Multiverse fic. John Crichton/Torchwood

[elliejane]

Title: Riding Roller Coasters for a Living
Author: elliejane
Fandoms: Farscape/Torchwood
Characters: John Crichton, Torchwood team
Rating: G
Word Count: 10,400 approx
Written for: Multiverse 2009
Notes: This fic is a tad AU. Set at the beginning of the Natural Election epsidode in Season 4 of Farscape. In the actual episode a wormhole opens, and plant-based hijinks ensue. In the fic, the wormhole opens and other hijinks entirely ensue. The Torchwood part takes place in Season 2 before the events of Reset.
Summary: An American scientist shouldn't be running around Cardiff wearing leather, holding a nice piece of alien technology.

AN: Apologies for the lateness of this fic. It was due on the 13th, but due to real life, I couldn't post it then.

AN2: Since posting this I found a couple of typos and inconsistencies, which I have tweaked. Nothing substantial has changed, though.

Riding Roller Coasters for a Living.

"Looks a bit like the space shuttle, it does." PC Jones scratches his head and frowns.

His partner, one PC Anderson, squints up at the sky. It's a breezy afternoon in a field spread out on a cliff top just outside of Cardiff.

"Have they launched one of those lately?" The sun is getting low in the sky and grey clouds tinged with mauve are pilling in. She thinks she can see a flash of lightening nearer the horizon and there's a chill in the air.

"Dunno. And what's it doing coming down in Cardiff, anyway? It ought to be up there, orbiting and what not." Jones makes a swirly motion of the hand. "Not sitting here on a cliff. Doesn't seem right."

They both pause for a moment, standing by a group of sad looking trees at the edge of the field, looking from the sky to the small white ship and back up again. There's a huge furrow though the earth ending almost at the cliff's edge, where the craft is embedded.

"Better call it in," Jones sighs. "Sergeant's gonna be pissed,"

"Why?" Anderson pauses on her way back up the slope to the car and looks back.

Jones rolls his eyes and nods at the incongruous space ship. "Bloody hates Torchwood, he does."

*

"Wow." Gwen looks down at the back of the white craft, from where the van is parked in the field, on a small rise by the road. "It IS a ship. I mean, it is, isn't it?"

Owen makes his way down towards it, slipping a little on the muddy incline. Police tape is cordoning the ship, and he hops over it awkwardly. He stands with his hands on his hips when he gets to the ship, staring up. The earth is churned up around it and it's come to rest slightly tilted to one side.

"Looks like," he calls back. "Not your run of the mill artifact, is it?"

Gwen cautiously steps down to join him, wishing she hadn't worn her nice boots. "Can you see a pilot?" The wind has picked up a bit, the leaves on the trees flapping forlornly, and there's definite drizzle in the air.

"No, not yet. Looks like someone got out, though, the canopy is off and there's blood on the side."

"Right." Gwen gets her gun in hand, fingers curving round the cool metal. A ship with no pilot means an unaccounted for threat. "A ship. You know, I think I expected more chrome and flashy lights."

"Yeah, alien tech should always have flashy lights..." Owen's sarcastic voice trails off a bit as he circles the craft. Mud and grass has been explosively smeared all down the side nearest to Gwen, white streaked with brown, and the black nose of the ship is dug deep in the earth.

"This is odd..." Owen's voice fades to a quizzical 'huh'.

"It'll never fit in the vault." Gwen rises on her toes and peers at the side of the cockpit.

"Huh," Owen says again. Then his head appears from round the other side. "The vault?"

"The vault? You know, where we stash all the alien tech that drops through the rift? After we name them something corny and improbable?"

Owen's head disappears again, but now his voice is clear. "I don't think we're going to have a problem with this being alien technology."

"What?" Gwen frowns, and then ducks round to join Owen. She looks up.

"Oh. See what you mean." She shakes her head. "Bit disappointing that, really."

Owen continues to gaze at the lettering he found on the side of the craft. "Disappointing?"

"Well, the alien tech is all well and good, but I always thought a proper flying saucer might be nice, some kind of exotic space craft. And now, when we finally get one, it's one of ours. And looks a bit dull. Doesn't seem fair somehow."

"United States in big letters. And a flag. Not subtle over there, are they?"

"Well, I suppose it could have said 'Made in Taiwan'".

"That might have been better." Owen raps a knuckle against the side of the ship.

"Not very glam is it? Not like 'The Enterprise', or the 'Millennium Falcon'."

"Star Wars fan?"

"Harrison Ford was hot."

"Ah."

"So was the ship."

There's a pause from both of them as they stare at the beaten up looking ship, swathes of it streaked by scorch marks and mud.

"You know, the ship is all very well, but where IS the pilot?"

Gwen looks around. The stand of trees and the nearby hedgerow offers a little shelter but other than that..." Well, he can't be far."

"Who knows? If he went over the cliff, he could be washed up on distant shores by now," Owen says carelessly.

"No, look. I know the earth's all churned up, but these look like tracks to me. See, like he jumped and slid down here, then kind of squelched over there."

"Squelched? Blimey, you're a regular CSI, you know that?"

"Hey!" Gwen shoots him a look of pretend annoyance. Mostly pretend. "Hmm. Jack needs to know about this. You keep an eye out and I'll call Tosh. Then we'll look for the pilot."

She gets out her phone, flips it open and fast dials the Hub. "Hey, Tosh? Got something we need to tell Jack. That UFO? Not unidentified any longer."

*

"Hello, Jack?" It takes Captain Jack Harkness a while to answer his mobile; Tosh is beginning to get a little worried. It's not everyday one of the team reports in a spaceship, last thing she needs is for Jack to be incommunicado.

"Yes! Tosh?"

"Yes, Jack, sorry for interrupting your evening, I know you're out on a...date?" The last is uttered cautiously, as if she doesn't quite know what a date with Jack would entail.

She can hear slight shuffling noises coming from the phone and frowns in consternation. Then she hears whispered voices and a faint echo of laughter. She slaps her hand to her mouth in alarm, before speaking in a low whisper into the handset.

"You are out, aren't you? I mean, I'm not interrupting, you know...interrupting?" The emphasis is practically in neon.

Laughter from the mobile again. "Tosh, don't worry! I'm in the car with Ianto. We've just done dinner and movie, and are heading back to Cardiff."

"Oh!" Relief coloured her voice; then, "Oh, so you're not in Cardiff?"

"Not yet. Had to go somewhere else for the movie, as we've kinda been banned from the regular haunts.

"Banned? No, no don't tell me! I don't want to hear what you get up to in the cinema!"

"You sure? Could be entertaining!" Jack laughs, before carrying on. "Ok, no, seriously, what did you call for?"

"Right, yes," Tosh recovers her composure. "Jack, there was some unusual rift activity a little while ago, out over the bay to the west. Reports of lights in the sky, maybe a UFO and the readings were looking abnormal."

"Damn, we're not back yet. Can Gwen and Owen go?"

