came to a halt in front of cell sixty-six, and Ianto caught up to him, peering into the dark cell through the clear plastic. When his eyes focused, he felt the bottom of his stomach drop out. The man chained to the far wall was not wearing a pinstripe suit, wasn’t far too skinny and was certainly not the Doctor. For a moment, Ianto couldn’t speak at all, too terrified he was wrong, or right, but then the man looked up, his eyes - god, his eyes - meeting Ianto’s in certain recognition.
“Jack?” said Ianto, pressing a palm to the glass, either to get closer and be sure or to steady himself.
“Me?” said Kethan.
~
A/N: Alright, hands up who saw that one coming.
Read Chapter 15.
Summary: In which they try a new tactic.
A/N: Thanks to my betas, thaddeusfavour and bacchae777 for all their hard work.
Previous chapters here.
~
“I’m not a good person, Ianto. Don’t think you know me, just because you know who I become.”
“Goodness isn’t something you learn.”
“No, but it sure as hell can be denied.”
~
It was strange, watching the crew interact with each other the next day. Each of them seemed to feel they needed to treat the others delicately, like their pain at the loss of Brenneth wasn’t as bad as someone else’s. It was a heartwarming sort of thing, watching each member of the crew try to take care of the others. For the most part, the general consensus seemed to be that Ellis, and then Varelle, would be the most affected.
There wasn’t much talk of plans the next morning. Ianto and Kethan had woken up early and spent the first hours of the day curled up together, not talking or doing much of anything, just touching and holding. Ianto had done this before, with Jack, after those missions that didn’t go well, when too many people died. Jack portrayed himself as the cold-hearted leader of Torchwood; this was the image Gwen saw when she accused him of lacking humanity, but Ianto knew the man behind the image, the man who blamed himself for every death, every failure, every not fast enough.
When it was late enough to go for breakfast, Kethan and Ianto had rolled out of bed and made their preparations for the day. The clothes on the hooks had dried, and Ianto had put them aside to be washed as Kethan pulled on his boots, slow and methodical.
“If I leave, you should stay.”
Ianto had looked over at Kethan, who was resolutely watching his own hands as they did up his boots. “Are you planning on leaving?” he had asked mildly.
“If it’s for the best.”
Ianto had expected this. Kethan was sure to think the crew, his friends, would be safer if he went and continued his mission on his own. Knowing them, however, Ianto had been skeptical they’d let him leave. They seemed to believe in this cause, as much as Kethan, if not more, and they also seemed to be prepared to die for it. If Ianto knew anything about Jack, though, it was that he would likely want to protect them from themselves.
“Bit of a cowardly thing to do, isn’t that?”
Kethan’s head had snapped up, and he had looked at Ianto as if he didn’t quite believe what he’d heard. “Pardon?”
“One of your friends dies, and you just, what, run off? Leaving everyone else to deal with the fallout?” Ianto had asked, voice mild. He’d known he was being harsh, that the card he was playing bordered on unfair, but he had also known that short of smacking Kethan in the face with what leaving would mean to the crew, to his friends, he’d see leaving as the better option. The only option.
Kethan had stood still, eyes wide, as if he still couldn’t believe what Ianto had said. Ianto had waited with bated breath until Kethan nodded, and then left the room, touching him on the arm as he had walked past.
He hadn’t said anything more about leaving, and now, sitting around the table in the mess hall, Zoanne gave first Kethan, and then Ianto an inquisitive glance, before giving the barest hint of a nod to Ianto and turning back to face the Captain. She had apparently expected that Kethan would attempt to leave, and rightly assumed that Ianto had headed him off. Well, at least he seemed to be going up in the doctor’s books, though Ianto would have gladly faced her wrath if it meant Brenneth got to survive. It was, in the end, not much of an equitable trade.
