Into Gethsemane (7/11)
Title: Into Gethsemane (7/11)
Author: nancybrown
Characters: Jack, Ianto, Gwen, Lois, Johnson, Rupesh, Martha, Mickey, Tish, Rhys, John, Alice, Steven, OCs, many cameos
Pairings: mostly canon
Rating: R
Warnings: AUTHOR CHOOSES NOT TO WARN (but will answer PMs for any content questions)
Spoilers: up through COE
Words: 60,000 (5,200 this part)
Betas: eldarwannabe and fide_et_spe both performed major heavy lifting on this story, and have my deepest thanks for their efforts
Summary: A secret movement within the government successfully placed Lois Habiba as a spy inside Torchwood, and the trap is ready to be sprung. Meanwhile, Jack has received worrisome news, leading Gwen and Ianto from one danger into another. Loves, loyalties, and everyone's lives are on the line as the force behind the conspiracy finally comes to light.
A/N: Final fic in a fake third series where Lois, Johnson, and Rupesh have joined the team. Can be read as a stand-alone but will make more sense in context of the other stories.
Master Post
Chapter Six
***
Chapter 7
***
This was the Hub, and it wasn't. The space was the same -- the abandoned train tunnel, the cavernous walls -- but the water tower was gone, as were all the familiar details: no computers, no Rift manipulator, barely any lights.
Ianto stepped away from John, craning his head to look around. "This is not the right time."
"You sure? Looks right to me."
"Definitely twentieth century. Early end rather than late end."
John flicked his wrist to check his strap. "Eighty years off. Close enough."
"Who's there?" A woman Ianto didn't recognise raised a pistol at them. Her clothing suggested early twentieth century.
"Don't mind us," John said. "We're friends of ... " Ianto stepped on his foot and glowered. John shrugged. "We'll just be going, then." Ianto took his arm and he tapped his wrist strap.
Sickness loomed inside him again, and they were back in the Hub. Still no water tower. "You do know where we're going, don't you?"
"Yeah, yeah." He punched buttons. "I don't know why it's acting up." A gunshot rang out over Ianto's head, and he ducked. Torchwood: good at shooting on sight.
They dematerialised again, and reappeared in a Hub filled with equipment Ianto didn't recognise at all: three-dimensional holographic images floating over flat screens. Technicians manipulated the data by staring at it, or so he thought from the quick look around he managed right before someone shouted. They didn't wait around to be hit by a laser blast.
"What's going on?" Ianto demanded, as they appeared time in what looked like the mid-twentieth century.
"No idea. Come on." John hurried down one of the tunnels, and Ianto followed him, just before he heard voices come into the Hub proper. He froze. One of them was Jack.
Before he could even think about turning around, John had taken his elbow and whispered harshly, "If you intend to destroy the universe, I've got loads more fun ways to do it, Eye Candy. Go."
They went deeper into the tunnel, one leading to the hidden boat house. Ianto took the lead. It'd be a safe place for them to rest while John worked out the issues with his gizmo.
The electrical switches Ianto remembered from his time had yet to be installed, but he found candles and matches. He set a candle in its sconce to illuminate the dark space before finding a crate to sit down on at the waterside.
He watched John. "Tell me you didn't break your time machine."
"I didn't break it."
Ianto enjoyed sitting quietly for a few minutes. This oughtn't be difficult: set the date and time and location, show up. Jack had made using time-travelling technology seem easier than starting a car. On the other hand, Jack's VM was broken.
Ianto heard noises down the tunnel. "John!" he whispered, but the other man was already alert, hand on his one visible weapon. Ianto doused the candles. The two of them retreated into the deeper shadows just as a torch light flashed through the cavern.
"I told you," said a voice. Ianto startled. A child? Here?
"We ought to go back." A second child, voice almost indistinguishable from the first, sounded worried.
"Scared?"
"No."
"Come on, then. It'll be dead cool." The children came into view. Two boys, perhaps ten years old, alike in height and face and form.
"What year is this?" Ianto breathed as quietly as he could.
"1932." John watched the children with an unsavoury interest.
The more frightened boy said, "Dad won't like this."
"So we won't tell him." He began stripping off his clothes down to his pants, and with a whoop of joy, splashed into the dark waters of the dock. "Come on, chicken."
The other boy's torch caught his brother's pale, wet face. "I'm not a chicken."
The boy in the water clucked until his brother set down the torch and began removing his own clothes.
"We're going to get into trouble." He crawled into the water and began shivering. Without the direct light, Ianto couldn't see them at all.
John nudged him. "This way." If they couldn't see the boys, the boys couldn't see them, and it was time to make an exit. They'd gone deep into the dark corridor when one of the boys shouted. Ianto pushed back against the wall, although no-one could have seen them.
The shout turned to a cry. He turned around. John's hand grabbed his shoulder. "You can't interfere. You know that."
The cry got louder. Ianto shrugged off the shoulder and edged to the mouth of the corridor, squinting in the low light. Only one of the boys was crying. The other was shushing him. "I'll move the boat if you stop crying, you baby."
"It hurts!"
"How did you even get your foot in there?"
"I don't know!"
There was the sound of someone taking a deep breath and splashing under the water, while the sobbing continued. A minute later, there was another splash. "I can't move it. Wiggle your leg more."
"Ow!"
There were more splashing noises. John grabbed his arm again. "Come on."
One boy climbed out of the water. He peered into the corridor and Ianto didn't breathe. "I'll get Dad," he said, pulling on his shirt and breeches.
"He'll go spare."
"Doesn't matter. You're hurt." He set one of the torches by the dock. "Here. So you're not scared. Sorry," he mumbled. In the darkness he walked right past where Ianto and John stood, not even pausing. Down the corridor, he broke into a run.
"We need to go before company arrives," said John. "Do not think I won't happily leave you here."
The quiet sobbing had started again, echoing in the dark, damp chamber. "We'll go when he's safe. We can't just leave. He might drown before they get back."
"We can and we will. History."
"You've changed history plenty of times. You murdered people."
John shrugged as a small voice said, "Who's there?" Another splash, and then the sound of choking. "Phil! The boat's ... " Another, larger splash. "Help!"
Ianto only paused to toe off his shoes. John swore loudly. "I'm leaving."
Ianto jumped feet-first into the water, and cold knives ran through him. His head went under, filling his mouth and nose with dank bay water, and he bobbed up again, choking.
"Dad?"
"Your dad will be along," he said, shivering. "Frank, right? Let's get your foot free, shall we?"