"Actually, I called and asked them if they could investigate as I knew you were…out." Tosh can virtually hear Jack smirk again and almost blushes. "Gwen just called in. They've found a ship. An actual ship."

"Wow. Well, that was unexpected."

Yes, I know. But Gwen says she doesn't think it's alien. It's got United States written on the side. Can I transmit the data to you?"

"Absolutely. Don't know what's weirder - that a spaceship's come through the rift, or that it was made by Uncle Sam."

"They haven't spotted a pilot yet."

"Right. You know what? I think we'll get our friends at UNIT in on this. There's an MoD training base not far from here where they've got a covert bunker or two. I'll call them and see if they'll stash the ship. It's not exactly huge, from what you've sent. Won't be hovering over cities and blasting them to smithereens any time soon."

A frown colours Jack's voice. "At least, I hope it won't. Tosh, get back to Gwen and tell her I'm sending UNIT over. And tell them both to be careful."

*

Gwen snaps the phone shut. "Tosh has let Jack know. He's seeing about getting the thing moved to a UNIT base. We'll have sightseers hanging around in no time, even if it isn't an alien ship. A bit of police tape never stopped anyone."

She stares contemplatively at the ship once again. "Meanwhile, lets have a look for the driver."

When she glances up, she sees Owen's eyes wide and staring over her shoulder.

"Owen?"

"Er, Gwen? I think the driver's found us."

All of a sudden, there's a voice from behind her. Strong, angry and male.

"Get your hands off m'damn ship!"

"Oh shit," she mutters under her breath, before abruptly swinging round and aiming her gun square at the man. He's maybe in his thirties, dressed in dark clothes, gun pointed straight back at her. "Whoever you are, put the gun down!"

The man has short brown hair, blood on the side of his face and obviously no intention of complying. Gwen registers that the dark clothes are actually some kind of black leather, smeared over with mud. The man himself looks disorientated, blinking rapidly and shaking his head as if to clear it.

Keeps a steady hand on the gun, though, thinks Gwen.

Gwen tries to keep herself steady, as well. "Look, we don't want to hurt you, but we can't talk if you have a gun pointed at us.

"Get the hell away from my ship," says the man. "And as you gotta gun pointed at me, so I'm gonna scrub the 'I come in peace speech'."

"We found an abandoned spaceship in a field. Do you blame us for being cautious?"

"Yes, I do. And it's not abandoned. It's mine. Who the frell are you, anyway?"

She looks quickly over her shoulder at Owen. He shrugs.

She makes a quick decision. "We're Torchwood."

The man in black frowns. He rubs a hand at his eyes. "That a place? Or a planet?"

Gwen is startled for a moment, but pulls herself together. "It's an organisation. We look into alien artefacts that come through the rift."

"Didn't come through any rift. Came through..." the man's voice wavers and he's looking unsteadier on his feet, now, "Came through a wormhole."

"A wormhole?"

"Yeah...where. Where am I?"

"Sir, put the gun down, and we can discuss that."

If anything his grip on the gun tightens even as he sways a little. Gwen figures he's disorientated after whatever's happened to him. Figures she can take him, but she has to reach him first. Then a sharp clear voice startles her, coming from behind the man.

"Drop the gun! Drop the gun, now! I'm a police officer and I am armed!"

The man jerks in surprise and his gun arm swings shakily, taking his aim off Gwen. She moves immediately, but before she can reach him, she can see his gaze go unfocused and his coordination to pieces.

"Oh, crap." He mutters the words under his breath, and by the time she's at his side, the man is unconscious in the grass.

Gwen looks at Police Constable Anderson, owner of the voice behind the man, and who is looking at the unconscious man with curiosity.

"You didn't shoot him did you?" Owen has scrambled round to join Gwen, and is cautiously about to kneel next to him.

Anderson raises her eyebrows. "Not armed."

She waves a slim but sturdy torch at Gwen. "Just stuck this in his back."

She looks down at the man and Owen; Owen's fingers are on his pulse confirming that he is, in fact, still alive.

"Yep, he's still with us."

"Thank heavens for that! Good work, Constable."

"Think he fainted, ma'am," says Constable Anderson with considerable satisfaction.

*

John wakes up slowly and the déjà vu of it is sickeningly familiar. As is his lack of recollection about what just happened. Stretched out on a cold surface, wrists strapped heavily by his sides. Head also heavy, swimming with concussion and the tightness of fear. The smell of chemicals.

He rolls his head slowly to the side, wincing at the bruised feeling. Has to blink a couple of times to focus. Can see the blurred shape of someone's back. White coat. Doctor? Looks human. Well, looks Sebacean. That means…

Well, it could mean anything. He has to roll his head back straight, as the pressure increases, spiking pain as his past throws nightmares and ghouls at him for his consideration. Could be Grayza. Now, she was a serious ghoul. Ha. He almost laughs, but fights it down. Quiet...Quiet...Shhh...Peacekeepers. Great hearing. He wrenches reflexively at the straps. Great torture techniques. Or could be random irate locals. Could be the godlike aliens. His eyes are swimming, his head full of rocks.

A wormhole...and something went wrong. More than something…more than usual...he frowns slowly, painfully, grasping for the memories and the world, bit by bit, pounds his brain into black.

It's later, much later, when the world lightens from dark into white, and he lets out a low groan. Then half curses when the blurred shape appears in front of him.

"Awake now, are you?"

He blinks carefully. Out of focus. No white coat now. Dark hair. Fuzzy round the edges, just like John.

"Who…the frell…are you?" John's voice sounds like gravel to his own ears, dragged out of his throat. He feels like he's shouting. And. Where's Aeryn? Where's Aeryn?

"I'm Gwen, Gwen Cooper. Who's...Erin, did you say?"

Did he say? "Where am I?" He tries to take in his surroundings but the light is too bright and he only catches glimpses of metal and machines.

"Oh, so you are American, then? American accent, right? I said you might still be an alien, but Owen said not."

And that's not right. That's too familiar.

"Tell me where I am. Where's my…?" But he stumbles because he's tied down and he doesn't want to say too much. Whatever that would be. Not yet.

"Cardiff. You're in Cardiff."

And those few words don't tell him much, at all. Except the growing realisation that the sound his brain hears, matches the words being spoken. Translator microbes get the job done but the two things never match up.

The shape is un-blurring a bit now, and resolves into the figure of a pretty girl, dark hair. Nice smile. Nice voice.

"Say something." His voice still sounds rough

"Excuse me?" She gives a quick frown, and then looks around as if there is a third mystery person in the conversation.

"Say anything."

"Okaaay." The girl, the Gwen, looks puzzled but obliges. "Don't suppose you can tell us who you are, can you? Of course, you must have been bashed about a bit in your ship, and Owen hasn't ruled out the possibility of amnesia, but..."