It was more of a remembrance than a funeral. There was no talk of afterlife, or this being God’s will, as Ianto remembered from the funerals he’d attended on Earth. The Captain didn’t read any ritual words, and there were no hymns. They simply went around the table in a circle, each talking about Brenneth; how they met him, things they loved about him, funny stories, heroic tales and tender moments. Some of them didn’t say much; Aharon spoke only a couple sentences, and Ashild hadn’t been able to get much out around her tears, but Ellis spoke for a good fifteen minutes, pulling laughter, then tears from the circle. Ianto hadn’t realized he and Brenneth had been lovers, but by the end of Ellis’ memories, it couldn’t have been clearer. Ianto didn’t speak long. He simply said that Brenneth had been kind to him, and had made him feel at ease on a ship full of strangers. Once Kethan had finished his outrageous tale of circuses and strange alien show horses that had them all laughing freely, the circle was complete. One by one they stood, some leaving, some getting drinks and staying to talk about nothing in particular. What they were going to do with the body, Ianto had no idea, but it didn’t seem important.
After drinking a cup of coffee while listening to Varelle and Ellis do a surprisingly comic routine - the Captain’s relaxed seriousness playing off Ellis’ bawdy sense of humour - recounting an adventure they’d had two decades ago, Zoanne dragged him off to the infirmary.
“You did say your organizational skills were second to none,” she said, hands on hips.
Ianto looked over at Kethan. He wasn’t precisely asking for permission, but for some reason he was wary of leaving Kethan alone. Kethan waved him off, however, so Ianto followed Zoanne to the infirmary, where they started sorting through boxes of supplies.
“You must think we have no compassion.”
Ianto looked up from the box of small bottles, labeled in incomprehensible text. “Why would I think that?”
“We didn’t go after them,” Zoanne said, reaching out and flipping a bottle around. “We left them to die.”
“You didn’t know that.”
“No,” she said. “But we knew it was likely.”
Ianto sat back on his haunches, bracing his hands on his knees as he considered what to say. On one hand, he wanted to say yes, you should have done something, but on the other hand, he sort of understood. It was how it was done here, and while it wasn’t what he was used to, it didn’t make it wrong. Just different.
“You placed the needs of the many over the needs of the few,” he said eventually. “It’s not a foreign concept; leaders need to do it. I wasn’t a leader.”
Zoanne nodded, sharp eyes glinting. She hadn’t cried that Ianto had seen; Varelle had, which had surprised him, but the doctor conformed to his expectations and had yet to shed a tear for her colleague. She reminded him a little of Suzie, all intense focus and sharp observation, only without the edge of darkness that had made him steer clear of his co-worker for the few months before she’d killed herself.
“Being responsible for others is a hard burden,” she said, pointing to one of the medicines. “Those can all be put away together, in the top left cupboard. I know it weighs on Opal. Kethan has it easy, leading the vigilante life.”
“It must be lonely,” Ianto observed, collecting the bottles and finding the cabinet.
“He comes here when he can, and leaves when he can’t stand it anymore. Kethan doesn’t exactly take on a lot of responsibilities,” she said, watching him. “I’m surprised he’s still here.”
Ianto gave a small smile in acknowledgement of the question she wasn’t asking. “He’s young yet. He grows up.”
She snorted, folding bandages into a drawer. “Aren’t you younger than him?”
“Only chronologically.” She laughed at that, and he continued, thoughtfully. “I don’t know the kind of things he’s done with the Time Agency, not really, but it seems to me that this is the first time he’s stepping out of his comfort zone. Maybe he didn’t intend to join them in the first place, but I don’t think that means he hasn’t reveled in the opportunity. Me, well. I’ve been to the edge and back, more than once. It’s an aging process.”
Zoanne shut the door and turned back to him, leaning against the counter. “You know, Ianto Jones, I think I misjudged you.”
“Apology accepted,” he replied with a flourish of his hands, smirking at her overdone look of outrage. He started sorting the bottles into the cabinet, checking the labels as he went, and quickly realized the ones already there were in no sensible order.