He took a deep breath and went under again. The darkness was nearly absolute, broken only by a dim, green glow at the surface. As his eyes fought for clarity, he spied the problem: Frank's foot was wedged between the bow of the small ship and the mooring to the underground dock. He'd been too frightened to swim out into the deeper water, and must have kicked wrong. The boat rocked in the small waves coming in from the Bay, pulling him beneath the surface.
Ianto came up for air, spluttering.
"I see the problem. I'm going to shove the boat away, and you have to kick free. Can you do that?"
He waited for the small nod, and went under again. The boat was huge under here, though barely a dinghy. Ianto braced his legs against the mooring and one shoulder against the side of the boat. Lungs aching, he pushed, creating a wider gap, and waited. He couldn't see if Frank was loose. He kept his hold as long as he could, then let go and swam back up, almost catching himself again between boat and dock as he did.
He spit out water. "Frank?"
Above him, a small, squirmy figure was already crawling out. Ianto took a deep breath, then hoisted himself out of the water. The torch seemed to glow very brightly now, showing the two of them to be alone. John was gone. Ianto was stranded.
He could worry about that later.
"How are you?" He brushed off Frank's hair and face. At this age and in this light, he looked very much like Ianto had always thought Jack might have as a child.
Frank nodded, shivering and looking at Ianto with wide eyes. "Do you work with my dad?"
"Let's get you back to the Hub." He couldn't let Jack see him now, but he could walk Frank to the better-travelled part of the base and vanish into one of the other corridors before he was spotted.
1932. With John gone, Ianto had no way home. He could fade into the local population, ride out the war when it came, even volunteer. He'd have to stay out of Jack's way, watch him from a distance perhaps, but best to leave him alone entirely. Ianto could write a letter and leave it for him to find in 2010: sorry, detained by time travel, love you. Hadn't Jack given him the idea himself?
Ianto kept his hand on Frank's shoulder as they walked. He wouldn't regret it.
"You're an idiot," John announced from somewhere in the darkness. "Come on." Ianto was pulled free of Frank and before he could say goodbye, he felt the familiar tug, and they were gone.
***
"Now when are we?" The versions of the Hub they'd passed through flickered like some flip-motion book or a poorly-thought out movie reel. This version, currently unpopulated, had all the accoutrements he knew, but that meant nothing.
"2007. I'm calling it close enough." John found a seat in the empty Hub and lounged like he belonged there.
"Jack's Vortex Manipulator burned out. Is yours going impotent, too?"
John smirked. "I was wondering why he wouldn't play. The truth comes out at last."
The cog wheel alarm sounded. "Shit. Let's go."
Before John could reprogram his VM, Owen came into the Hub in an obvious foul temper. He stormed past Ianto, didn't see John in the shadowy spot beside Gwen's station. "Tell me you've got the fucking coffee ready, before I kill someone."
Ianto stood frozen. "I ... hadn't started it yet. Just got here myself."
"Then do something about it. I'm doing my fucking job." Against this statement, he'd already sat and opened X-Tube in his browser.
No-one else was about. "I think Jack left you something down in your bay."
"Fuck." Owen threw himself out of his chair and rattled down the stairs. The second he was out of sight, Ianto pointed to a corridor he knew would be empty.
"Go," he mouthed. "I'll catch up."
"Where the fuck did he leave it?"
"He didn't say." Ianto went to the kitchenette, his kitchenette. Everything was still organised his way, and without thinking about it, he got a pot started. He dug through the places he normally kept his sweets stash, and came up with a packet of Hobnobs to offer Owen with his coffee. Ianto would have a drink of his own to wash out the hard lump in his throat.
Owen was already stomping back up the stairs. "I didn't see it."
"Sorry." He watched Owen go back to his desk in an even worse mood. There was no way to express how Owen would come to treasure his memory of hangovers.
The alarm sounded again. If it was himself, he'd make a dash for it. Tosh and Suzie walked in instead. Suzie walked right past him but Toshiko stopped. "Ianto, why are you all wet?"
"Dangerous encounter with a mop. I'll go change shortly." He smiled, willing himself not to pull her into a damp, inexplicable hug. "Coffee's almost ready."
"Thanks." Tosh went to her desk, and he watched her put away her handbag, fuss with her glasses, and tuck her hair behind one ear. The wave of sorrow washing through him was almost unbearable.
"Tosh, Jack mentioned something about a project for you. Looking for something in the Hub that might interfere with time travel apparatus?"
She swore. "Oh good, I'll just add that to everything else he wants me to do today. Where is Jack, anyway?"
Suzie said, "He went on the pull last night. He's probably hungover in someone's bed."
Owen said, "Sounds fine to me. Where's that damn coffee?"
"On its way." He took out their mugs, trying to remember how Suzie took hers. Fuck it, she could drink it black. Everything went on a tray, Hobnobs and Tosh's favourite chocolates, and a biscuit he found for Suzie. Only Tosh bothered with a "thank you," muttered whilst she scrutinised her data.
Ianto made an attempt not to hover and arouse suspicion. The last thing he needed was for them to realise he was a duplicate. He hoped dusting wouldn't break his cover as he stayed close to Toshiko.
They hadn't been the best of friends, not the kind of mates who'd spent hours together after work gabbing over bottles of wine and cheap takeaway. She'd been too private, and he'd been too wrapped inside his own head much of the time to be good company for anyone except Jack. But there'd been a strong sympathy between the two of them, an understanding the others lacked. He watched her now, remembering the awkward ways she'd reached out to him after Lisa, and how he'd tried the same fumbling kindness for her after Mary. She'd tried to protect him from the meat in the cannibals' freezer, and in turn he'd tried to protect her from the cannibal's filthy intentions. She was brilliant, working magic with her fingers on a keyboard, but she had made time to show him her easier tricks, and treated him like a colleague. He missed her friendship, and her intent frown as she pored over data, and her triumphant expression as she cracked a difficult problem.
"All right, Ianto?" Tosh asked, noticing his stare.
"Sorry. Wool-gathering." He made a theatrical pass over the shelf beside her with his dust cloth. Did he dare make small talk with her? Or was she about to notice the subtle changes he'd undergone in the intervening years?
He turned to straighten up Suzie's area, noting the cross look in her eyes. Drawing Suzie's attention wouldn't be good for either version of him.
"There is something," Tosh said, and he hurried back to her. "Why did Jack want to know?"
"He didn't say. He just said he wanted a report on his desk today or tomorrow." Safe enough. Jack never read reports if he could help it.
Toshiko let out a disgusted mutter at the wasted effort. She knew Jack never read their reports, too.
Ianto leaned past her to look at the monitor, but couldn't decipher the meaning. "What did you find?"
"Dampening field, very faint, two nodes. I wouldn't have picked up on it at all without looking."
"Where?"
"Right here."
