Served Cold | Chapter 7
Title: Served Cold
Author: mercury_pheonix
Fandom: Torchwood/Doctor Who
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Children of Earth Fix-It.
Characters/Pairings: Jack/Ianto, Gray, Eleventh Doctor, Amy/Rory
Ratings/Warnings: R - sex, rape, abuse, torture.
Spoilers: All series.
Summary: When the Hub explodes, and the cryogenic chambers are flung open, one of its inhabitants manages to flee the wreckage. Seeking revenge, he decides that the best way to hurt Captain Jack Harkness is through a certain Welshman. There's one problem, however - Ianto Jones is dead…
A/N: Thank you so much for all our kind comments, and your continued support. I know that I said that now my exams are over I'd have more time, but I conveniently forgot that I had my Grade 8 in Musical Theatre on Saturday (now over, thankfully!) which is very important as the performing arts is my chosen career path. And I should have expected that my boss would jump on the oppurtunity to give me more shifts. Also this is a longer chapter than any I have written so far - this is the chapter where "stuff happens". So thank you for your continued support, and I shall try my level best to update whenever I have a free moment. I am so happy that you aprove of my choice of Doctor, and I am also ecstatic that you think I am getting these wonderful characters right. You don't have to have seen the 5th Series for this to make sense, as this is Torchwood's story, but a basic knowledge (i.e. this is the Doctor, Amy is his companion and Rory is her fiance) would help.
Thank you once again for you support, and I hope I continue to meet your expectations!
Chapter 6 | Masterlist | Chapter 8
Served Cold
Chapter 7
"Ah, yes, well, you see…" the Doctor lowered a hand to rummage in his pocket, only to raise it again immediately when one of the soldiers stepped forward, gun pointed determinedly at the centre of his forehead. Amy stayed as close to Rory as she could, nudging his elbow with her own raised arm; she couldn't work out whether it was to reassure him or herself, but his answering glance told her that that didn't really matter.
"Identify yourself," came the harsh bark of the lead soldier, the bright sun (or should that be "suns") refracting from the ornate colouring of his armour spectacularly. The Doctor blinked in the face of the light, his eyes squinting unattractively.
"Oh no, I was just about to…" he smiled, lowering his hand again, slowly moving towards his pocket. The gun cocked once more, this time nudging against his temple, forcing him to bring his arms back up to a submissive position. The Doctor quickly complied, rolling his eyes.
"Look, I was just trying to…"
"Identify yourself."
"I need to get out my identification," the Doctor wiggled his chin towards his pocket, straining to keep his arms raised. "I can't get it if you…"
"Retrieve it."
Sighing deeply, the Doctor began to rummage in the depths of his cavernous pockets, keeping one eye focused on the gun-muzzle hovering just above his eyes. Amy closed her eyes briefly, willing him not to act on the annoyed fire she could see burning in his eyes at the proximity of the weapon - he hated guns, she knew that, but she preferred that they stayed alive rather than gaining the moral high ground.
Eventually, he pulled out the wedge of paper from his coat, thankfully repressing the urge to comment on the extortionate use of guns. The armoured creature snatched it from him roughly, gripping it so that it hovered just beyond the slit in its metal mask. The Doctor sniffed, bringing up his free hand to grasp the other, which was still raised.
"No such thing as a nice thank you this side of the universe," Amy and Rory heard him mutter darkly, not loudly enough to puncture the confines of the creature's armour. A nervous smile spread across Rory's face, his whole body trembling slightly as he struggled to suppress the laugh that was running through him. Amy glared, swinging her hips to catch him off guard, knocking into his side and pushing the laughter away.
After what seemed like an age, the creature nodded, handing the paper back to the Doctor with a degree of sudden respect that had not been there before. The Doctor smiled as he took it, lowering his hands to tuck the psychic paper back into the pocket, his smile spreading to a grin as the soldier dropped his gun to his side and bowed his head.
"Apologies, sir."
"I should say so," the Doctor hooked his arms behind his back and rocked forward onto his toes.
"You are not similar to the sort that the Proclamation usually sends, sir."
"Yes, well, they're a fickle bunch the Proclamation…always changing their minds," he smiled, turning to face his companions. "These are my assistants…er…Lieutenants Williams and Pond."
The creature bowed again as Amy and Rory lowered their hands, both simultaneously straightening their backs in an attempt to try and meet the character profile that the Doctor had set them. The armoured soldier raised his head once more, gesturing for his men to step back to allow the visitors some space.
