VS3:11 -- "All In Good Time", Part One
Once upon a time, long, long ago (or way in the future) Jack lost (or loses) two years of his life. When Jack's past comes back to haunt him (again), the entire team is stretched to their limits. Not to mention the little threat coming up from the sewers. And the shopping centres. And...
All In Good Time
by: blue_fjords, kel_reiley
"It was a dark and stormy night…"
Ianto smiled into his bottle of beer and raised an eyebrow at Gwen. She shook her head, her hair still damp and clinging to her temples from the terrible weather outside, and rolled her eyes as Jack continued his story.
"…the trees were nearly bent in two and the waves were twice - no, three times! - the height of the Millennium Centre." Jack gestured wildly, nearly knocking a container of rice off the conference room table.
"Generous assessment," Ianto murmured against the lip of his bottle, and Gwen snorfled a laugh into her next bite of mu shu pork.
Jack ignored them both. "The tiny cabin was completely silent, except for the eerie whistling of the wind." He pursed his lips together and whistled a melancholy tune. Ianto watched his lips until Gwen balled up a paper napkin and threw it across the table at him. It hit him square on the nose, and he felt his cheeks begin to heat as Jack snickered at him. Flicking the napkin back across the table, he scowled at Gwen and she gave him an innocent look.
"The only occupant?" Jack said, pulling their attention back to him and widening his eyes comically. "A desiccated corpse with a large hole in its stomach - almost as if something had forced its way out, through guts and fat and skin!"
Ianto wrinkled his nose at his carton of shrimp lo mein, but found himself leaning forward, against his better judgment. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Gwen fiddling with her chopsticks.
"Suddenly, the wind ceased and the waves crashed down." Jack's voice was hushed. "Into the silence-"
A buzz-saw sounded from the autopsy bay. Gwen jumped and dropped a chopstick. Ianto laughed, but his heart was beating just a touch faster than normal.
"Muli!" Jack yelled, "keep it down, will you? We're having a very important discussion up here!"
The buzzing stopped and Dr. Muli's voice sailed up to them, "What was that, Captain?"
"You're missing dinner and story time, Megan!" Gwen called back. "Ianto made delicious take-away."
"Mm-yes, just want to finish this up, first." There was a clanking sound of heavy metal on metal, then the lighter clinking noises of medical instruments and Muli's low voice, too muffled to understand.
Jack huffed. "Where was I?"
"Silence," Ianto answered, smirking.
Water trickled down the back of Agent 626's neck, seeping beneath his clothes and making him shiver. So much rain! It was like breathing water. He adjusted the collar on his flight jacket again, wiping at the wetness beneath his cap. The signal was coming from underground, he was sure of it. Or maybe out in the bay, but please not at the bottom of all that dirty water. His target was definitely here. He squinted up at the sky for the hundredth time since he'd landed, and stuck his tongue out. Bleurgh! Earth's rain was already contaminated.
"Nineteen hundred hours. Examining the corpse of a member of the alien species called 'weevil'. Cause of death appears to be from an unknown object exiting through the weevil's left eyesocket. Have cracked open the skull to determine the nature of this object. Point of entry appears to be the right nostril, as evidenced by the slight smear of greenish sludge just below the… nose and up into the nasal cavity."
The tape recorder blinked green as Megan grabbed the overhead light and brought it closer to the skull. Whatever had eaten through the weevil's head had exploded out of the socket in a messy burst of vitreous humour, blood, bone fragments, and brain matter - and it had left a trail. Fascinating. She squinted at what appeared to be tiny hatch marks in the mess. They ended halfway down the weevil's cheek.
"It's possible the object, or objects, that killed the weevil was organic in nature and, upon exiting the weevil, then fell or leapt off the creature. A parasite of some sort, possibly?"
She fumbled with her camera and snapped a picture of the hatch marks. "The captain will have to look at those," she muttered to herself. Rifling through the captain's brief notes on one of the earlier cases, from before Megan had joined them, she wondered if it might be possible to pull one of those bodies out of cold storage to examine. Harkness's notes were hardly detailed, but he'd seemed to think they were dealing with the same menace as previously when they'd brought this weevil in earlier today. Something from the weevils' home planet that had come through with them, perhaps?