The alarm sounded. Ianto slouched away from Tosh and towards the corridor. Jack came in through the cog door, a thin smile on his face. It was past time for Ianto to get out of here. The others didn't even notice his exit.
He met John deep in the bowels of the base. "There's a dampening field with two nodes. I don't know why."
"That'd explain it."
"What would cause it? Something in the archives?" He looked around at the familiar corridor. "I know a place where we won't be seen. You can figure out how to get us out of this mess."
The unused areas of Torchwood's basement had proven an interesting, exhausting study back in the day. He led John unerringly to a doorway he knew too well.
"We can't go inside, but we can sit here."
"What's in there?"
"I used to fall asleep there a lot." He sat on the cold floor. "What would dampen your Vortex Manipulator?"
"Plenty of things. Field generators. Dyson spheroids. Hendlow fibres. Paradox devices. And do not ask me about broken Kaid regulators."
He thought through everything he'd worked with down in the archives. "We don't have any of those to my knowledge."
John went back to his tinkering. Ianto pondered a life lived this way, in-between times, never finding the correct one. Perhaps John was right. 2007 was much closer than 1932. He had the option to wait around for a few years, keeping John out of trouble as necessary. He could make this work and still arrive in the nick of time to help Jack in 2010.
Or ...
Tosh was still alive. Owen was still alive. He could save them, shield Tosh from Gray's bullet, rescue Owen from Turnmill. Right now, Suzie had started stalking the streets at night with the knife and the glove, but Ianto could stop her before she killed again. The closed door beside him beckoned just as enticingly to save the beautiful princess sleeping in her chamber, even save the naïve, rabbity man he'd been.
Ianto could fix everything.
John looked up from his work, saw where Ianto's eyes had gone, and clucked his tongue. "And this is why he and I were Time Agents, and you're a shaggable bit on the side. You can't fix whatever you're thinking about fixing."
"But we're right here. I saved Frank."
"After I told you not to, and we knew he grew up. Causality. You can't change your own history, Eye Candy. Don't even think about it." He closed his strap. "I can't locate the source. We'll have to ... "
The door opened. Ianto watched himself walk out of the secret room. He scrambled back, but John surged forward and, before the other Ianto could register what had happened, clocked him on the back of the head, hard enough that Ianto winced and touched his own skull in sympathetic pain.
"Don't touch him, unless you fancy being et by a flying bugger." John grabbed the other Ianto under the arms and dragged him back through the open door. "Fuck!"
Ianto followed him fast, coming up short at the sight of John with his gun out, aimed at Lisa. He reacted rather than thought, pushing John's arm away, trying to shut down memories of the last time he was in this room, the last time someone aimed a gun at the woman he loved.
"You can't! Causality. You said."
"That's a Cyberman! Do you have any idea what they do? It'll wipe out the planet by lunch." John's whole body shook, and for the first time ever in Ianto's experience, it was from terror. His face looked deathly pale in the dim light of Lisa's lamp.
Jack had known what the Cybermen really were, aside from the ruins of Canary Wharf. Apparently, so did John.
"She doesn't. She won't. She's going to kill two people, and be put down. Jack will." It had already happened. It had to happen. Ianto looked at her face, sweet and peaceful in the drugged sleep he'd had to keep her in to help with the pain. There was so much longing wrapped up in the still moments they'd shared here, so much lost potential in the whoosh and beeps of the machines that were not keeping her alive but only prolonging her slow murder by the creature inside her.
John stared down at the unconscious form on the floor. "You brought this thing here? And he didn't execute you after?" He prodded the other Ianto with his foot. "He won't even let me have a job."
Ianto stroked the scaffolding where Lisa lay, moving his hand up the cold metal but not touching her. The emotions he'd carefully buried below years of regret and guilt bubbled up like air pockets from a deep, forbidden sea. He'd loved her so much. He still loved the vivacious, intelligent woman she'd once been, who'd taken in his cheap ties and faked cool, and who had still seen someone worthwhile underneath. Lisa, who'd brought him mints so they could sneak kisses in the supply cupboard, trading the sharp flavour back and forth. Lisa, who'd read him passages aloud from whatever psychology paper she'd delved into this time, swinging her bare legs over his. Lisa, who'd been horrified at her hair one morning after a night spent drinking too much with their mates until he'd finally convinced her she could shave her head bald and he'd still think she was the sexiest woman on the planet.
In a drawer amongst the tools he'd brought down here was a small red velvet box with a ring inside. He'd never given it to her, wanting to do the thing properly, waiting for a miracle that never manifested.
John said, "If you're going to shut her off, do it now."
"I never could." He pressed lips against her cool cheek.
"It'd be a mercy."
Lisa's eyes opened, glassy and confused. Ianto had ached seeing his friends again, knowing what was to come. This was torture. She was going to die, and there was absolutely nothing he could do to prevent it except take the moment he had right now. The next time he saw Jack in his proper timeline, Ianto was going to kiss him until neither of them could breathe.
"Ianto?"
"Go back to sleep, love." He stroked her fingers, from her knuckles to the tips of her fingers and the nail polish she'd insisted on. ("If I have to look like this, I am going to coordinate, damn it." He'd endured the curious looks at the Tesco, and painting her nails became just another ritual like bathing her and pretending they were going to get out of this situation alive.)
"What's going on?" Her eyes widened when she saw John and the crumpled form on the floor.
"I've made another adjustment to your medication. Owen says this one may cause hallucinations. I'm so sorry."
She smiled. "You're here. It's a good hallucination."
"I have to go now, sweetheart. They need me."
Her smile grew teasing, even as her voice faded from the sedatives. "Be careful, or I'm going to think you've found another girlfriend."
"There is no other woman I will ever love as much as I love you. I promise." He pressed his mouth to hers once more, remembering all those stolen kisses from their early days and stealing one last kiss from a past he couldn't change.
Then before he tried anyway, he took two paces from her, and placed his hand on John's wrist, and felt the time vortex whisk them away.
***
They reappeared in the empty, lonely room where Lisa used to be. The floor was scrubbed clean of blood, the conversion unit was nowhere to be seen. The only way Ianto could tell this was after Lisa rather than before was the light fixtures. He'd installed those himself.
"2009," said John. "Almost there."
"When in 2009?" Ianto leaned over to see. Early November. They were practically home. "We'll stay. It's a couple of months. We can set up right here."
"Playing house together?"
"No-one comes down here. It's fine." Fate had brought him back to Lisa's room, he would set the living space up again. The routines wouldn't be hard to navigate: Jack went back to the flat every night leaving the Hub unguarded.
"I'm not cooling my heels for three months in a basement to get you home."