"You're speakin' English." It's statement not a question. Because she is. Speaking English. The American mother tongue. No-one out here speaks it 'cept for him; and Aeryn, after a fashion. And that little fact means absolutely nothing, because he's been fooled before. Seen two Earth's that weren't real, and the whole thing is starting to get a little old. Pretty girls speaking English shouldn't make his heart clench the way it does.

Weird ass accent, though.

"Yes, I'm speaking English. As opposed to Welsh, do you mean?" She shrugs. "Don't know if Jack speaks Welsh, actually. Uh, do you?" She speaks again, and all of a sudden it's not English anymore. "Areithi Cymraeg?"

"No, I don't. Speak it, that is." His head's feeling a little clearer. He's not any less confused. Any less terrified. This girl is a long way from Grayza but he's gotta beware. Beware of guileless smiles.

"You don't speak Welsh, but you do understand it? Forgive me for saying that's a bit odd."

"Welsh."

"Yes, as in, Welsh Wales? As in Great Britain? United Kingdom?" Gwen raises her eyebrows. "The UK?"

Surely, if the bad guys wanted to dredge up an image of home to taunt him with, they wouldn't have picked this one.

"The UK. Not the US. Not the UT." He pauses. "Not the Uncharted..." He takes a breath and doesn't know whether he hopes or not. And really, there's no way to be sure. He says it anyway. "Am I on Earth?"

"Yes, yes, you are. Heavens, didn't you know? You sound American, so I thought," she ducks her head a bit closer and almost whispers, "Are you an alien, after all, then?"

"Depends who you ask." He clears his throat. "Used to be from Kansas."

"Oh." He could swear she sounds disappointed. "And where are you from, now?"

He gives a half choked laugh. "A galaxy far, far away. Help me, Obi Wan Kenobi, you're my only hope." The laugh turns to a spluttering cough.

When she responds with a tart 'Hey, stop taking the piss!', he still isn't convinced he's home.

*

The man arrives like a whirlwind, full of noise and life. Crichton hears him before he sees him, voice and footsteps bouncing off the walls of this odd, odd place.

"Hey, Tosh, d'you manage to analyse those readings? Gwen, Han Solo wake up yet? Oh, and I've spoken with your friends at the station and reassured them this is our concern."

He comes to a halt by the medical bay, coat swirling around his legs, hands resting lightly on the railings. Fixes Crichton with an intense stare.

"Owen? Is he human?"

The guy, Owen, looks up at his questioner. "Yep, far as I can tell. Got some strange micro-organisms showing up in his brain stem, but other than that..."

"Huh." The man stares down at John, arms crossed, considering. "Is he infectious? I'd rather not come down with some alien plague."

Crichton stares back at him. The man's American. Sounds American. And he's got that unselfconscious swagger that John has seen in various military, test pilot types back home (where is home again?). And, though technically, John was a test monkey himself with the Farscape module, back then when he was a scientist he'd never mastered the swagger.

These days, it’s little different. If you're gonna face a galaxy that's out to get you, a little swagger, a little bravado, a little black leather doesn’t hurt.

Owen is looking at a flip chart and comes up with his pronouncement. "I don't think he's sick at all. I've run him through the regular tox screens and he's coming up A1 healthy. Whatever the microbes are they're not making him ill."

"So, tell me, mystery man. Are you really John Crichton?"

It's a question Crichton doesn’t expect. He doesn't know what to expect. He absolutely doesn't know this guy, so if someone is puppeteering this whole scenario, at least his family and friends aren't twisted into the loop. It feels real. It does. But then again, it's felt real before.

"You know me?"

"I know of you. Gwen sent me your photo, and let me tell you, it makes your presence here somewhat unaccountable.

Crichton laughs shortly. "Most of my life to date has been unaccountable."

"Farscape project, am I right? Slingshot manoeuvre?" The guy cocks his head questioningly at John.

"If I say yes, will you get me out of this…" he pulls at his bindings, "…chair?"

"Come on!" Mister maybe-American throws his arms out expansively. "Space ship on a cliff in Cardiff? A man waving around a very exotic piece of weaponry? At my people? You're lucky you're not in the cells."

John lets his gaze flit over his surroundings again. The occupants of this place have all gravitated to watch this makeshift interrogation. They look harmless enough but…

He sends a challenging look to his captor. "You can never be too careful, in my experience."

"Ah." The man gives him an assessing look of his own. "Okay. Lets have some introductions. Captain Jack Harkness, at your service."

He gives a sketchy bow before indicating the rest of the bystanders. "Toshiko, resident techno-geek. Owen is our medic, Gwen is my right hand man. Guy in the suit, Ianto, makes a great cup of tea."

"Hey!" Said guy-in-suit makes a sound of protest and the Captain's grin is wide and white.

"He's also good with his hands." Harkness shrugs off his long military cut coat, and Ianto ducks forward to catch it.

Ianto mutters under his breath, "That doesn't sound any better, you know." Harkness smirks, then flicks his attention back to John. Who is still attached to the chair, straps biting into the thin skin of his wrists as he twists them around.

"I remember you, Commander John Crichton. Back in the day, you were practically a poster boy for good clean-cut American…boyishness."

Harkness smirks again and crosses his arms. Gives John an appraising look that rivals Chiana's for full on flirt. A shirt with the rolled up sleeves stretches invitingly over biceps, and John wonders if he's practiced the move in the mirror.

"That was before the leather pants, of course," Harkness carries on. "That's a good look for you, by the way. Which brings me to the mystery. An American scientist shouldn't be running around Cardiff wearing leather, holding a nice piece of alien technology. And I gotta say, the ship is a pretty piece of work, as well. You shouldn't be here."

"You got that right!" Crichton feels he has a right to be a bit pissed off. "You have absolutely no clue how right you are!"

He's still not convinced this isn't an elaborate hoax, like the ones played on him before. If this is all a hallucination of sorts, then nothing he says matters much, as long as he doesn't go around spouting off wormhole equations. But if this is home; if it could possibly be home, he doesn't want to frell things up from the get go. But…but, but, but…

"Last I heard, last I saw, actually, was an interview you gave back in oh, 2004. The slingshot had worked, but Nasa ran out of funding for the project. You'd quit in disgust and were working at some university."

"Wait, what?" Ok, so not home, then.

If John's world had felt out of kilter before, now he feels as if he's tumbling back down the wormhole.

"You were devastated, as I recall. You'd proved your theory, but the whole thing and all the possibilities for the human race, were abandoned. Swore up and down you'd never work with Nasa again."

"No, no, no, that's not right."

"What's not right?"

"I…" John pauses, takes a breath. Uncertain of how to continue. But he has to say something. "I don't think this is my world."

"Really."

"I'm John Crichton. I'm an astronaut and a scientist. You were right about the sling shot test. But wrong about the result. Halfway through I was hit by a radiation wave that shot me through a wormhole in space. At the other end of the wormhole people wanted to kill me. That's the long and the short of it."

"Huh. The John Crichton I read about lives in Stanford. Teaches engineering. Wife, two kids. Still there, far as I know."

