[TM] 184. Set out to change the world...
"Welcome to Torchwood, Mr. Jones."
"Thank you, Director Hartman. I'm pleased be here."
"Call me Yvonne, please."
He smiled a mild smile and pocketed his copy of the introductory leaflet.
Torchwood and You: Shaping the Future of the Human Race, Together.
***
"They've called it the ghost shift project," Lisa stage-whispered, her head back against Ianto's chest and her wine glass held precariously. "Emily told me that Adeola told her that you could see... ghost-like things in the control room. Just faint, but there."
"There's no such thing," he chided gently, shifting to cork the bottle.
"Maybe you're right." She snuggled against him, glass slipping even further between her fingers. "But wouldn't it be funny, if it were true?"
***
When the alert sounded, Amar threw down his pen onto the paper Ianto had been showing him. "It can't be time for one of these things again."
"It's only two minutes," he reminded, staying calm as always. "We'll go on break."
"But this has been going on for months now! They're distracting. Not to mention creepy."
The ghosts appeared just in front of the workstation they shared. Ianto could feel a shiver behind him.
"Who do you suppose yours is?" Amar asked after a moment.
***
He had run to the door of the kitchenette at the first sound of metal footsteps. Somewhere over his shoulder, lunch was burning and Lisa was attempting to get the fire contained in the sink.
"What is it?" she called, glancing at him every few seconds. "Ianto!"
"I-- I don't know," he managed, his breath catching in his throat. "I think we're being invaded. Find something to use as a weapon, Lee. I think--"
The door was pulled off its hinges.
***
Lisa stumbled, and because he was holding so tightly to her hand, so did Ianto. When she looked down, she shrieked. He followed her gaze with his own.
"Help," croaked the man on the ground. Horrified, Ianto noted the wound-- shot in the head. He still held the gun, his arm heavy against the floor. His finger twitched against the trigger, but nothing happened. It was empty or it had jammed; it was impossible to tell.
Ianto knew what he wanted. He also knew that if he'd been armed, he wouldn't have wasted bullets on the Cybermen.
***
"Get behind me," he told her, interrupting her attempts to drown out the agony of their friends with prayers.
"Ianto--"
"Lisa, get behind me. Let them take me. Let me--"
"Idiot."
When she looked at him, eyes full of conviction and fear, he settled for holding her, for keeping his arms tightly around her waist, cradling her, lying that everything would be okay.
***
They grabbed her first. He tried to hold on, tried to keep her there, with him-- He grabbed her hand, was aware of the agony of his wrist breaking, and then of the agony of realising she was gone.
"Lisa!"
He screamed and she screamed; only hers didn't stop.
***
Somewhere, something was on fire. Something nearby exploded. Ianto only just barely registered the smoke, the fact that the screams of agony were replaced with the screams of people slowly realising they were surrounded by the dead.
It was some time before he reached her. He wasn't far and the Cybermen had gone, but for a long time he couldn't lift himself off the floor.
He found her, half-metal, nearly caught in the machine, whimpering "Help me, Ianto" into her sobs.
***
"I wish I knew how to do this," Ianto said to no one in particular, as yet another piece of wiring sparked at him. He nearly sagged with exhaustion.
"The red one," she managed, voice thick with pain. "Connect it to the red one."
He looked at her, conscious that his eyes were wide with conclusions from he didn't want to draw. "How do you know?"
"I just do. Trust me."
"I do."
***
They found him wandering the corridor of what used to be a high-security research lab.
"Survivor!" someone called, and Ianto felt a hand on his arm.
"That's twenty-one," said someone else, crisp and military.
There was the buzz of a radio, then the first voice spoke again: "Sir, they just found another batch of people torn up." A pause, another buzz. "They're all dead."
"Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death..." Ianto forced his eyes to focus on the speaker; he found a man who looked like an experienced soldier. "God help us all, they're better off that way."
***
"Anna," he said, his voice tinny and dull and not completely his. "Anna Reynolds. She was only twenty." After briefly closing his eyes in her memory, he turned to the body beside her. "Raoul. I think. I should know..." He nearly buckled when he saw the next, her half-mangled face covered clumsily with a piece of dirty cloth. "Oh, god."
"You were in there." A UNIT soldier put a hand on his shoulder; Ianto startled violently. "You shouldn't be in here," the man went on, gentling. "You've seen enough today."
"Ivana," Ianto forced, instead of answering. "She's pregnant. She didn't know how to tell her boyfriend."
***
Someone set and wrapped his wrist.
Someone gave him a cup of coffee. It was vile. When his hand shook too much to control and he dropped it, he didn't mourn.
He had enough mourning to do.
He closed his eyes, took a few deep breaths, and reminded himself that he needed a plan.
***
"Hey," said the newcomer in the RAF greatcoat, as he and his companions descended upon the scene, "Captain Jack Harkness, Torchwood Three. Sorry we're late."