"Then leave me here. I can do this myself."
"A deal's a deal. You're coming with me." His slithery tone reminded Ianto too much of the bargain he'd struck.
"Not until you fix your bloody manipulator. In the meantime, I'm going to find us something to eat." He made his way towards the Hub, slowing down to eavesdrop on the team. When a break presented itself, he'd slip in, grab containers from the refrigerator, and stroll out.
If this was November, Martha would be working with them again. The other Ianto would just have got his cast off, so no worries about pretending to have a broken arm. Lois and Johnson had still been settling into life with Torchwood, and Gwen was still mothering them (more Lois than Johnson).
What else?
An unfamiliar voice echoed down to him, and Ianto's eyes widened. Jack's son Phil had only been with them a short time before returning to 1945. Jack had been so happy to have him back, Ianto remembered. His face had been full of easy smiles, and the end of old sorrows.
"Fletcher," said Phil to someone. "Your records say he went MIA the day we came through. He's supposed to stay here."
Ianto thought very quickly. His feet skidded out from under him as he ran to the morgue the long way, avoiding the others. He punched in the code and wrenched open Drawer 43.
Empty.
Perfect.
He raced back to Lisa's chamber, back to John. "Come on, we're hitching a ride. Hurry!" There was a flurry of activity from the others which they had to avoid, but Ianto knew all the secret passages, and brought them quickly to their destination, out of breath.
"It's here," said Ianto, gasping. "Or, it's not here. That's the important thing."
"I'm not climbing in there with you. You're not that pretty." John nosed around the morgue. "Oy, Crazy Boy is in here. And he's still alive." His hand moved to the life support controls on Gray's chamber. Ianto slapped him away. "If he wakes up, we're all in a world of trouble. You know that."
"He might be the reason Jack comes back here. We can't risk it."
John raised his eyebrows. Ianto dug into his pocket. He'd been carrying around this note as a good luck charm for months, a gift from the future. Reluctantly, he passed it over to John.
"Everything is going to be okay. I love you. - CJH"
"Phil goes back to 1945 today. Jack was supposed to go with him. He was planning to come back here and have Torchwood freeze him until our time. I was going to wake him up from the drawer we picked. But the only thing I found was that." The letter, addressed to Ianto, had been left in Ianto's own drawer, the one he'd chosen for ... The one he'd chosen. "The note wasn't there when I went to check just now. Jack's going to drop by with a working time machine in the next hour or two. We can ask him to take us home."
He smiled in grim triumph.
John flipped the page over, examining it closely. "Did Gorgeous ever tell you about the Time Agency?"
Ianto shrugged. The answer was "No, not really," but he'd be damned if he'd admit to John that he didn't know one of Jack's secrets.
"We did a lot of popping in and out of the time stream. Sometimes you ended up somewhere the future you had already been, and you had to leave yourself a memo."
"Wouldn't that cause a paradox?"
John glared at him. "I'd explain the maths why it's not, but you're too thick to understand."
Whatever. "Jack didn't send it to himself, he sent it to me."
John flipped the letter again. "We all had our unique little codes we used to make sure the sender really was us, and not someone fucking with time. He always used Crazy Boy's birthday."
"And?"
John brushed his thumb over the small mark in the corner, the bit Ianto had never been able to read, that looked like 'Spinach.' Ianto had thought it might be part of a grocery list repurposed as a love letter.
"This is my code."
No. That wasn't possible. "Your code word is 'spinach'?"
"No, my code is in a language you don't know and is none of your fucking business." He'd gone dangerously cold, the way Jack sometimes did, all sharp angles and bad memories and a glimpse of someone who'd tortured and murdered as part of his past profession. He examined the paper, scanning with his strap. "Hendlow fibres. You idiot, you've been carrying this with you? No wonder we were off course."
Ianto snatched the note back. "We travelled fine to get Alice and Frank."
"We did." John scanned the area. "There's another source. Probably the same paper in its original timeline. Have them both together, carry one around in your pocket," he said with venom, "and you may as well shove your thumb up the time machine's arse and call it Sally."
"What happens when there's three? Jack will be here soon."
"Jack won't be here, Eye Candy. He didn't send it. Get it through your skull."
The note had kept Ianto going. When they'd gone on dangerous missions, when he'd fought with Jack, when he'd been shot, he had always been able to pull out this letter, reread the words, and take comfort in the promise. The ink hadn't faded in the water when he'd gone in after Frank. The paper hadn't stained when he'd been shot and nearly bled out. (And that had been a mad scramble, getting the UNIT hospital porters to give him his ruined clothing back before they incinerated it. They hadn't even removed his car keys. Idiots.)
"He had to have sent it. It's how I knew everything would work out. He promised," Ianto added, with a rising note of desperation.
"Nobody gets that kind of promise, and nobody who's ever been a professional time traveller would offer it. And you know this because it's my damn code."
"I don't care if it's your code. It's his handwriting." Ianto read it again, noting the particular loops and swirls: slightly ostentatious, slightly anachronistic. He'd made a study of Jack's writing, especially after he'd gone missing with the Doctor, when Ianto needed to sign for him. Analysis showed a strong personality with undercurrents of masked inferiority, the writing of a man who wanted the world to believe he was bigger than life when he himself didn't buy it. Ianto was practically an expert at Jack's handwriting.
Fuck.
"I sent the note."
"So send it again so we can get out of here." He scanned the area. "Find the second piece of paper, chuck this one, and we'll go."
Ianto looked harder at the paper. It would have to be something that had been in Torchwood for years, a slightly yellowed paper left amongst hundreds, thousands of other artefacts. "We don't have the time."
"Give me that." John scanned the note again. "Now that we know what we're looking for, I can find it."
The Archives were empty right now; the other Ianto was in Jack's bunker and wouldn't be out for a while, and no-one else came down here. John led them to a filing cabinet. The blank paper was filed with documents from the turn of the last century. Even before he brought it close, Ianto could tell the papers were identical, save for the inscription.
They returned to the morgue. Ianto grumbled as he found a pen then carefully forged Jack's writing. "He is in so much trouble when we get back."
"Why?"
"For not sending the note!" He handed it to John for the Time Agent mark. Then he wrote his own name on the front of the letter and stuffed it into Drawer 43 with bad grace.
Hart laughed. "You're angry at him for something you did to yourself? Now we know who the wife is."
"Fuck you." He still had his own note. "What about this? We know it doesn't get destroyed. We bounced into the future, too."
"Shove it someplace safe." John's head tilted towards Gray's drawer. "Someplace no-one will be looking for a long, long time. Then we get some distance between us and both nodes, the younger you comes looking, gets all dreamy-eyed with hearts and flowers, and we can go."