This is getting into mind-frell territory again. "Well, the John Crichton I know lives in the ass end of the universe with a bunch of aliens misfits and a price on his head." John spits out the words, because this is just harsh, it is. He's not sure if he wants it to be real or not. A hallucination, or some guy with his name living out the American dream, while he has Scorpy on his tail.

It takes a moment for his brain to catch up. Then: "I have kids?"

Harkness taps his fingers consideringly on the rails, and then comes to a decision.

"Owen, let's get Commander Crichton out of those restraints."

Owen sends a doubtful glance his boss's way, but does as he asks, unstrapping John's wrists and ankles. He flexes the discomfort out of them.

"Wanna see your family, Commander?" says Harness, and who is John to say no? He's kind of curious as to who these people will turn up as being his wife and kids.

He follows the guy's gesture and goes up the steps, over to the computer screen. It shouldn't surprise him really, when at a deft touch of Toshiko's fingers, the slick looking computer screen shows the Google search engine, and after that, his face with Alex tucked under his arm. Alex, his ex, who left him to go to Stanford, looking all smiling and sunny.

And this Crichton looks…different. Subtle but different. Less lean, less burnt out. There's a smile on his face that speaks of happiness, despite his disappointments and John's heart thumps in his chest.

There's a pause while Jack's team flicks glances back and forth between John and his …what? His counterpart? His clone? Been there, done that, bought two t-shirts.

"You know, it's interesting. You haven't mentioned how you got here, yet." Jack leans up against the side of the desk. "Haven't asked, haven't explained."

Crichton flips a look his way. No-one seems interested in wormholes yet. And if his wormhole were still whirling about over this place, over this Cardiff, then surely someone would have mentioned it before. The thought leaves him feeling a bit cold and sick in his stomach. If the wormhole has vanished then he can't get home. Can't get home to Aeryn. Regardless of the state things were between them, when he left Moya, he hadn’t been leaving for good. He hadn't said goodbye. He hadn't said a lot of things...

"Would you tell me, if I did ask? Would you even know?" Crichton's tone of voice implies this might be a dare.

The Captain shrugs and doesn't bite. "Maybe not. Maybe the "how" of it isn't as important as the fact you didn't ask. What do you know, that we don't?"

John swivels on the spot and gestures an impatient hand at Jack. "No! You do not get to play mind games and spout riddles at me."

"Hey, you’re the one who fell into our back yard, buddy!" Jack's voice is raised, and he's stood square, arms crossed again.

John has had enough of this.

"I wish to God I hadn't! You think I would do this on purpose? Fling myself at a random planet, call it home, find out I have a family that isn't mine? I have had it up to here with people wanting answers out of me!"

The intense glare he's giving Jack isn't making the man back down. If anything he looks more solid, a statue taking any crap John can throw at him.

"Don't play games with me!" Crichton is practically yelling.

Jack still looks at him as if he is unimpressed. And really John doesn't give a damn.

"You done?" Jack cock's his head at John.

Expect the guy has to push it doesn't he?

"You arrogant son of a bitch!" Crichton steps clear into Jack's space, toe to toe.

The room has gone quiet, in the face of the confrontation. The atmosphere seems to ripple, waiting to see which way this fight will go. John's voice goes softer now, sounding rough, purposeful, almost dangerous, even to his own ears

"Everywhere I turn, people are trying to kill me. I came here through a wormhole in space. This is not my world. I'm alone in your reality. It's a roller coaster ride I just wanna get off. And you ask me if I'm done?"

There's a flicker across Jack's face. Another quiet pause, and John can hear his heart pounding in his ears.

Then Jack speaks up decisively. "Ok, Commander Crichton. I'm sorry. We've been suspicious, because we are. We've all ridden roller coasters of our own at one time or another. We've been in situations where any trust we give has been abused."

"Same. Here." Crichton is still almost shaking with anger, but hell, at least the guy has apologized. And John isn't sure exactly what options he has at his disposal anyway.

*

"Ok, look, lets take this somewhere more comfortable. Gwen, bring the commander up to the boardroom. Ianto...coffee wouldn't go amiss? And Tosh, if you can print out those readings, do it."

The room seems to let out a collectively held breath. Gwen feels relief flow through her. Tosh speaks up. "Jack, if you don't mind I'll stay here and work on the analysis. You can bring me up to speed afterwards."

Jack nods his assent. "Not a bad idea. If anything significant comes up, I'll holler."

As the rest of the team bustle around, Gwen gestures to Crichton; he walks slowly over to the steps, then stops and looks around the Hub, and she has no idea what he's thinking.

"I know it can be a bit overwhelming to begin with." She tries a soothing tone and tracks John's gaze round the open plan space of steel and stone. Pretends not to notice how well his leather trousers fit him.

When John doesn't answer, she rubs her hands against her jeans and tries again. "I mean, so...big. I mean...the space. Lots of it. And...you know. Shiny."

She laughs nervously. "Wow. That made sense! I mean..."

John glances back at her. "Shiny, huh? I've seen shinier." He drags a finger over a rough metal banister. "And I've seen…not so shiny."

"You've said people are trying to kill you." Gwen stops, unsure how to continue. "Is that what it's like out there? I mean, we see the dregs washed up here, the flotsam and jetsam. But you been out there, living it."

"Not everybody wants to kill everybody." But before Gwen's face can form itself into a smile, he carries on.

"The Peacekeepers want to kill the Scarrans. The Scarrans want to kill the Peacekeepers. The Nebari just want to mind-frell everyone." He slides her a sideways look. "Some people just want to torture you for what you know. Sometimes you're in the wrong place at the wrong time. Sometime you make a mistake and pay with your life. Or somebody else's life."

"I'm sorry," says Gwen, softly. "I never thought it would be glamorous, or anything out there. But I thought maybe we'd learn something. Maybe there would be something good that we could be a apart of if we went out to find it, if we went far enough."

"Like some kind of Star Trek federation?"

Gwen shrugs.

"Not in my universe. Maybe it's different in yours."

Gwen sighs. "Probably isn't. We've had enough crap come through the rift to know it's not all sweetness and light. I think I just…hoped."

"Yeah. Well, I hoped once. Took me a long time to learn hope gets you nowhere."

*

It's been barely twenty minutes of John dragging out his past for scrutiny, when Tosh charges into the room, all breathless and with a hint of triumph.

"I've figured it out!" She sets the laptop she's carrying on the table.

Jack raises his eyebrows at her, "Okay. Fire away."

She gives Jack a quick smile and carries on. "Right. As you know the rift activity readings from before John arrived have been very anomalous." She taps a finger lightly on the edge of the laptop.

"And bear in mind, John maintains he traveled to us via wormhole not rift."

John shrugs. "Swirly blue tunnel in space, same as always."

"Exactly the same?" Tosh asks. "I mean, I believe you, but remember we never saw you exit the wormhole, and there have been no signs of it on our equipment. No blue whirlpool in the sky." She feels a little wistful about this.