"If you would follow me, sirs and…madam…" he paused slightly as his eyes scanned Amy's slight figure, his brow obviously crumpling beneath his helmet. The ginger woman shot him a fierce glare, and he pulled back, averting her gaze.
"Yes…if you would follow me, I will take you to the colonnade. The cells are located beyond that."
The Doctor spun around, his jaw tightening suddenly.
"Cells?"
"Yes sir…your identification stated that you are here to inspect our prisoners…"
"Right…yes…of course…" he scraped a hand through his tearaway hair briefly. "Lead on…er…MacDuff…"
x
x
They were nanogenes.
That was something he had found out right at the beginning. But that didn't mean that he understood what they were.
They'd become a constant presence in Ianto's life, seeming to hover around him at all times, now even after the madman had finished taking him to brink of death and back again. They seemed to cover him in his dreams, whistling past his ears as he huddled for some semblance of warmth on the cold floor. At the beginning, they had arrived when conjured by the evil wizard, appearing upon his command and retreating when his need for them had been completed.
Things had changed.
Ianto hauled himself into a sitting position, a difficult task with his rejuvenated muscles screaming at him in pain, and with his hands bound together in front of him and chained to a hook in the side of the wall. Resting his back against the jagged wall, he let out a quick breath, silently cursing the strange, ethereal beings that seemed unwilling to just let him die in peace.
To him, they had always been the accomplices, the ones who built upon the pain already inflicted by his insane captor and doubling it to beyond the limits of Ianto's endurance. It was not beyond him to endure pain, but it was beyond him to feel himself hung over the cliff of death, to feel his arms wrenched from their sockets as he fell, only to be caught in agonisingly sharp talons, hell-bent on dragging him back to life. Coming back was like being snatched at by a gigantic eagle and dropped onto cold stone, each healing more painful than the last.
It would be easier to die.
But he felt strangely comforted by the glowing presence as they floated around him, resting at his bound hands. He winced as the leather straps chafed uncomfortably at his already tender flesh, the skin stripping away against the tightness of the strap. He tried to put it to the back of his mind, as he had done all those years ago as a child; knowing that it was his fault, really…he'd realised that, accepted it…but that didn't stop it hurting.
Suddenly, the lights seemed to swarm around his wrists, attracted, it seemed, by the tiny droplets of blood gathering at the edges of the leather and dripping onto his knees. He tried to pull away, but he couldn't, not quite - they continued to swarm, and a sharp pain suddenly stung his wrists as they pulled his skin forcibly back together, re-knitting and remaking. It was crude, like medieval medicine, but it seemed to work - his skin still smarted, but he could feel the innate pain of the chafing ebbing away with each heartbeat.
He relaxed against the wall of the ship, breathing in a sigh of relief and wriggling his hands, delighting in the unblemished skin - it had been a long time since the skin of his wrists had felt so free, despite the leather still clinging around his flesh.
For the first time since he had been pulled from oblivion into this strange, new hell, he was grateful that the strange, glowing creatures were here.
x
x
"Assistant?"
"Sorry?"
"You said we were your…assistants," Amy put her hands on her hips as she walked, her displeasure towering over the Doctor, even when she herself was held back by her small frame. "You…feeling like you want to take that back?"
"Erm…yes?"
"Good."
Smiling broadly, Amy turned her attention to the great shape looming in front of them, the tented entrance rearing up from the sand like a mystical cave. The pure alienness of it sent a short thrill through her spine as she drank in the sight; she could feel the same enthrallment reverberating from Rory as they stopped side by side before it, gazing upwards at the vast structure. The Doctor stood with his hands in his pockets, rocking backwards onto his heels as he waited - not quite patiently - for them to finish being human and follow him in.
"Wow," Rory licked his lips as he spoke, eyes wide. "That's…impressive…"
"It's beautiful…"
"Yes, we know, it's a huge tent, now hurry up before MacDuff here leaves us behind," The Doctor made a wild hand gesture, a sound suspiciously like a bored huff escaping his lips as he strode forward into the tent, leaving the humans to scurry in his wake.
The pace was so fast that Amy and Rory barely had time to take in their surroundings, but even as they hurried after the armoured soldier and the raggedy haired alien man, they caught glimpses of the complex city that wove intricately through the inside of the tent. Unlike outside, not all of the inhabitants were clothed in the fiery armour; their free skin was a light, tinged blue, the swirling green eyes like tiny islands in the sea of their skin. As this whole new world sunk into her field of vision, Amy reached out and squeezed Rory's hand affectionately, feeling him reciprocate, knowing that he felt it too.