***
Chapter Eight
Author: nancybrown
Characters: Jack, Ianto, Gwen, Lois, Johnson, Rupesh, Martha, Mickey, Tish, Rhys, John, Alice, Steven, OCs, many cameos
Pairings: mostly canon
Rating: R
Warnings: AUTHOR CHOOSES NOT TO WARN (but will answer PMs for any content questions)
Spoilers: up through COE
Words: 60,000 (5,200 this part)
Betas: eldarwannabe and fide_et_spe both performed major heavy lifting on this story, and have my deepest thanks for their efforts
Summary: A secret movement within the government successfully placed Lois Habiba as a spy inside Torchwood, and the trap is ready to be sprung. Meanwhile, Jack has received worrisome news, leading Gwen and Ianto from one danger into another. Loves, loyalties, and everyone's lives are on the line as the force behind the conspiracy finally comes to light.
A/N: Final fic in a fake third series where Lois, Johnson, and Rupesh have joined the team. Can be read as a stand-alone but will make more sense in context of the other stories.
Master Post
Chapter Six
***
Chapter 7
***
This was the Hub, and it wasn't. The space was the same -- the abandoned train tunnel, the cavernous walls -- but the water tower was gone, as were all the familiar details: no computers, no Rift manipulator, barely any lights.
Ianto stepped away from John, craning his head to look around. "This is not the right time."
"You sure? Looks right to me."
"Definitely twentieth century. Early end rather than late end."
John flicked his wrist to check his strap. "Eighty years off. Close enough."
"Who's there?" A woman Ianto didn't recognise raised a pistol at them. Her clothing suggested early twentieth century.
"Don't mind us," John said. "We're friends of ... " Ianto stepped on his foot and glowered. John shrugged. "We'll just be going, then." Ianto took his arm and he tapped his wrist strap.
Sickness loomed inside him again, and they were back in the Hub. Still no water tower. "You do know where we're going, don't you?"
"Yeah, yeah." He punched buttons. "I don't know why it's acting up." A gunshot rang out over Ianto's head, and he ducked. Torchwood: good at shooting on sight.
They dematerialised again, and reappeared in a Hub filled with equipment Ianto didn't recognise at all: three-dimensional holographic images floating over flat screens. Technicians manipulated the data by staring at it, or so he thought from the quick look around he managed right before someone shouted. They didn't wait around to be hit by a laser blast.
"What's going on?" Ianto demanded, as they appeared time in what looked like the mid-twentieth century.
"No idea. Come on." John hurried down one of the tunnels, and Ianto followed him, just before he heard voices come into the Hub proper. He froze. One of them was Jack.
Before he could even think about turning around, John had taken his elbow and whispered harshly, "If you intend to destroy the universe, I've got loads more fun ways to do it, Eye Candy. Go."
They went deeper into the tunnel, one leading to the hidden boat house. Ianto took the lead. It'd be a safe place for them to rest while John worked out the issues with his gizmo.
The electrical switches Ianto remembered from his time had yet to be installed, but he found candles and matches. He set a candle in its sconce to illuminate the dark space before finding a crate to sit down on at the waterside.
He watched John. "Tell me you didn't break your time machine."
"I didn't break it."
Ianto enjoyed sitting quietly for a few minutes. This oughtn't be difficult: set the date and time and location, show up. Jack had made using time-travelling technology seem easier than starting a car. On the other hand, Jack's VM was broken.
Ianto heard noises down the tunnel. "John!" he whispered, but the other man was already alert, hand on his one visible weapon. Ianto doused the candles. The two of them retreated into the deeper shadows just as a torch light flashed through the cavern.
"I told you," said a voice. Ianto startled. A child? Here?
"We ought to go back." A second child, voice almost indistinguishable from the first, sounded worried.
"Scared?"
"No."
"Come on, then. It'll be dead cool." The children came into view. Two boys, perhaps ten years old, alike in height and face and form.
"What year is this?" Ianto breathed as quietly as he could.
"1932." John watched the children with an unsavoury interest.
The more frightened boy said, "Dad won't like this."
"So we won't tell him." He began stripping off his clothes down to his pants, and with a whoop of joy, splashed into the dark waters of the dock. "Come on, chicken."
The other boy's torch caught his brother's pale, wet face. "I'm not a chicken."
The boy in the water clucked until his brother set down the torch and began removing his own clothes.
"We're going to get into trouble." He crawled into the water and began shivering. Without the direct light, Ianto couldn't see them at all.
John nudged him. "This way." If they couldn't see the boys, the boys couldn't see them, and it was time to make an exit. They'd gone deep into the dark corridor when one of the boys shouted. Ianto pushed back against the wall, although no-one could have seen them.
The shout turned to a cry. He turned around. John's hand grabbed his shoulder. "You can't interfere. You know that."
The cry got louder. Ianto shrugged off the shoulder and edged to the mouth of the corridor, squinting in the low light. Only one of the boys was crying. The other was shushing him. "I'll move the boat if you stop crying, you baby."
"It hurts!"
"How did you even get your foot in there?"
"I don't know!"
There was the sound of someone taking a deep breath and splashing under the water, while the sobbing continued. A minute later, there was another splash. "I can't move it. Wiggle your leg more."
"Ow!"
There were more splashing noises. John grabbed his arm again. "Come on."
One boy climbed out of the water. He peered into the corridor and Ianto didn't breathe. "I'll get Dad," he said, pulling on his shirt and breeches.
"He'll go spare."
"Doesn't matter. You're hurt." He set one of the torches by the dock. "Here. So you're not scared. Sorry," he mumbled. In the darkness he walked right past where Ianto and John stood, not even pausing. Down the corridor, he broke into a run.
"We need to go before company arrives," said John. "Do not think I won't happily leave you here."
The quiet sobbing had started again, echoing in the dark, damp chamber. "We'll go when he's safe. We can't just leave. He might drown before they get back."
"We can and we will. History."
"You've changed history plenty of times. You murdered people."
John shrugged as a small voice said, "Who's there?" Another splash, and then the sound of choking. "Phil! The boat's ... " Another, larger splash. "Help!"
Ianto only paused to toe off his shoes. John swore loudly. "I'm leaving."
Ianto jumped feet-first into the water, and cold knives ran through him. His head went under, filling his mouth and nose with dank bay water, and he bobbed up again, choking.
"Dad?"
"Your dad will be along," he said, shivering. "Frank, right? Let's get your foot free, shall we?"
He took a deep breath and went under again. The darkness was nearly absolute, broken only by a dim, green glow at the surface. As his eyes fought for clarity, he spied the problem: Frank's foot was wedged between the bow of the small ship and the mooring to the underground dock. He'd been too frightened to swim out into the deeper water, and must have kicked wrong. The boat rocked in the small waves coming in from the Bay, pulling him beneath the surface.