John creases his brow, thinks a little. "It was a little rough, I guess. Come to think of it…" He frown mores, thinks harder, and when he glances back up there's a look of surprise on his face. "You know, I think I may have blacked out for a second. At one point it got very turbulent, and there was a kinda jolt. I think... I think I remember some flashes of yellow light. Like lightening, you know, but not."

"Right!" Tosh smiles through her triumphant look. "And that was our rift meshing with your wormhole!"

"Excuse me?"

"It explains the abnormal readings. Your wormhole is here, but not as a separate entity. I'm not sure if your wormhole was actually headed to Earth, but at some point en route it clashed with the rift. Both phenomenon are a kind of space time warp nyway, and the rift stretches way out across space time even if it is anchored here."

Tosh swivels the laptop for Crichton to see her analysis.

"Maybe the gravity field of the wormhole attracted the rift. At any rate, they collided whilst you were in transit. You were funneled into the rift from the wormhole. You exited into Earth's atmosphere from the rift!

"The bad news," and then she looks guiltily at Crichton, "is that the wormhole is still there, embedded in the rift. And neither are closing."

"Wait, wait! If the wormhole is there, I could get home!"

"I know, but its bad for us. I think it may be in some kind of self-reinforcing loop. Normally, both the rift and the wormhole would become inactive after time. Here, because they've meshed, the presence of the one stimulates the other. The energies are feeding off each other, keeping both open. And the clashing energies are slowly disrupting the fabric of space time here."

Crichton tugs the laptop closer, and Tosh leans over his shoulder.

"Here, these are the readings. At first, they made no sense to me at all. But I ran them through a few software filters and did some calculation. Now, I don't know how familiar you are with the science behind wormholes?"

"You could say we've been formally introduced."

Tosh gives him a quick confused smile. "Alright, now, does this look at all familiar to you? Hold on, I'll differentiate them with colour." There's a pattern on the screen, made up of waves and equations. A few keystrokes digitally stain normal rift activity with red.

"That's the rift?"

"Yes. The green is something else, to do with the stresses the clash is placing on our reality."

"So, that…"John traces the blue of remaining activity with a finger. "That looks really familiar."

"You've seen this before?"

"Well, not as such, but…I think my brain is kind of rigged to recognize this pattern."

"Right." Tosh gives him a look.

"Yeah." He gives her a sideways glance and shrugs.

"So," says Owen, "The bottom line is, we have to separate the two of 'em, and send the big bad wormhole on its way? Or something very baaaad happens?"

"Well, yes. At the moment it just manifests itself with deteriorating weather. Since the first report about the UFO, etc, the weather system here has been getting steadily worse. I'm very worried that we'll start getting earthquakes and the like, and that Cardiff will gradually tear itself apart."

"What about the rest of the UK? The world?"

"That, too."

Owen groans. "Great! Why couldn't we have rainbows and kittens for a change, huh?"

Suddenly, the laptop screen begins to flash, and Tosh looks alarmed. Begins tapping keys at a rate of knots.

"Tosh? What's wrong?"

"There's more rift activity and it's in the city centre!" A thread of urgency runs through her voice.

"Ah crap! I hate it when the damn rift wants to go public. At least it's the middle of a weekday night."

"It's just as well..." Tosh's voice is shaken. She looks up at the others. "Just picked it up on the police frequency. A space ship has crashed into Marks and Spencer's."

*

The shop front, previously all shiny, with huge windows and mannequins dressed up for a night out, is now a mess of crushed metal, brick and shattered glass. The swanky mannequins lay sprawled in a parody of death; flattened, twisted with sequined red fabric torn and bright in the midst of it all, as neon lights sputter intermittently in the night.

The crashed ship itself, is almost incomprehensible. Black and grey, what can be seen of it under the crumbling weight of rubble and shop fittings, is lethal looking. Sleek and violent.

John looks at it numbly. He's come along to see if he knows who's come calling. But he doesn't. It's not one of Moya's transport pods. It's not Aeryn's Peacekeeper Prowler, or indeed any Peacekeeper vessel he knows. It's not even D'Argo's Lo'La with its shiny curves.

"It's not one of ours." He says it before Harkness gets a chance to ask.

He's not sure if he's relieved or not. Aeryn and Big D are most likely safe on Moya, not following him down the rabbit hole to get detected. Dissected. Though maybe, he thinks, maybe in this universe with its Torchwoods and alien rifts, that wouldn't happen. He tamps down the notion that he could bring them all here with no consequences. There's a ship to deal with and if it's not Peacekeeper, it could be anything.

The Torchwood team, except for Tosh back at the Hub, are picking their way carefully around the edge of the ship. Some shorted electrical wires spark overhead. It's impossible to see if there is anyone in the ship, or indeed how many it should carry. John is guessing just one, but sizes and shapes differ. He runs through his head the different species he's encountered over the last few years. A fair few bipedal races but a decent amount of variety. A ship holding maybe two Sebacean Peacekeepers could hold several Hynerians.

He watches the Captain make his way back out of the ruins.

"So, not ringing any bells?" Harkness dusts his hands against his coat.

"I don't recognise it," John shakes his head.

Harkness calls his people out of the building, then turns back to John.

"Can't see or detect any lifeforms. I'm calling in a branch of the military to deal with the fall out here. The police are ok for keeping people away, but we need to get the thing out of here with as few questions as possible."

John looks around and spots Gwen talking with a blond policeman. At least he thinks it's a cop. This may be Earth, but even on his Earth he wasn't overly familiar with English uniforms. Or Welsh, he corrects himself, not sure if Wales has a different police force to England. He frowns.

"I thought this world knew all about aliens and the like."

"Well…" Jack shrugs. "It's kind of a 'don't ask/don't tell' thing. The public at large don't ask if aliens are roaming around in their midst, and we don't tell them that they are."

"That's really…"

"Half of them think the alien invasions are hallucinations brought on by psychotropic drugs in the water supply. Our dear Gwen thought exactly that, before she met me."

"You have alien invasions?"

Jack looks as if he takes aliens trying to take over his planet in his stride. "Lost count, really. UNIT is a military organisation who have dealt with aliens in the past. Your ship has been stashed in a secret bunker of theirs, by the way."

"Right. You know I am gonna need it back at some point?"

"Heh. I told the boys in white coats to keep their sticky paws to themselves, for the time being. I think they were actually salivating over the alien tech they found inside."

"Oh geez! Tell me they haven’t got the module in parts over the lab floor, tell me!"

Jack laughs. "No, they assure me it will remain in one piece, unless I can give them permission other wise. I think they're hoping you get eaten by a weevil."

"Or something else." John looks over at the crashed ship.

Jack pauses for thought. "Yeah. You know, I think I'm gonna get the immediate area evacuated, til we track down the pilot of this thing. Tosh should be able to track down any traces over rift energy, maybe enough to find and follow it."