“You know, I don’t know more than the order of the alphabet at this point, and I still think I can arrange these more rationally than they are now.”
She raised an eyebrow, and then came over to stand next to him, looking up at his face rather than at the supplies.
“This is why,” she said as she reached an arm up, and Ianto quickly realized what she was saying; she couldn’t have been much over five feet, and the cabinet was almost out of reach. “I can’t see to find anything in so-called alphabetical order. I fumble around by touch. Or Opal gets it.”
Ianto snickered. “Why don’t you get a stool?”
“Don’t test it, boy,” she growled, elbowing him in the stomach. “I know a few interesting concoctions that could easily end up in your coffee, if an accident were to happen.”
Ianto worked up a suitably indignant reply, relaxing into the easy bickering as they tidied the infirmary. Clearly, there was something with the medical profession and snarkiness, if Owen and Zoanne were anything to go by. Whether it was the familiarity or some newfound confidence in the fifty-first century, born of his belief that he did the right thing yesterday, Ianto could feel himself relaxing into this time. Perhaps being stuck here wouldn’t be the end of the world.
As long as he didn’t lose Kethan, at least. Which, apparently, he would.
~
They met that afternoon to regroup, back in the mess. This time, the atmosphere was one of tense professionalism as they debriefed what they knew about the probable location of the TARDIS, and how likely it was that they would be able to track it.
Answer: not very.
“They clearly want me,” Kethan said, tapping his fingers on the table.
“No.”
Kethan gave Zoanne a wide-eyed look. “No, what?”
“No, you are not being bait. It’s a ridiculous idea, and,” she continued, threateningly, “it’s not as if they’re going to drag the TARDIS along to kidnap you.”
Ianto liked her rather a lot, in that moment. He listened for a little while longer as they discussed tracking techniques, possible storage locations, infiltration and full-on bombings, until the conversation slowed under the lack of options. He coughed once, bringing the attention of the crew on himself.
“There is one possibility that hasn’t been considered, as of yet.” He looked around, eventually meeting Varelle’s eyes. “The Doctor.”
“Zoanne?” Ashild asked, puzzled.
“No,” Kethan said slowly, cocking his head. “The Doctor, apparently. The being the ship belongs to.”
Varelle was nodding as Kethan talked. “When Kethan mentioned that there’s supposed to be a pilot, I had Kareh look for prisoner transfers that matched up. Kareh?”
“I found one really suspicious one,” Kareh nodded, flipping open his wristband and flashing a hologram in the air. “This is the data I extracted from the static; I think I’ve sorted out where they’re holding… him?”
Ianto shrugged. “By appearance. Do they refer to him by name?”
“No, just a prisoner code.”
“Then we can’t be sure.”
Kareh shut off the hologram. “I’m pretty certain. It could be a dummy trail, but I searched, and there isn’t any sign it’s covering anything else.”
“Where’s he being held?” Varelle asked.
Kareh hesitated. “Earth.”
There was a quiet beat, and Ianto wondered if that was a good sign or bad until Ashild broke the silence.
“Yes,” she crowed. “Finally!”
“Nothing’s been confirmed,” Zoanne said, with a wag of a finger, but Ianto caught the excited look on her face.
“You’ve never been to Earth?” he asked.
Heads shook around the table, only Kethan and Jotir not joining in.
“Embargo planets, remember?” Ellis said. “We work almost exclusively in that region. Earth is a long way to go for no reason.”
Ianto nodded, turning to Kethan. “You have?”
“The Time Agency is headquartered there,” Kethan replied, tipping back in his chair with a grin. “I was trained there. You guys are going to love it.”
“This is not going to be sightseeing,” Varelle chastised. “And before we get ahead of ourselves; Ianto, do you really think getting our hands on this Doctor would be an advantage?”