Megan could hear him with the others, off in the distance, shouting something inane about food. Who could possibly eat when there were such treasures to explore?
"Skull is completely lacking its brains, though some brain matter still clings to the exit wound. Will be taking a closer look on a slide."
Agent 626 paused and sniffed the air. It smelled like... like wet Gorxian. He wrinkled his nose. Like dead wet Gorxian. His hand tightened on his laser as he took a cautious step forward. And froze. It was dead wet Gorxian! Lying in an alley in its shit-encrusted boiler suit. On this planet? A trickle of unease crept down his spine as he surveyed the exploded eyesocket. He took another step back. This was not what he was here for, and not his problem… but it wouldn't kill him to do a little clean up. Very little. He nudged the body with the toe of his boot - definitely dead. There was what looked like the access point to a sewer just a few feet away; 626 dragged the Gorxian over and shoved it into the hole - it would probably just decay down there and nobody would ever be any the wiser.
He'd get underground some other way. There was most likely an entrance somewhere round the edge of the large plaza. All that empty space had to conceal something.
Gwen stabbed at her empty plate and looked, forlornly, at the cartons she'd specifically set aside for Megan. Jack's story had long ago devolved into one of his 'things I might or might not have done, but you'll never figure it out' tales and she'd stopped really paying attention. A hand on her arm startled her and she looked up. "Hmm?"
Ianto smiled over at her. "I asked you if you wanted any more."
"Oh." She sighed. "No, suppose I should just head on home."
"Big plans?" Jack asked, licking his fingers completely un-self-consciously.
"Rhys is out on a piss-up with his mates, so I'll probably just watch a movie and fall asleep on the sofa." Again, she didn't add. "You?"
"We've got some..." Ianto paused, lips twitching almost into a grin. "Office work."
"Ianto reads the procedural manuals to me aloud. It's sexy."
Gwen tried to envision Jack and Ianto as part of some sort of naked book club. It was… actually not that difficult to imagine. "You're a very strange man, Jack."
"But that's why you guys love me."
Ianto paused, fork halfway to his mouth. Grinning at him, Gwen glanced over at Jack, who was too preoccupied trying to get the last bit of fried rice out of the container to notice either of them.
Megan lifted her head from the microscope, blinking. She leaned back over the scope and gently adjusted the setting before peering at the slide once more. Still completely inexplicable. Her breath came a little faster and her lips twitched once, twice, before she smoothed her features. She clicked the recorder yet again.
"Residual brain matter contains trace elements of three different compounds, which, according to the notes left by my predecessor, do not belong in the brain of a weevil."
She glanced at the notebooks stacked neatly at the end of her work counter. Her first week on the job had been spent carefully reviewing the autopsy reports provided by Owen Harper (and, after she'd cleared all the 'moonflowers' out of the Hub, she'd made sure to familiarise herself with everyone's personal medical files). Dr. Harper was especially detailed in his observations on weevils, though the man's handwriting was atrocious and his grasp of basic spelling and punctuation was unrefined at best (the pornographic material he'd hidden amongst his reports was just another Torchwood surprise).
"I will now attempt to separate out each of these compounds for further study."
She clicked the recorder off and reached for more slides. Separating the matter would require her to use the centrifuge in the corner, something she'd grown more eager to test since her conversion to using the Bekaran scanner. Toshiko Sato had modified it using alien technology. Ianto had called it a Krystalian Spinner during her tour. Megan's grudging respect for Dr. Harper and his weevil reports was nothing compared to what she felt for the genius of Toshiko Sato.
Still, it would be best if she could compare this brain matter to an intact weevil brain, just to make sure. It would be a worthwhile learning experience. And the more mess, the more fun.
The main phone line rang, and Ianto shot a glance at the remains of his dinner before sliding his chair back from the table and answering. Jack tried to reach across to snag Ianto's last spring roll, but Gwen knocked his hand out of the way and they engaged in a bit of chopstick wrestling.
"What was that, Andy?" Ianto said into the phone.
Gwen looked up at the mention of the name. "What is it, Ianto?"