Ianto came up for air, spluttering.
"I see the problem. I'm going to shove the boat away, and you have to kick free. Can you do that?"
He waited for the small nod, and went under again. The boat was huge under here, though barely a dinghy. Ianto braced his legs against the mooring and one shoulder against the side of the boat. Lungs aching, he pushed, creating a wider gap, and waited. He couldn't see if Frank was loose. He kept his hold as long as he could, then let go and swam back up, almost catching himself again between boat and dock as he did.
He spit out water. "Frank?"
Above him, a small, squirmy figure was already crawling out. Ianto took a deep breath, then hoisted himself out of the water. The torch seemed to glow very brightly now, showing the two of them to be alone. John was gone. Ianto was stranded.
He could worry about that later.
"How are you?" He brushed off Frank's hair and face. At this age and in this light, he looked very much like Ianto had always thought Jack might have as a child.
Frank nodded, shivering and looking at Ianto with wide eyes. "Do you work with my dad?"
"Let's get you back to the Hub." He couldn't let Jack see him now, but he could walk Frank to the better-travelled part of the base and vanish into one of the other corridors before he was spotted.
1932. With John gone, Ianto had no way home. He could fade into the local population, ride out the war when it came, even volunteer. He'd have to stay out of Jack's way, watch him from a distance perhaps, but best to leave him alone entirely. Ianto could write a letter and leave it for him to find in 2010: sorry, detained by time travel, love you. Hadn't Jack given him the idea himself?
Ianto kept his hand on Frank's shoulder as they walked. He wouldn't regret it.
"You're an idiot," John announced from somewhere in the darkness. "Come on." Ianto was pulled free of Frank and before he could say goodbye, he felt the familiar tug, and they were gone.
***
"Now when are we?" The versions of the Hub they'd passed through flickered like some flip-motion book or a poorly-thought out movie reel. This version, currently unpopulated, had all the accoutrements he knew, but that meant nothing.
"2007. I'm calling it close enough." John found a seat in the empty Hub and lounged like he belonged there.
"Jack's Vortex Manipulator burned out. Is yours going impotent, too?"
John smirked. "I was wondering why he wouldn't play. The truth comes out at last."
The cog wheel alarm sounded. "Shit. Let's go."
Before John could reprogram his VM, Owen came into the Hub in an obvious foul temper. He stormed past Ianto, didn't see John in the shadowy spot beside Gwen's station. "Tell me you've got the fucking coffee ready, before I kill someone."
Ianto stood frozen. "I ... hadn't started it yet. Just got here myself."
"Then do something about it. I'm doing my fucking job." Against this statement, he'd already sat and opened X-Tube in his browser.
No-one else was about. "I think Jack left you something down in your bay."
"Fuck." Owen threw himself out of his chair and rattled down the stairs. The second he was out of sight, Ianto pointed to a corridor he knew would be empty.
"Go," he mouthed. "I'll catch up."
"Where the fuck did he leave it?"
"He didn't say." Ianto went to the kitchenette, his kitchenette. Everything was still organised his way, and without thinking about it, he got a pot started. He dug through the places he normally kept his sweets stash, and came up with a packet of Hobnobs to offer Owen with his coffee. Ianto would have a drink of his own to wash out the hard lump in his throat.
Owen was already stomping back up the stairs. "I didn't see it."
"Sorry." He watched Owen go back to his desk in an even worse mood. There was no way to express how Owen would come to treasure his memory of hangovers.
The alarm sounded again. If it was himself, he'd make a dash for it. Tosh and Suzie walked in instead. Suzie walked right past him but Toshiko stopped. "Ianto, why are you all wet?"
"Dangerous encounter with a mop. I'll go change shortly." He smiled, willing himself not to pull her into a damp, inexplicable hug. "Coffee's almost ready."
"Thanks." Tosh went to her desk, and he watched her put away her handbag, fuss with her glasses, and tuck her hair behind one ear. The wave of sorrow washing through him was almost unbearable.
"Tosh, Jack mentioned something about a project for you. Looking for something in the Hub that might interfere with time travel apparatus?"
She swore. "Oh good, I'll just add that to everything else he wants me to do today. Where is Jack, anyway?"
Suzie said, "He went on the pull last night. He's probably hungover in someone's bed."
Owen said, "Sounds fine to me. Where's that damn coffee?"
"On its way." He took out their mugs, trying to remember how Suzie took hers. Fuck it, she could drink it black. Everything went on a tray, Hobnobs and Tosh's favourite chocolates, and a biscuit he found for Suzie. Only Tosh bothered with a "thank you," muttered whilst she scrutinised her data.
Ianto made an attempt not to hover and arouse suspicion. The last thing he needed was for them to realise he was a duplicate. He hoped dusting wouldn't break his cover as he stayed close to Toshiko.
They hadn't been the best of friends, not the kind of mates who'd spent hours together after work gabbing over bottles of wine and cheap takeaway. She'd been too private, and he'd been too wrapped inside his own head much of the time to be good company for anyone except Jack. But there'd been a strong sympathy between the two of them, an understanding the others lacked. He watched her now, remembering the awkward ways she'd reached out to him after Lisa, and how he'd tried the same fumbling kindness for her after Mary. She'd tried to protect him from the meat in the cannibals' freezer, and in turn he'd tried to protect her from the cannibal's filthy intentions. She was brilliant, working magic with her fingers on a keyboard, but she had made time to show him her easier tricks, and treated him like a colleague. He missed her friendship, and her intent frown as she pored over data, and her triumphant expression as she cracked a difficult problem.
"All right, Ianto?" Tosh asked, noticing his stare.
"Sorry. Wool-gathering." He made a theatrical pass over the shelf beside her with his dust cloth. Did he dare make small talk with her? Or was she about to notice the subtle changes he'd undergone in the intervening years?
He turned to straighten up Suzie's area, noting the cross look in her eyes. Drawing Suzie's attention wouldn't be good for either version of him.
"There is something," Tosh said, and he hurried back to her. "Why did Jack want to know?"
"He didn't say. He just said he wanted a report on his desk today or tomorrow." Safe enough. Jack never read reports if he could help it.
Toshiko let out a disgusted mutter at the wasted effort. She knew Jack never read their reports, too.
Ianto leaned past her to look at the monitor, but couldn't decipher the meaning. "What did you find?"
"Dampening field, very faint, two nodes. I wouldn't have picked up on it at all without looking."
"Where?"
"Right here."