“Yes,” Ianto said, fervently. He didn’t need to know much about the Doctor to know that having the alien on your team meant you were probably going to win, even if the odds were impossible. “If he wants his ship back - which he will - the Time Agency won’t be able to stop him.”
“Alright. Kethan, do you agree that this is our best option, for the time being?”
Scrutinizing Ianto, Kethan nodded. “Yep. Best of all, it’s the last thing they’ll expect. I’ve never read anything on the pilot, so I doubt the Agency would think I’d go after him.”
“Then to Earth it is. Soren, plot a course. How long are we looking at?”
“If we go for a hard burn and stop to refuel a couple of times? Three weeks. Maybe a little more.” He stood up, heading for the bridge. “I’ll get the numbers to you right away.”
The absurd feeling of pride Ianto experienced as the crew broke up to execute their new plan made him smile, and when Kethan saw it, he grinned back and shoved him gently.
“What? You didn’t think I was just keeping you around for your pretty face, did you?”
Ianto smirked. “You were at first.”
“Nuh-uh,” said Kethan, shaking a finger. “I kept you around because you arrived by vortex manipulator, and therefore were a threat.”
“You keep telling yourself that, sir,” Ianto said with a grin, standing up.
“Someday, Ianto, you’re going to have to tell me why you keep calling me that.”
“Force of habit,” he replied over his shoulder, dropping his mug into the dishwasher and adding a few others from the counter.
“So we don’t do the kinky sex thing?”
Ianto didn’t answer, just laughed quietly to himself as he finished loading the dishwasher, leaving Kethan and the others - mostly Ellis and Ashild, though Kareh had some surprisingly creative suggestions - to make increasingly obscene speculations about his and Kethan’s future sex life.
~
Ashild had been right; space travel was rather boring, when that was all there was to do. Once the initial excitement over going to Earth had faded, the crew had settled into an anxious mood, alternating between trying to sort out what they were going to do once they reached Earth and passing the time frivolously. Tempers were a little thin, now that they were two weeks in.
Ianto, for his part, had discovered that Ashild had a fondness for chess - Kethan couldn’t stand it, just like Jack, but Ianto was partial to a good game - so they took to passing the slow days over her chess set.
“I don’t have a clue how that’s supposed to look like a queen,” Ianto grouched, sitting cross-legged on one of the beds in the room Ashild shared with Soren. “It’s just an abstract blob.”
“It looks exactly like a queen,” she protested, picking up the piece and waving it in front of him. “If you’re a member of the Tench species.”
“You couldn’t have a human chess set?” he asked, waving at the rest of the pieces. He kept losing simply because he forgot which piece was which, and couldn’t grasp the layout of the board as quickly as he was used to.
“Don’t be prejudiced,” she chastised, setting the so-called queen down on a new space. “Check.”
Ianto opened his mouth to reply when the inter-ship comm beeped and Jotir’s voice came through. Ashild crawled by him - well, nearly over him - to tap the console.
“Yeah?”
“You might want to come down to the mess.”
“Why? Did you make bannock?” she asked as Ianto shifted out from under her.
“No. I’m requesting…” the alien trailed off, and Ianto could hear yelling in the background. “I’m requesting your presence as security.”
“Oh. I’ll be right there,” she hopped off the bed and gave Ianto a suspicious look. “You’re coming with me. I don’t believe you won’t cheat while I’m gone.”
Ianto gave her an affronted look, but followed her out the door anyway. They cut through the bridge to get to the mess, and when Ianto stepped off the ladder, he could see why Jotir had called them. Kethan had Aharon backed up against a wall, and if Ianto hadn’t been able to see the furious look on the older man’s face, he might have thought they were snogging. As it was, he could just barely hear Kethan’s hissed words.
“Fuck you,” he spit, shoving his hands into Aharon’s shoulders, hands twisted into the material of the other man’s shirt. “You don’t know a damn thing.”
“You think it isn’t true?” said Aharon, voice low and taunting. “As if you’d be this angry if it weren’t.”