*

Something is stalking up the street, keeping to dark shadows but still moving quickly. It's full dark and quiet after the evacuation. They'd split up from Gwen and Owen, to search more quickly. He can see street light reflected off leathery skin, and relaxes.

"It's a weevil."

Crichton gives him a quizzical look and Jack explains. "We consider them the alien rats of Cardiff, only bipedal and almost 6ft tall." He looks at Ianto. "See it? Just up the street?"

"Yeah?" Ianto peers out to check and nods. "What do you want to do?"

Jack thinks. They could forget about the weevil and continue the hunt for their other alien friend, but this weevil is moving with intent. Jack doesn't like the idea of having it loose in the current conditions. "Damn. Look, I think we should go take it in. One less thing to worry about."

Ianto checks his gun. "Got any tranquillisers?"

Yes, but you keep your gun on proper ammo. Still need to be on the look out for the other alien." Jack is keeping tabs on the weevil as he talks, and spots it as it makes a turn. "Crichton, how many rounds is that pulse pistol of yours good for?"

John unholsters the gun and ejects the cartridge. Brings to end to his mouth and licks. "400, maybe more."

Ianto's eyes widen and Jack chuckles. "And they say an oral fixation is a bad thing."

Ianto mutters, "I've never said that."

Jack tries to keep a straight face. "Ok, follow me."

The weevil has disappeared down a dark alley mouth. Jack goes first; Ianto and John follow, keeping to shadows themselves. About half way down the creature stops. There are smaller shop fronts down the alley. In the daytime, it's a pleasant place but at this time of night in the rain it could be something out of a monster movie. Especially as there is an actual monster in it.

The weevil has stopped for a moment. Everything is quiet apart from the spitter spat of rain, but something must give them away, because in the next second the weevil's head jerks round and Jack can almost see it sense them.

Behind him Crichton jerks in surprise. "That's not a weevil!"

In a movement too quick to follow the creature turns and pounds towards them, growling loud and angry. Jack brings up his guns and gets off one shot before the creature is upon them. Damn, it was fast. Jack tenses himself for a slashing blow but instead feels…heat!

Jack gives a choked off cry as he feels the unexpected wall of burning heat pummelling into his body, and he throws up an arm to shield his face, eyes clamped shut.

"It breathes fire? Since when do they breathe fire!" Jack propels himself sharply backwards, feeling the waves of heat searing into his skin.

He tucks and rolls to the ground, the heat so intense that he can almost feel the flames licking round his bones, instinct telling him to smother the fire against the damp tarmac of the alley. He rolls and rolls, and hears Ianto giving a sharp yell of pain in front of him, and the smack-smack of gun fire and the odd resonation of the pulse pistol.

"Jack! Run!" Ianto's voice, high and tense, snaps him out of the moment, enough to open his eyes. He automatically squints against the anticipated bright furnace flame, before he realises that the dark of the night is unbreached, that he is not burning, and that Weevils do not, indeed, breath fire.

"What the fuck?" He inhales sharply, and tries to ignore the stinging, scorched feeling of his skin, tight and dry over his cheek bones and the palms of his hands. He's up on his feet, Crichton pulling him along while he processes the 'not burning to death' information, and Ianto is still sending bullets the not-weevil's way.

They barrel down the narrow confines of the street, tumble out and slide over wet pavement, down a main thoroughfare and then skid into another alley. Back up against the alley wall, breathing harsh, Jack sneaks a peek round the corner.

"I think we lost it." Back against the wall again, letting the cold of the brick seep through his overcoat.

"Were we supposed to?" Ianto leans forward hands on his knees, clutching his arm, gasping a bit.

"Normally we'd trank it's ass and haul it back to base, but that..."

"That wasn't a weevil."

"Ya think?"

Crichton shakes his head. "I've never seen a weevil, but I've seen that type of ugly assed face before.

"Did you get a good look at it?" Ianto tilts his head to glance from Jack to Crichton in the dark.

"Leathery skin? Bad teeth?"

"Yeah."

"Still not a Weevil," says Jack.

"It's a Scarran." Crichton's voice is flat.

Ianto rubs a hand over his face. "I shot it, but it didn't do much. Slowed it down a little, maybe." He winces. Now that they've paused for breath John can see that Ianto is favouring his left leg.

"Enough to make a run for it, anyway." Jack looks over at Ianto. "Thanks for that. You kind of saved my life."

Ianto makes a derogatory sound. "Kind of."

Jack shrugs, and then smirks. "Yeah, well. It's the thought that counts." He claps a heavy hand on Ianto's shoulder and he grimaces in pain.

"You hurt?" Jack looks him over in concern

Ianto grits his teeth. "Arm. Leg. It got in a couple of lucky swings."

Crichton looks confused by their previous exchange, but doesn't let it distract him from the matter in hand. "Where I come from, Scarrans are trying to eradicate the Sebacean race. They're vicious and almost unstoppable."

"You ever killed one?" Jack is examining Ianto's arm, feeling gently for breaks in the bone.

"Difficult to kill. Have really tough hide, they give off heat ray that can kill torture you or kill you. Better to shoot with bullets than energy weapons, but either way they're hard to get rid of. They run hot - I did kill one with an icicle, once."

"Well, I know this is Wales but we don't have icicles just laying about anywhere…"

Jack moves on to Ianto's leg, lowering Ianto bodily to the ground, ignoring him when he bitches about his nice suit pants. He tears at the soaking fabric that has a dark stain of deeper black on it, which looks like blood to John. Jack flinches at the bloody gash that has been hindering the Ianto's movement and tears off a long strip of his pale blue shirt, wrapping it round and round the injury. It won't help in the long run, but it will keep some pressure on the wound for now. Hopefully for long enough.

Crichton continues, "I've also stuffed a pulse pistol set to overload in a Scarran's mouth and exploded its head. Stayed dead after that."

"I don't want to get that close to it's mouth, thank you very much," Jack winces. "But, on the plus side, we do have explosive bullets." He pulls a cartridge out off his pocket and tosses it in his hand.

A tremor rumbles through the ground, and they hear some loud thundering not that far away. Ianto stares at Jack. Jack's phone starts, and its Gwen. Sounding tense.

"Jack. That whole tearing the fabric of space time thing?"

"Yep?"

"I think it's started."

"Are you and Owen ok?"

"Matter of opinion. Gotta a section of rift opened up just across from us, and it's scary, Jack. We can see this crazy blue light, just kind of leaking from it. And wherever it touches, stuff goes kind of wavery."

"Shit. Ok, Gwen, get yourselves out of there if you can, and then call Tosh and tell her to get a move on. We need a way to close the damn thing. And meanwhile, we've found the thing that piloted the ship and it's like weevils on acid."

"Crap! What will you do? Jack?"

*

Jack looks purposefully at Crichton and then at Ianto. First things first.

"I'm going to go and kill it."

"No, you're not." Two voices bounce off the brick adamantly.

Jack waggles the newly ammo'd up gun. "Explosive remember?"