This was something so unlike anything they had ever hoped to experience in their lives. And they were experiencing it together - which just made it twice as good, in Amy's mind and undoubtedly in Rory's as well
"The cells are this way, sirs."
The cold voice of the soldier broke through their reverie, and they realised that they had reached a small, glass pod which seemed to rest halfway into the ground. Amy frowned as she saw it, stopping in her tracks just in front of the strange orb.
"Doctor…what is this..?"
"It's a Rhyfelian Descension Pod, kind of like your lifts, only it employs anti-gravity boosters to hover gently downwards," the Doctor tapped his knuckles against the glass, peering into the depths of the Pod. "Safer, actually, than your traditional 21st century pulley-operated lifts. By a long shot. Never, ever using one of those again, not after that incident with the rabbit…now, where were we, what were we doing?"
"To the cells, sir?"
"Yes, yes, that was it…now, lead on Mac…"
"Oh, enough with the Shakespeare references already," Amy rolled her eyes, pushing past the Doctor and stepping into the Pod. "And it's Lay on, MacDuff, do your research."
Frowning deeply, the Time Lord bit his lips and stepped in after her, his hands in his pockets and his back tensed sheepishly.
"Ermm…sorry for asking but…how did you know it was..?"
"It's Macbeth, Doctor," Amy yanked on Rory's arm, forcing him through the glass entrance. "And I'm Scottish. You do the maths."
x
x
Jack sat on the floor of his cell, his arms clenched around his legs and his hands fisting into the loose-fitting material of his slacks.
He wasn't quite sure how much time had passed since they had dragged him back here. His vortex manipulator had long since lost the ability to tell the time, and, even if it was still possible to count the passing seconds, he had no real inclination to do so. Time was of no real meaning to him - he was an immortal time traveller, after all. The gentle ticking of the clock hand was a useless instrument, only serving as a tired metronome to keep steady the bored rhythm of his life.
His eyes were dry now - he had gotten rid of the all the pent up emotion that he had been carrying around with him for so long, and now there was just a weary numbness floating below the surface. He could still feel the ache, that gentle nudging that had been there for a very long time. It was a feeling he was used to, one that he had long pushed aside, perfecting the technique of blocking it from his mind.
The only difference now was that he couldn't quite remember how to suppress it.
Or maybe he just didn't want to repress it anymore.
For long months he had travelled the universe, fucking and fighting and working and trying desperately to block out everything. He could feel a small twinge of guilt running through him as he thought of all that time, distant words and quiet promises flitting through his mind. It was the only thing that Ianto had asked of him - he hadn't wanted big promises of love, or devotion, he hadn't wanted Jack to grieve and hurt and hold onto his memory for all eternity.
All he had asked for was a tiny slot in his memory, if only to be one of those anecdotes that Jack imparted so often.
But he never had been. Jack had promised to remember, and the very first thing he had done was try his level best to forget.
Jack buried his face in his hands, scraping his fingers painfully through his hair. It had been so much easier to deal with everything when it had been final, unchangeable, when there had been nothing he could do but run away and try to carry on. But how could he do that knowing that the man he had let down was alive - not just alive but waiting for him to rescue him?
It was his fault.
He was the one who hadn't made sure that Ianto got out at the beginning - perhaps then he wouldn't have followed him so willingly into the stupid situation that had killed him. If he had just been straight with him from the beginning, perhaps if he had pushed him away rather than selfishly seeking some sort of comfort following that year with the Master, then Ianto wouldn't be dead. Perhaps if he had done the right thing, rather than being fuelled by his selfish desires to keep his brother alive rather than ridding the world of the threat he posed, then Ianto might have stayed dead - dead but safe.
It was his fault.
It always had been his fault. He hurt everyone who was close to him. Which is why he had settled back into his old persona: that "bastard" character that he had played so convincingly for so long, if only to protect himself and pretend that the tired, lonely actor behind it did not actually exist.
But there was only so long he could keep it up before something knocked the mask from his face. And now the mask was well and truly on the floor, lost amongst the sand dunes of this hot and unforgiving planet. Even if he wanted it back, he had no idea where to start looking for it.
All he wanted to do was burrow away, following in the direction that his mask had fallen. So, when he heard raised voices outside the door of his cell, he had no inclination to look up and see who it was.
x
x
Amy watched as the Doctor's eyes widened, boring deeply into the cell before them.