The punch in the face didn’t seem to catch him by surprise, and in an instant Aharon had the advantage, pressing Kethan’s face into the wall and kicking his legs apart, unbalancing him as he leaned into his ear.
“Brenneth would still be alive if it weren’t for you.”
“Aharon!” said Ashild from beside him, though she seemed unwilling to step forward and separate the men. Kethan wasn’t waiting for her, and twisted out from Aharon’s grasp, elbowing him in the stomach, hard enough to make the man grunt.
“And how many people would be alive if it weren’t for you, huh?” he said, shoving at Aharon challengingly. “I couldn’t save Brenneth from the mercenaries. But I wasn’t one of them. How far away are you from being Brenneth’s murderer, Aharon?”
Aharon’s fist connected with Kethan’s jaw before either of them could move, but it spurred both of them into action, and before anything more could happen, Ashild was pushing Aharon back and Ianto was trying to keep Kethan from getting up off the floor.
“Get out of the way, Ianto,” Kethan growled, swiping at his lip and trying to get his feet under him,
“No,” Ianto said, pressing him down again, and looking over his shoulder to where Ashild was edging Aharon out of the mess. “He’s leaving, anyway.” When they had left, he turned back to Kethan. “You’re bleeding.”
“He pulled it,” Kethan said, the fight in him seeming to disappear as Ianto watched. “He could have broken my jaw if he wanted to. A split lip is preferable.”
“Infirmary?”
“No. But a drink would be nice.”
Ianto nodded and, confident that Kethan wasn’t going to go after Aharon for revenge, stood up and headed to the cupboard where the stiffer drinks were kept. He picked out one in a small, spherical bottle that tasted most like scotch, and poured a shallow glass. When he came back round the counter, Kethan had taken a seat on the couch and was licking blood off his thumb.
“Can I get you a cloth of some sort?” Ianto asked pointedly, taking a seat at Kethan’s headshake.
“Thanks,” Kethan said, taking the glass and downing half of it, wincing at the sting as it passed over the broken skin. He dropped his hands down, fiddling with the glass between his knees, and looked over at the doorway. “I hope he doesn’t give her any trouble.”
“She can handle it,” Ianto said mildly, wondering if Kethan was as ignorant to their relationship as Ashild thought him to be. “Besides, she isn’t baiting him.”
“Was that what I was doing?” Kethan murmured, more to himself than Ianto. Ianto was burning with questions, about the argument, about Aharon, about what Kethan had meant when he’d taunted Aharon, but he waited. Jack, at least, didn’t respond well to interrogation, and though that could easily have developed over the years in-between, Ianto wasn’t one to press for personal details. Kethan finished his drink, and eventually settled back into the couch and began to talk.
“Aharon didn’t exactly join the Evening Star under the best circumstances. There was a whole thing,” he said, waving a hand expansively, “where he sort of hijacked the Star and threatened everyone and very nearly destroyed the ship.”
“Why?”
“For money. He was a mercenary. Got paid to kill people, defend people’s personal territory, fight illegal wars. That sort of thing. Like the men who killed Brenneth,” Kethan said, a hard edge to his voice. “The Star became useful to him once, so he used it. Didn’t give a damn about anyone on it.”
“What happened? How come he’s still here?”
“His deal went sour, so he made a deal with Opal. He’d be loyal to her, if she wouldn’t turn him over to some people who would have liked to have seen him incinerated.”
Ianto decided not to ask if Kethan literally meant incinerated, as he considered the explanation. It explained a few things he’d observed on the ship, but it also gave him more questions. Aharon seemed well enough trusted by everyone except Kethan, and even by Kethan, for the most part. They followed his orders without question when Varelle wasn’t around; if he were simply a mercenary who handled the guns for them, that was unlikely to be true.
“How long ago was this?” Ianto asked eventually.