"It's not a good idea to take on the Lizard King on your own." John is serious, but Jack has practice in being implacable.

"I'll be careful. And, look at it this way. Ianto would slow me down. And you have a technologically amazing weapon that you said is little or no use against the enemy. Both of you are staying here. I'm going."

John opens his mouth to protest again. Jack gets in first, "No, you are not taking Ianto's gun to come with me. He needs it. You are staying here, buddy, whether you like it or not."

He turns to Ianto, who has an obstinate look of his own. "Look, you'll stop right here, understand me?"

Ianto starts to protest just the same, but his face is pale and damp, and not just from the wet night air. His arm is held awkwardly against his chest as he leans heavily against the wall.

Jack gets up close in Ianto's face, and cups a surprisingly gentle hand against the guy's cheek. "Stay here. Wait for me. I'll show it my amazing explosive bullets and it'll be no contest."

Ianto's panting, now, breath showing pale in the cool night air. He nods 'ok' even though he obviously doesn't want to. Jack gives him a quick hard kiss, before turning on his heel. As Jack jogs away, keeping to the shadows, Ianto slumps back against the wall, as if Jack's presence was keeping him upright, and nothing else.

John risks a quick look out of the alley, after Jack. All clear for the moment. He backs up to where Ianto is propped up, and sinks down to the damp tarmac himself. He breathes slowly for a few moments, hands on his knees. He glances over at Ianto.

"So, you and Jack, huh?"

It's not that he really needs to know, but he needs something to distract himself from the Scarran roaming the streets, from the enforced wait. From everything. And from the look of Ianto's wide-eyed pale face, he needs some distracting, too.

Ianto manages a half smile. "It's complicated."

"These things usually are." John tips his head back against the brick, feeling the rough wall grazing his scalp.

Ianto appears to be trying the distraction technique himself. "Back at the Hub you mentioned a girl, Aeryn? Back where you've come from?"

"A girl. Yeah." John laughs shortly. Aeryn is more like a force of nature.

He quiets for a second, and then shrugs. May as well sacrifice his own comfort for the greater good.

"Half the time she wants to kill me. Kicked my ass more times'n I can count. Fell in love with my clone, who died and left her with a profound distaste for the John Crichton who is still alive. Namely me."

He pauses for a moment, thinking. Says softly, "Breaks my heart on a daily basis. And I...let her."

Ianto looks at him for a moment, eyes wide. Then lets his gaze wander round for a bit before settling for the wet brick beyond John's shoulder.

"Jack and I...it's not like that."

John breathes loud and deep, the air dank in the alley. "Huh. Yeah. Me and Aeryn. It's not like that either."

Ianto focuses back on John, frowning a little.

"Not like...what?"

"Not like..." John shrugs, "Me and Aeryn - we're not like a lot of things."

Ianto seems to give it some thought. His reply is quiet. "Means a lot to me, does Jack."

"Yeah?" John flicks a glace at Ianto, then looks up and tries to catch a glimpse of night sky. Stars are spread out in a swath, but the light drowns most of them out. "You an' me, we got a lot in common, Ianto Jones."

Ianto moves his head slowly to blink at John, before he replies. "You make a good cup of tea, as well, do you?"

*

Jack is still gone when another tremor shudders though the street, and the wind whistles wetly round the buildings. Ianto's phone goes and he opens it with a little trepidation. Sees it's not Jack and sighs. "Gwen?"

"Ianto? Me and Owen are on the outskirts of the shopping area now. I tried Jack but he's not picking up."

"No, he wouldn't. He's out hunting Scarran."

"Excuse me?"

"We've spotted the pilot of the ship. It's worse than a weevil. Jack's going to kill it with explosive bullets."

Gwen's voice is hesitant when she relies. "Ianto, are you taking the piss?"

"I wish. I got a bit grazed up and now Jack has flounced off with some explosive shells, and Crichton is nurse-maiding me. I'm never making that arsehole tea again."

"Who, Crichton?"

"No, Jack!"

"Do you want us to bring the car round to you?"

"Yes!" Ianto looks around for a street name and repeats it to Gwen.

"I know where that is. We'll come to you and then we'll figure out what to do about Jack."

*

It doesn't take long for Gwen and Owen to turn up, carfeully edging the Torchwood vehicle down the narrow side street.

"Blimey. You do look a bit beat up." Gwen looks at Ianto with concern, as Owen helps him into the van. His normally smart suit is bloody and ripped beyond repair.

"Yeah. Well. Seen our intrepid leader anywhere?"

Gwen shakes her head, and is just about to speak when her phone goes and a breathless sounding Jack is on the other end.

"Jack! Where the hell are you!"

"Ah, at the other end of the shopping centre from Marks. Say, you don't have any more explosive bullets on you, do you?"

"You what?"

"Well, Crichton was right. These things are called Scarrans and they're tricky, hard to kill buggers. I've already pumped six round of explosives into the thing and it's half dead but won't stop coming. Shit! Gwen! See if you can get here!" The call is dropped abruptly.

Gwen fumes out loud and Ianto curses.

"I swear that man'll be the death of me," says Gwen grimly, all the while maneuvering the van into the main street. She guns the engine and the vehicle roars down the pedestrianised street, looking out for Jack as they go.

"Spotted him!" Owen points wildly to a shop awning where Jack has apparently hauled himself up out of the way of whatever the Scarran can throw at him. The creature is trying to climb up after him, but half its right leg is mangled and explosive wounds show dark on its body. Just as they screech up behind it, the Scarran loses grip and falls heavily down, rolling on the block paved ground. Right into the path of the van.

The whole of the van, rocks violently, and spins, with Gwen fighting for control, before bringing it to a shaky stop.

"Fuck!"

Crichton flings open the door, and jumps out, checking the ground around and under the van. He finds the Scarran half embedded under the front tyres, flattened beyind belief, and seriously, totally dead, bleeding in rivulets on the wet brick.

Crichton looks up at Gwen through the windscreen and grins, thumbs up. "Good driving!"

From the awning Jack beams at them all triumphantly. "See! I knew it would work!"

*

They are all back in the van, now, panting and still on a bit of an adrenaline high. The rain splatters into the shiny black paint, and as they shuffle into seats, it's with relief. Ianto stretches his hurt leg out with care.

John gets on the phone to Tosh, because that was a little close to the wire.

"Tosh, we killed it. Seen any other likely targets?"

"No, Jack. With any luck, it'll have been the only one."

"Ok." Jack breathes deep. "Got any info for us on the rift wormhole problem?"

"Actually, yes!" Tosh's voice is tinged with excitment. "I've been thinking. We know we need to close both the rift and wormhole. The wormhole and rift are streams energy running through space time. I've studied the signatures they've given off. I might be able to detangle the two streams of energy and separate them if I can rig together a sort frequency resonator. Detonate it where the rift and the wormhole merge, and it should sort of jolt them apart. Then both the rift and the wormhole should close naturally."