The alarm sounded. Ianto slouched away from Tosh and towards the corridor. Jack came in through the cog door, a thin smile on his face. It was past time for Ianto to get out of here. The others didn't even notice his exit.
He met John deep in the bowels of the base. "There's a dampening field with two nodes. I don't know why."
"That'd explain it."
"What would cause it? Something in the archives?" He looked around at the familiar corridor. "I know a place where we won't be seen. You can figure out how to get us out of this mess."
The unused areas of Torchwood's basement had proven an interesting, exhausting study back in the day. He led John unerringly to a doorway he knew too well.
"We can't go inside, but we can sit here."
"What's in there?"
"I used to fall asleep there a lot." He sat on the cold floor. "What would dampen your Vortex Manipulator?"
"Plenty of things. Field generators. Dyson spheroids. Hendlow fibres. Paradox devices. And do not ask me about broken Kaid regulators."
He thought through everything he'd worked with down in the archives. "We don't have any of those to my knowledge."
John went back to his tinkering. Ianto pondered a life lived this way, in-between times, never finding the correct one. Perhaps John was right. 2007 was much closer than 1932. He had the option to wait around for a few years, keeping John out of trouble as necessary. He could make this work and still arrive in the nick of time to help Jack in 2010.
Or ...
Tosh was still alive. Owen was still alive. He could save them, shield Tosh from Gray's bullet, rescue Owen from Turnmill. Right now, Suzie had started stalking the streets at night with the knife and the glove, but Ianto could stop her before she killed again. The closed door beside him beckoned just as enticingly to save the beautiful princess sleeping in her chamber, even save the naïve, rabbity man he'd been.
Ianto could fix everything.
John looked up from his work, saw where Ianto's eyes had gone, and clucked his tongue. "And this is why he and I were Time Agents, and you're a shaggable bit on the side. You can't fix whatever you're thinking about fixing."
"But we're right here. I saved Frank."
"After I told you not to, and we knew he grew up. Causality. You can't change your own history, Eye Candy. Don't even think about it." He closed his strap. "I can't locate the source. We'll have to ... "
The door opened. Ianto watched himself walk out of the secret room. He scrambled back, but John surged forward and, before the other Ianto could register what had happened, clocked him on the back of the head, hard enough that Ianto winced and touched his own skull in sympathetic pain.
"Don't touch him, unless you fancy being et by a flying bugger." John grabbed the other Ianto under the arms and dragged him back through the open door. "Fuck!"
Ianto followed him fast, coming up short at the sight of John with his gun out, aimed at Lisa. He reacted rather than thought, pushing John's arm away, trying to shut down memories of the last time he was in this room, the last time someone aimed a gun at the woman he loved.
"You can't! Causality. You said."
"That's a Cyberman! Do you have any idea what they do? It'll wipe out the planet by lunch." John's whole body shook, and for the first time ever in Ianto's experience, it was from terror. His face looked deathly pale in the dim light of Lisa's lamp.
Jack had known what the Cybermen really were, aside from the ruins of Canary Wharf. Apparently, so did John.
"She doesn't. She won't. She's going to kill two people, and be put down. Jack will." It had already happened. It had to happen. Ianto looked at her face, sweet and peaceful in the drugged sleep he'd had to keep her in to help with the pain. There was so much longing wrapped up in the still moments they'd shared here, so much lost potential in the whoosh and beeps of the machines that were not keeping her alive but only prolonging her slow murder by the creature inside her.
John stared down at the unconscious form on the floor. "You brought this thing here? And he didn't execute you after?" He prodded the other Ianto with his foot. "He won't even let me have a job."
Ianto stroked the scaffolding where Lisa lay, moving his hand up the cold metal but not touching her. The emotions he'd carefully buried below years of regret and guilt bubbled up like air pockets from a deep, forbidden sea. He'd loved her so much. He still loved the vivacious, intelligent woman she'd once been, who'd taken in his cheap ties and faked cool, and who had still seen someone worthwhile underneath. Lisa, who'd brought him mints so they could sneak kisses in the supply cupboard, trading the sharp flavour back and forth. Lisa, who'd read him passages aloud from whatever psychology paper she'd delved into this time, swinging her bare legs over his. Lisa, who'd been horrified at her hair one morning after a night spent drinking too much with their mates until he'd finally convinced her she could shave her head bald and he'd still think she was the sexiest woman on the planet.
In a drawer amongst the tools he'd brought down here was a small red velvet box with a ring inside. He'd never given it to her, wanting to do the thing properly, waiting for a miracle that never manifested.
John said, "If you're going to shut her off, do it now."
"I never could." He pressed lips against her cool cheek.
"It'd be a mercy."
Lisa's eyes opened, glassy and confused. Ianto had ached seeing his friends again, knowing what was to come. This was torture. She was going to die, and there was absolutely nothing he could do to prevent it except take the moment he had right now. The next time he saw Jack in his proper timeline, Ianto was going to kiss him until neither of them could breathe.
"Ianto?"
"Go back to sleep, love." He stroked her fingers, from her knuckles to the tips of her fingers and the nail polish she'd insisted on. ("If I have to look like this, I am going to coordinate, damn it." He'd endured the curious looks at the Tesco, and painting her nails became just another ritual like bathing her and pretending they were going to get out of this situation alive.)
"What's going on?" Her eyes widened when she saw John and the crumpled form on the floor.
"I've made another adjustment to your medication. Owen says this one may cause hallucinations. I'm so sorry."
She smiled. "You're here. It's a good hallucination."
"I have to go now, sweetheart. They need me."
Her smile grew teasing, even as her voice faded from the sedatives. "Be careful, or I'm going to think you've found another girlfriend."
"There is no other woman I will ever love as much as I love you. I promise." He pressed his mouth to hers once more, remembering all those stolen kisses from their early days and stealing one last kiss from a past he couldn't change.
Then before he tried anyway, he took two paces from her, and placed his hand on John's wrist, and felt the time vortex whisk them away.
***
They reappeared in the empty, lonely room where Lisa used to be. The floor was scrubbed clean of blood, the conversion unit was nowhere to be seen. The only way Ianto could tell this was after Lisa rather than before was the light fixtures. He'd installed those himself.
"2009," said John. "Almost there."
"When in 2009?" Ianto leaned over to see. Early November. They were practically home. "We'll stay. It's a couple of months. We can set up right here."
"Playing house together?"
"No-one comes down here. It's fine." Fate had brought him back to Lisa's room, he would set the living space up again. The routines wouldn't be hard to navigate: Jack went back to the flat every night leaving the Hub unguarded.
"I'm not cooling my heels for three months in a basement to get you home."
"Then leave me here. I can do this myself."