"Thank you, Director Hartman. I'm pleased be here."
"Call me Yvonne, please."
He smiled a mild smile and pocketed his copy of the introductory leaflet.
Torchwood and You: Shaping the Future of the Human Race, Together.
***
"They've called it the ghost shift project," Lisa stage-whispered, her head back against Ianto's chest and her wine glass held precariously. "Emily told me that Adeola told her that you could see... ghost-like things in the control room. Just faint, but there."
"There's no such thing," he chided gently, shifting to cork the bottle.
"Maybe you're right." She snuggled against him, glass slipping even further between her fingers. "But wouldn't it be funny, if it were true?"
***
When the alert sounded, Amar threw down his pen onto the paper Ianto had been showing him. "It can't be time for one of these things again."
"It's only two minutes," he reminded, staying calm as always. "We'll go on break."
"But this has been going on for months now! They're distracting. Not to mention creepy."
The ghosts appeared just in front of the workstation they shared. Ianto could feel a shiver behind him.
"Who do you suppose yours is?" Amar asked after a moment.
***
He had run to the door of the kitchenette at the first sound of metal footsteps. Somewhere over his shoulder, lunch was burning and Lisa was attempting to get the fire contained in the sink.
"What is it?" she called, glancing at him every few seconds. "Ianto!"
"I-- I don't know," he managed, his breath catching in his throat. "I think we're being invaded. Find something to use as a weapon, Lee. I think--"
The door was pulled off its hinges.
***
Lisa stumbled, and because he was holding so tightly to her hand, so did Ianto. When she looked down, she shrieked. He followed her gaze with his own.
"Help," croaked the man on the ground. Horrified, Ianto noted the wound-- shot in the head. He still held the gun, his arm heavy against the floor. His finger twitched against the trigger, but nothing happened. It was empty or it had jammed; it was impossible to tell.
Ianto knew what he wanted. He also knew that if he'd been armed, he wouldn't have wasted bullets on the Cybermen.
***
"Get behind me," he told her, interrupting her attempts to drown out the agony of their friends with prayers.
"Ianto--"
"Lisa, get behind me. Let them take me. Let me--"
"Idiot."
When she looked at him, eyes full of conviction and fear, he settled for holding her, for keeping his arms tightly around her waist, cradling her, lying that everything would be okay.
***
They grabbed her first. He tried to hold on, tried to keep her there, with him-- He grabbed her hand, was aware of the agony of his wrist breaking, and then of the agony of realising she was gone.
"Lisa!"
He screamed and she screamed; only hers didn't stop.
***
Somewhere, something was on fire. Something nearby exploded. Ianto only just barely registered the smoke, the fact that the screams of agony were replaced with the screams of people slowly realising they were surrounded by the dead.
It was some time before he reached her. He wasn't far and the Cybermen had gone, but for a long time he couldn't lift himself off the floor.
He found her, half-metal, nearly caught in the machine, whimpering "Help me, Ianto" into her sobs.
***
"I wish I knew how to do this," Ianto said to no one in particular, as yet another piece of wiring sparked at him. He nearly sagged with exhaustion.
"The red one," she managed, voice thick with pain. "Connect it to the red one."
He looked at her, conscious that his eyes were wide with conclusions from he didn't want to draw. "How do you know?"
"I just do. Trust me."
"I do."
***
They found him wandering the corridor of what used to be a high-security research lab.
"Survivor!" someone called, and Ianto felt a hand on his arm.
"That's twenty-one," said someone else, crisp and military.
There was the buzz of a radio, then the first voice spoke again: "Sir, they just found another batch of people torn up." A pause, another buzz. "They're all dead."
"Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death..." Ianto forced his eyes to focus on the speaker; he found a man who looked like an experienced soldier. "God help us all, they're better off that way."
***
"Anna," he said, his voice tinny and dull and not completely his. "Anna Reynolds. She was only twenty." After briefly closing his eyes in her memory, he turned to the body beside her. "Raoul. I think. I should know..." He nearly buckled when he saw the next, her half-mangled face covered clumsily with a piece of dirty cloth. "Oh, god."
"You were in there." A UNIT soldier put a hand on his shoulder; Ianto startled violently. "You shouldn't be in here," the man went on, gentling. "You've seen enough today."
"Ivana," Ianto forced, instead of answering. "She's pregnant. She didn't know how to tell her boyfriend."
***
Someone set and wrapped his wrist.
Someone gave him a cup of coffee. It was vile. When his hand shook too much to control and he dropped it, he didn't mourn.
He had enough mourning to do.
He closed his eyes, took a few deep breaths, and reminded himself that he needed a plan.
***
"Hey," said the newcomer in the RAF greatcoat, as he and his companions descended upon the scene, "Captain Jack Harkness, Torchwood Three. Sorry we're late."