John frowns as if he's trying this on for size in his head and Jack asks Tosh, "This could really work?"

Tosh replies a little smugly, "I'd just run a simulation, when you called. It's not a hundred percent guaranteed, but it should work. Both rift and wormhole have been made more stable by each other, and there is hardly any flux."

"How do we get the resonator there? The rift isn't even always on ground level. Missile launcher or something?"

Tosh coughs. "That's the only thing."

Jack groans. "I knew there'd be a catch."

"No, no! It's just that to work I need to be sure that it is on the cusp of rift and wormhole. Detonate to early or too late and it will only affect one energy stream, not both."

"So..."

"Ideally, it needs to be flown in, and manually detonated."

"Crap." Jack can hardly ask the RAF to send a man though a wormhole of the sake of humanity and Cardiff. He's trying to think of a solution when John Crichton speaks up.

"Listen. You need to close the rift. I need to get home. Get me back to my module. If it's not damaged too badly, and if the UNIT guys really haven't gutted it, I can fly back in, drop the bomb and find my way home. Tosh can track the rift and guide me, can't she, even though I won't be able to see the wormhole?"

"Hey, we don't always know where someone goes on the other side of the rift, let alone a wormhole. Who knows where you'd end up."

"The module has biomechnoid components from Moya. If the wormhole has been kept open by the rift, and Moya is still on the other side, I may be able to detect her. And my brain is kinda hardwired for wormholes. I can do it."

Jack thinks it through. Makes the decision. "Ok. Tosh, how long will this take you? Are we talking days or what?"

"Couple of hours, if I'm lucky. Some of the components I can cannibalise from tech we already have."

Jack looks at John. "Ok, John Crichton, let's get you on your way.

*

It had taken a flatbed lorry, and the words "Flight Simulator " stenciled on the tarpaulin that stretched over it, to get the small white craft to the secure UNIT location.

"Secure shed," sniggers Gwen, at the sight of the small hanger at the airfield, lit with weak neon lights in the night.

"Secure UNIT underground bunker," corrects Jack.

"Looks like a shed, quacks like a shed…"

"Underground bunker! The shed bit is camouflage!"

"Okay, okay!"

"Sometimes, I think you lot have entirely too much fun at my expense."

"It could never be too much, sir," Ianto offers helpfully.

Jack shoves Ianto in the shoulder with a grin, carefully making sure he doesn't jolt the dodgy arm.

John's module is waiting in the hanger for them as they arrive. An efficient looking chap in a military style uniform greets them, with a look of regret on his face.

"Captain Jack. Well, here's your ship. You're absolutely positive you need it back?"

Crichton mutters, "My ship, buddy, my ship."

"Afraid so, Lieutenant."

"They had to physically manhandle the scientists away from it. This is such an opportunity." The Lieutenant looks positively sorrowful.

"Never mind, son. Didn't you hear? There's another ship on its way that's twice as big and twice as alien."

John paces round the module, muttering under his breath. The ship is in better shape than he had dared hope for. He has less than two hours to double check it, and fix anything that needs fixing. By then Tosh will have arrived with her wormhole disposal gadget. Luckily, he has a bunkers worth of scientists who want nothing better to get their hands back on the module, even if it's to put it back together, rather than strip it apart.

*

When Tosh arrives, they've only five more minutes of tinkering about before they're ready. She attaches her gadget to the surface of the module with what looks like a combination of magnets and duct tape. She gives John a hand held unit.

"When you reach the crossover of the rift and the wormhole, press this," she says, indicating a switch. "It remotely breaks the connection of the device to the ship, and then activates the frequency resonator."

John examines it closely. "Right."

"So, you can obviously fly this thing in atmosphere, right?" Jack asks. "I mean it looks like an orbital ship more than anything."

"With Moya's components it can practically turn back flips." John runs his hand lovingly down the ship's side.

"Well, good luck."

John smiles at Jack, then looks round to include the rest of the team.

"Glad to have met you." And he is. It's made him feel differently about the stuff which has been plaguing him recently. Almost losing everything you care about, suddenly makes you value it more, makes it precious and real. He shakes Jack's hand, and Ianto's and Owen's. Kisses Tosh on the cheek and gets pulled into a hug by Gwen. Good luck, she says. Good luck, they all say.

John gets the module in the air with no problem. Even in the turbulent air, with its thrashing wind currents, the module flies right. He feels slightly giddy at the speed of events which have led him here, blindly flying in the sky. He can't see the wormhole or the rift but he knows they are out there somewhere. He has to have hope. Has to fly by the seat of his pants and just trust.

He patches in his radio contact and speaks to Tosh. "Tosh, where am I going, I can't see anything but storm clouds..."

"Turn five degrees north. Then hold steady. Keep straight. I'll let you know when you're there or if there's another shift."

Keep going straight. He does. Lays his hand briefly over the resonator switch again, and hopes this will work. He needs to get home, and the folks from this Earth need their planet to stay intact.

"You're there, John. Can you see it?"

He can. Golden light, laced with blue. Hands on the throttle he flies straight on, though the piling of grey cloud and lightening. He disappears into the rift with a burst of light.

*

Back down on the ground the Jack and the rest of them wait in the van. The storm is still raging, rain against the sides of the vehicle. The atmosphere is tense and quiet.

"Did he make it?" Gwen's voice is soft. Tosh is intent on a laptop, and the faint sound of tapping keys adds to the breathless feeling of anticipation.

"I don't know, yet," she says. "I'm checking the readings now; if they return to normal, he must have succeeded."

The suspense is palpable in the air. If this doesn't work, they don't have many options. Seconds tick by and Jack lays his hand comfortingly on Ianto's knee. Ianto moves into the touch, slightly, feeling the warmth seep through to his skin. Gwen grabs Jack's hand and hangs on.

Then Tosh looks up, voice shaky but ecstatic.

"He did it! The readings are normalising. If it carries on at this rate everything will be ok in under an hour."

There are sighs of relief from all in the van. Suddenly, the air is easier to breath. Gwen punches Owen happily in the arm, and Jack pats Ianto's uninjured leg.

"Good job, everyone!"

Jack moves into the driver's seat and Ianto takes a steadying breath. After the terrifying excitement of the night, it's odd to be coming down off the high.

"Ok, guys. One stop to the A&E for Ianto, and then it's off home." Ianto is so tired he doesn't even complain, or make Jack promise to come back and wait with him. Jack probably will, anyway.

Ianto looks up at the sky as they drive. The dark night is giving way to indistinct fingers of pale. He can't see any stars but the cream crescent of the moon is still there. He thinks of John Crichton. John Crichton and a ship full of hostile aliens who end up as family. Maybe it means humans and aliens have the potential to live together in harmony at some point, after all. Maybe John Crichton can succeed with his Aeryn Sun.

A scientist and a soldier? A man who can't die and a tea boy? Ianto lets himself smile into the dawn. Anything is possible.

~fin~