“Ten years?” Kethan said, thinking for a moment. “No, twelve.”
“Ah. So he’s one of the crew now.”
Kethan nodded reluctantly. “Opal keeps telling me I need to let it go, that if I’d been here the whole time, I’d trust him too. Mostly I do, because the Captain’s got good judgment about people, but sometimes…” he shrugged. “He didn’t have morals then. Maybe he does now, but I don’t always believe he’s any different from those mercenaries who killed Brenneth.” He ducked his head, eyes clenching shut, and Ianto placed a hand on his knee.
“I don’t know him very well,” Ianto said, squeezing Kethan’s knee, “So I’m not one to judge, but I can’t see the Captain having someone on board whom she didn’t trust completely to protect her team.”
Kethan nodded, putting his hand on top of Ianto’s. “You’re right, you always are. Do you spend as much time talking sense into people - namely me - back home, as you do here?”
Ianto snorted. “Yep. I have no idea why. I try to project this air of silent aloofness, and still everybody comes to me with their problems.” He spent a lot of time listening to his teammates - though he wasn’t sure most of them even processed that it was him, a real person, sitting there listening while they talked about their weddings or crushes or one-night-stands. Except Jack: Jack listened as well as talked, and for that, Ianto was grateful. Working at Torchwood was isolating enough; before he’d known Jack well enough to be friends, it had been terrible to have no one to talk to.
“What would I do without you, huh?” He frowned. “I guess I am doing without you, now. Or maybe I’m not, maybe I get you back.”
Ianto leaned back into the couch, looking up at the ceiling. “Confusing.”
“Not once you’re used to it, really. But it still kind of sucks that you leave, some way or another.”
“Can you be sure?” Ianto asked, curious.
“Well, if I don’t know you when I see you next, you can’t stay around that long. How old am I when I know you?”
Ianto shrugged. “I don’t know. You’ve never said.” It was the most truthful answer he could give to that question, at least without causing some sort of a paradox.
“I can’t be that much older,” Kethan pressed, poking Ianto in the leg. “Ten years? Twenty? I thought people were more hung up on age, back then. How old do I look?” He frowned, looking anxious. “I hope I look younger than I am. I’d hate to age fast. Time travel can be hell on the complexion, if you’re not careful.”
“Late thirties? Early forties? It’s kind of hard to tell,” Ianto said, silently apologizing for the sort-of-lie.
“So a decade, maybe a little more. Well,” he said, leaning back against the armrest and throwing his legs over Ianto’s lap as he leaned back. “I’ll sleep better knowing I get to see you in not too many years. I just better get you back to myself, huh?”
Ianto hoped the smile he gave Kethan wasn’t as strained as he felt. A decade, a century… however long before Kethan saw him again, it would mean nothing if Ianto never got home.
~
Home, at least in this millennium, was a bustling centre of commerce and trade, mostly due to the fact that humans are a self-centered sort of species and like to keep the books where they can see them. It took two days of waiting in far orbit before they were granted an airlock at one of the several spacedocks orbiting the planet, and almost a whole day before Ianto, Kethan, Ashild and Varelle reached the surface.
“Why Greenwich?” Ianto asked as they finally reached their destination, one shuttle flight, one spacelift, and one equator-to-Britain flight later.
“Historical significance.” Kethan answered, pulling him onto a moving sidewalk and ducking under the protruding trunk of a nearby alien. “Greenwich Mean Time, and all that. Also, a lot of the groundbreaking discoveries about time travel were done in London. Cardiff was pretty pissed, but they decided the instability of the rift meant it was a bad location.”
“Ah,” said Ianto, distracted as he looked around him. Like anyone who lived in London, he’d been in this neighborhood several times, first doing the usual touristy things and later on dates with Lisa. The majority of the people around were human, but well over a quarter were species Ianto hadn’t even seen out on Trell or the cruise ship. The streets, too, were filled with pedestrians, and the only vehicles were trolley-like buses that followed built-in tracks, tucked down below the sidewalks so the little bridges that joined the sides of the road didn’t have to go very high. It was very open, compared to the tube, but Ianto supposed if you didn’t have cars on the street, there was no reason to bury your trains.