"A deal's a deal. You're coming with me." His slithery tone reminded Ianto too much of the bargain he'd struck.
"Not until you fix your bloody manipulator. In the meantime, I'm going to find us something to eat." He made his way towards the Hub, slowing down to eavesdrop on the team. When a break presented itself, he'd slip in, grab containers from the refrigerator, and stroll out.
If this was November, Martha would be working with them again. The other Ianto would just have got his cast off, so no worries about pretending to have a broken arm. Lois and Johnson had still been settling into life with Torchwood, and Gwen was still mothering them (more Lois than Johnson).
What else?
An unfamiliar voice echoed down to him, and Ianto's eyes widened. Jack's son Phil had only been with them a short time before returning to 1945. Jack had been so happy to have him back, Ianto remembered. His face had been full of easy smiles, and the end of old sorrows.
"Fletcher," said Phil to someone. "Your records say he went MIA the day we came through. He's supposed to stay here."
Ianto thought very quickly. His feet skidded out from under him as he ran to the morgue the long way, avoiding the others. He punched in the code and wrenched open Drawer 43.
Empty.
Perfect.
He raced back to Lisa's chamber, back to John. "Come on, we're hitching a ride. Hurry!" There was a flurry of activity from the others which they had to avoid, but Ianto knew all the secret passages, and brought them quickly to their destination, out of breath.
"It's here," said Ianto, gasping. "Or, it's not here. That's the important thing."
"I'm not climbing in there with you. You're not that pretty." John nosed around the morgue. "Oy, Crazy Boy is in here. And he's still alive." His hand moved to the life support controls on Gray's chamber. Ianto slapped him away. "If he wakes up, we're all in a world of trouble. You know that."
"He might be the reason Jack comes back here. We can't risk it."
John raised his eyebrows. Ianto dug into his pocket. He'd been carrying around this note as a good luck charm for months, a gift from the future. Reluctantly, he passed it over to John.
"Everything is going to be okay. I love you. - CJH"
"Phil goes back to 1945 today. Jack was supposed to go with him. He was planning to come back here and have Torchwood freeze him until our time. I was going to wake him up from the drawer we picked. But the only thing I found was that." The letter, addressed to Ianto, had been left in Ianto's own drawer, the one he'd chosen for ... The one he'd chosen. "The note wasn't there when I went to check just now. Jack's going to drop by with a working time machine in the next hour or two. We can ask him to take us home."
He smiled in grim triumph.
John flipped the page over, examining it closely. "Did Gorgeous ever tell you about the Time Agency?"
Ianto shrugged. The answer was "No, not really," but he'd be damned if he'd admit to John that he didn't know one of Jack's secrets.
"We did a lot of popping in and out of the time stream. Sometimes you ended up somewhere the future you had already been, and you had to leave yourself a memo."
"Wouldn't that cause a paradox?"
John glared at him. "I'd explain the maths why it's not, but you're too thick to understand."
Whatever. "Jack didn't send it to himself, he sent it to me."
John flipped the letter again. "We all had our unique little codes we used to make sure the sender really was us, and not someone fucking with time. He always used Crazy Boy's birthday."
"And?"
John brushed his thumb over the small mark in the corner, the bit Ianto had never been able to read, that looked like 'Spinach.' Ianto had thought it might be part of a grocery list repurposed as a love letter.
"This is my code."
No. That wasn't possible. "Your code word is 'spinach'?"
"No, my code is in a language you don't know and is none of your fucking business." He'd gone dangerously cold, the way Jack sometimes did, all sharp angles and bad memories and a glimpse of someone who'd tortured and murdered as part of his past profession. He examined the paper, scanning with his strap. "Hendlow fibres. You idiot, you've been carrying this with you? No wonder we were off course."
Ianto snatched the note back. "We travelled fine to get Alice and Frank."
"We did." John scanned the area. "There's another source. Probably the same paper in its original timeline. Have them both together, carry one around in your pocket," he said with venom, "and you may as well shove your thumb up the time machine's arse and call it Sally."
"What happens when there's three? Jack will be here soon."
"Jack won't be here, Eye Candy. He didn't send it. Get it through your skull."
The note had kept Ianto going. When they'd gone on dangerous missions, when he'd fought with Jack, when he'd been shot, he had always been able to pull out this letter, reread the words, and take comfort in the promise. The ink hadn't faded in the water when he'd gone in after Frank. The paper hadn't stained when he'd been shot and nearly bled out. (And that had been a mad scramble, getting the UNIT hospital porters to give him his ruined clothing back before they incinerated it. They hadn't even removed his car keys. Idiots.)
"He had to have sent it. It's how I knew everything would work out. He promised," Ianto added, with a rising note of desperation.
"Nobody gets that kind of promise, and nobody who's ever been a professional time traveller would offer it. And you know this because it's my damn code."
"I don't care if it's your code. It's his handwriting." Ianto read it again, noting the particular loops and swirls: slightly ostentatious, slightly anachronistic. He'd made a study of Jack's writing, especially after he'd gone missing with the Doctor, when Ianto needed to sign for him. Analysis showed a strong personality with undercurrents of masked inferiority, the writing of a man who wanted the world to believe he was bigger than life when he himself didn't buy it. Ianto was practically an expert at Jack's handwriting.
Fuck.
"I sent the note."
"So send it again so we can get out of here." He scanned the area. "Find the second piece of paper, chuck this one, and we'll go."
Ianto looked harder at the paper. It would have to be something that had been in Torchwood for years, a slightly yellowed paper left amongst hundreds, thousands of other artefacts. "We don't have the time."
"Give me that." John scanned the note again. "Now that we know what we're looking for, I can find it."
The Archives were empty right now; the other Ianto was in Jack's bunker and wouldn't be out for a while, and no-one else came down here. John led them to a filing cabinet. The blank paper was filed with documents from the turn of the last century. Even before he brought it close, Ianto could tell the papers were identical, save for the inscription.
They returned to the morgue. Ianto grumbled as he found a pen then carefully forged Jack's writing. "He is in so much trouble when we get back."
"Why?"
"For not sending the note!" He handed it to John for the Time Agent mark. Then he wrote his own name on the front of the letter and stuffed it into Drawer 43 with bad grace.
Hart laughed. "You're angry at him for something you did to yourself? Now we know who the wife is."
"Fuck you." He still had his own note. "What about this? We know it doesn't get destroyed. We bounced into the future, too."
"Shove it someplace safe." John's head tilted towards Gray's drawer. "Someplace no-one will be looking for a long, long time. Then we get some distance between us and both nodes, the younger you comes looking, gets all dreamy-eyed with hearts and flowers, and we can go."
***
Chapter Eight