They had seen many cells, many pathetic, piteous creatures locked beyond the unforgiving metal bars. She had felt a lump rising in her throat, growing tighter with each passing moment; the wonder of this alien world was buried beneath the cruelty that she was witnessing. How could such pain and degradation exist beneath such a vibrant, beautiful community?
It was a paradox; one she had begun to realise was inescapable. Beauty could not exist without an undercurrent of ugly.
This, however, was different.
There was nothing spectacular about the man in the cell. He was dressed in what she would think of as traditional clothing of the Second World War - blue shirt, slightly dirtied brown slacks, braces, with a deep blue RAF coat flung over the raggedy wooden bunch in the corner. He looked as pathetic as the rest, curled on the floor with his head buried in his hands, but his situation seemed to be the lightest of the creatures they had seen. In fact, Amy would wager that he had only recently been transferred here, as his figure hardly resembled the ragged state of the other prisoners.
And yet pain and heartache flickered over the Doctor's misplaced features, the youth of his face and the wisdom in his eyes clashing together in a way that she hadn't quite seen before.
It was obvious that there was something about this man. Something that she couldn't quite see.
"What's his crime?"
The Doctor's voice was harsh, filling the darkened building with a tone that she hadn't heard for a long time.
"He strayed into the territory of this army, sir," the soldier's shoulders tensed abruptly, sensing the ire in the Doctor's voice; that tense, quivering anger that hadn't been there only a few moments before, even through his fury at the sights they had been faced with.
"He brought offensive weaponry onto my ship, which goes against the Basic Treatise of Deep Space. As a representative of the Shadow Proclamation itself, sir, you will obviously have no objection to us holding this prisoner here until we can take him to trial."
"You should redirect him to the Proclamation, of he broke one of their - our - rules."
"The law was broken on our territory. This army does no relinquish control of its prisoners."
"No, you just torture them," The Doctor pressed his hands against the bars, drinking in the sight of the pathetic man on the floor. Amy could feel the sadness rolling from him, and she moved towards him, reaching out a hand to rest on his back gently. He inclined his head ever so slightly, smiling tightly before pushing her back towards her fiancé, squaring up to soldier in front of him.
"Why are you really holding him here?"
"I'm sorry sir?"
"The real reason. Don't play naïve with me, you're a Rhyfelian, one of the greatest armies in the universe - the great tacticians, clever yet ruthless. The majority of prisoners here are hostages, for your own gain. If you encountered a single man with an offensive weapon, you would kill him on sight. Direct punishment. So why is he here?"
The soldier's arms tensed, his hand flicking ever so minutely towards the weapon at his belt. Amy felt an arm slip around her waist as the atmosphere grew tense - Rory's hand squeezed minutely at her hip as she shivered, feeling the crackling sensation that seemed to filter through the darkness. Not that she would ever admit it, but she was amazingly grateful that she was here with him, through the good and the bad.
"You need him for something. He's useful to you. And I bet I know why…"
"Sir…"
"And that is against the Shadow Proclamation."
"I'll warn you…"
"Experimentation on a sentient being, unwarranted imprisonment…oh, you just wait."
"You will report us to the Proclamation, sir?" there was a mocking tone lingering in the soldier's tone, his hand creeping not-so-subtly towards his weapon. The threat was stark, and Amy could hear the sound of advancing boots nearing them.
"Oh no, you just wait…because the Proclamation has nothing on me…"
Amy backed into Rory as the soldiers encircled them, weapons at the ready, threat and hostility gleaming through the emerald swirls of their eyes. She gripped his hand tightly, refusing to let go and feeling him shaking against her. Glee shot through the glare of the leading soldier, his back straightened with defiance, all pretence at submission and civility drained away from his metal-plated body.
"You threaten us, sir. We can only act accordingly, and in our own defence."
Guns cocked, aimed towards them, forcing them backwards. The Doctor stood in front of his human companions, shielding them from any direct impact; even his scrawny frame seemed imposing and threatening, stretching out like a shield to cover them. Amy knew that she would definitely be complaining about this later, but, for now, she was grateful for it.
"You will be kept in the cells. Or you will be disposed of."
The soldiers stepped forward, nudging them towards the empty cell beside them. As Amy stepped backwards, she cast one final glance at the man in the cell; the man who had sent the Doctor into a frenzy, the man who had broken something in the Doctor's veneer, and caused him to put it himself and his companions in stark danger.
And he looked back.
TBC...
Chapter 6 | Masterlist | Chapter 8
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