“I really don’t like just walking into their territory,” Ashild muttered as they followed Kethan through the busy streets. “Couldn’t they just swoop down and pick you up?”
“Trust me, this is the last place they’re expecting me to be. Besides, we’re not actually going to their official headquarters. They don’t keep their high-risk cells beside the trainees and the bureaucrats.”
“And you have no doubts about your ability to break into their so-called ‘high-risk’ cells?” Varelle asked.
“None whatsoever,” he said, glancing around as if checking for eavesdroppers. “See, there’s no official word out that I’ve gone rogue. The hit out on me that Kareh found is anonymous, and it’s only the people at the top who know I’m after them. Otherwise, they might have people asking why. It’s not as if Time Agents defect every day. So according to all the lowly guards and secretaries, I’m still a Time Agent, no questions asked.”
“Alright. As long as you’re sure.”
“I’m sure. Actually sure, this time,” Kethan replied with a smile, but it dropped away too soon. “It doesn’t mean the higher-ups won’t be looking for me, but they’re not going to be standing at the gate, waiting to arrest me. We’ll have some time.”
When they reached the large grey building that apparently housed the more secretive parts of the Time Agency - why you would put a secret base in the middle of an enormous city was beyond Ianto, though Torchwood One had, admittedly, been the same - Kethan stopped and turned to them all.
“So, we’re hoping my passcodes haven’t been revoked. They weren’t before I met up with you, and they knew I was working behind their back, so with any luck they haven’t gotten around to it. Ianto and I will go in first and disable their internal sensors so the ladies,” and here he nodded to Ashild and Varelle, “will be able to get in with the guns. Clear?”
At the mutter of agreement, he linked an arm in Ianto’s and walked into the building. It was bright inside, not at all like the warehouse they’d broken into almost a month ago, and there was a large round desk with a very small alien behind it, front and centre. Kethan ignored it and went around behind it, where a large oval wall separated the sparse entrance from the doors to the rest of the building, where several guards were waiting. They watched Kethan as he approached, but never moved or talked as Kethan pressed his wristband and the doors slid open. They continued nonchalantly down the hall for a minute, and then Kethan let go.
“Control room’s on the main floor, just this way. Let’s go,” he said, pointing down a hall on their right. Ianto followed him, feeling self-conscious, but no one stopped them on their way. They reached a heavy metal door - twice as wide as normal - and Kethan opened it. Inside were three people and dozens of screens, flicking between views like the CCTV did in the Hub. The man in the room turned to them as they came in.
“I’m sorry, authorized personnel only. Do you have identification?”
“Yes I do,” said Kethan, flashing the same hologram. Whatever it was, the man seemed to recognize it, and he nodded towards the screen.
“Are you looking for something? Is there a breach we should know about?”
“The Agency got wind of a temporal disturbance on level six,” Kethan said, lying baldly. Ianto couldn’t tell if he’d planned this, or if he was just making it up on the spot. “They’ve sent me here to investigate. Can you pull up the feeds from that level?”
“Certainly. Manya, level six?”
The alien nodded and pressed her control panel, and suddenly a section of the screens switched to display rows of cells; they looked disturbingly like the cells at Torchwood, something like Plexiglas with holes drilled in for air. Perhaps this was where Jack had gotten the idea.
“Play it back, last two hours, please. Not too fast, I need to see it all,” Kethan said, tossing himself into one of the chairs and giving the man a dismissive look. “Can I get a coffee for this? Might take a while. Ianto will go with you, if you need another set of hands.”
“Whatever you like,” the man said, and Ianto realized, suddenly, that he was being very deferential towards Kethan. Perhaps Time Agents didn’t deign to visit the cells very often. “This way, please.”
Ianto followed him out of the room, and down the hall to a small lounge, complete with a fifty-first century coffee maker. He made up drinks for all five of them - excellent, that made this easier - and Ianto dropped a pill in each when he wasn’t looking. This was his small part of the plan, and it was familiar enough. All the practice he’d had with administering retcon was paying off. The less weapons fire, the better, according to Kethan. At least, until they needed to shoot their way out of the place. They made tedious small talk on the walk back that continued in the rear of the control room while Kethan ostensibly watched the feeds from level six, but it didn’t take long before the two humans passed out. Manya, on the other hand, just looked suspicious as her colleagues drooped to the floor.
“Wha-”
She didn’t get to finish her sentence, and Ianto watched in surprise as her thick body thunked to the floor.
“What happened?”
“Prenacapian,” Kethan said in response, his fingers already flying over the controls. “Immune to that drug. Fortunately, they have an exposed nerve that, if you know what you’re doing, can induce paralysis.”
Ianto looked at the body of the floor skeptically. “So you gave her a Vulcan nerve pinch?”
“A what?” Kethan asked, distractedly, working at the console When he finished what he was doing, and the screens flickered before settling back into what they’d been showing initially. Nodding in approval, he contacted Ashild and Varelle.
“It’s done. See you at the meeting point,” he said into his wristband, and then left the control room, locking it behind him. “They won’t budge for at least half an hour. Someone will probably notice they’re not responding first, but not for a bit. Thank god for automation.”
They met the women as planned beyond the doors, and they handed over Kethan and Ianto’s blasters. The bright hallways seemed an awfully conspicuous place to be exchanging blasters, but Kethan didn’t seem concerned by it as they found the lift and ascended several levels.
“Aren’t dungeons supposed to be below ground?”
“Why?” asked Kethan as they watched the numbers go up - Galactic A, Ianto could now proudly identify.
“Harder to escape, isn’t it?”
“Not when there’s just as much development underground as there is overhead,” Kethan pointed out as the lift dinged - how come all of London was different but the ding of a lift remained the same? - and they stepped out. “Level eight, home of this mysterious prisoner. I checked in the control room,” he added at Ashild’s look of curiosity.
The hallway here, too, was white and clean, and there were no cells along it, but Kethan pointed at the regularly spaced doors. “All of the cell blocks are through those doors. There are guards on the other side, so we’ll take them out and leave Ashild and Varelle to make sure nobody disturbs us as we break the good Doctor out.”
After they found the correct block, Kethan opened the door, motioning at Ianto to stay put. Ianto gave Varelle a confused look, but watched as the door slid shut. Not ten seconds passed before Kethan hauled it open with a grin. The body of a guard lay just behind him.
“That’s done. Come on, Jones, let’s find this Doctor of yours.”
“Which cell?”
“Sixty-six.”
Ianto nodded and he followed Kethan down the corridor between the rows of cells that twisted around, winding back and forth. There was only one way out that Ianto could see; the block seemed to be designed to fit as many cells as possible behind one door. Kethan was chanting the numbers aloud as they got higher.
“…fifty-eight, sixty, sixty-two,” he said, watching the even side of the hall. “sixty-four, sixty-”
He came to a halt in front of cell sixty-six, and Ianto caught up to him, peering into the dark cell through the clear plastic. When his eyes focused, he felt the bottom of his stomach drop out. The man chained to the far wall was not wearing a pinstripe suit, wasn’t far too skinny and was certainly not the Doctor. For a moment, Ianto couldn’t speak at all, too terrified he was wrong, or right, but then the man looked up, his eyes - god, his eyes - meeting Ianto’s in certain recognition.
“Jack?” said Ianto, pressing a palm to the glass, either to get closer and be sure or to steady himself.
“Me?” said Kethan.
~
A/N: Alright, hands up who saw that one coming.
Read Chapter 15.