'Weevil,' he mouthed at them, pulling out his PDA. "Got it, Andy. We'll collect it, don't worry."
Jack jumped up and rounded the table as he headed for the door. "Muli," he shouted, "we've got a live one!"
"Dead one, actually," Ianto corrected, handing over his PDA. "It's only a couple streets from here."
"Even better. Dead weevil should get her out of her cave, if dinner won't," Jack declared. "Any other takers?"
"It's pouring," Ianto said. "I think we'll pass."
"Wise choice, Ianto," Gwen said, nodding gratefully. She'd already been out once today in this weather to pick up dead things. "I'll, um, monitor you from here," she added, following Jack from the board room.
Ianto paused at the door and pointed back toward the rest of the cartons left on the table. "Are you sure you don't want any more, Gwen?"
"I think I'm-" She burped and quickly brought her hand to her mouth, eyes wide. "Think I'm full for now, but..." Gwen looked down at the slight swell of her stomach. "Hmm… maybe save it for later, yeah?"
With a nod, he gestured for her to precede him into the main chamber of the Hub. She settled at her work station, pulling on her comm just as Jack came stomping out of his office.
"Ianto! Where's my coat?" Jack bellowed and marched over to the railing overlooking the autopsy bay. "Megan, have I got a special treat for you!"
Gwen tuned them out as she readied herself to provide tech support. She was finally getting the hang of it, and had soon pulled up various CCTV angles and a satellite image of the alley Andy had reported. Sure enough, there was Andy himself, peering down into an open sewer. He was with another man, a Detective Sergeant who Gwen vaguely remembered as an arrogant blowhard. She watched, interestedly, as the DS slipped whilst trying to get a look at the body, as well.
"All set then, Gwen?" Jack called to her, and she looked up. Ianto was smoothing the greatcoat across Jack's shoulders. They were soon joined by Megan, who looked more eager than Gwen had ever seen her, completely decked out in waterproof gear and knee-high wellies, her med kit slung over one shoulder.
"Good to go, Jack," Gwen said. "Have fun, Megan."
Megan gave her a tight smile as she walked past toward the door. Ianto caught Gwen's eye. 'You got a smile,' he mouthed at her, and she broke into one of her own.
"Don't wait up, kiddies. Mom and Dad have a romantic evening of sewer diving planned." Jack turned to follow Megan out, but not before reaching out and goosing Ianto. Gwen bit back a laugh and pretended not to see, though it was difficult not to notice Ianto take hold of his dignity again.
He rolled his eyes at the closing door. "I'll get you some tea," he told Gwen. "And I'm going to close up the TIC before Pinky and the Brain get back," he called back over his shoulder.
626 spat on the ground and watched the rain wash it away. A light down by the waterfront, warm and shimmery in the dark night, caught his eye - an open door to an office of some sort set beneath the closed shops. He forced himself to walk slowly, naturally, across the empty space, but pulled back into the shadows as two people exited. A tall figure wearing a long, sweeping coat and a shorter one pulling a hood over its head quickly made their way along the boardwalk and disappeared into the rain. The light extinguished as the door shut - the door, a possible point of entrance to further underground. Or an easier place to make an entrance. The signal was stronger here.
Ianto surveyed the TIC. It was still well-stocked - JJ's legacy, in clumps of red plastic dragon keychains. A few brochures had fallen off the counter, so he walked around out front and bent down to pick them up. The bell above the door tinkled behind him. Ianto muffled a sigh and surreptitiously checked his watch.
"Well, hello there," Jack's voice sounded behind him, rich and deep.
Straightening up, his back to the door, Ianto tried to hide his smirk, pulling his face into a more sombre expression. "Back so soon, sir? Or did you forget something?"
"Couldn't stay away."
Shaking his head, Ianto felt the smile win out. "You should really..." He turned around and his voice died in his throat. A man with Jack's face and Jack's voice stood before him. Ianto coughed to cover his hesitation. "You should really check out the wonders of the Welsh coastline. It's quite starkly beautiful at this time of year. Let me show you a map."
He crossed back behind the counter, mind racing, as the man came closer. His hands were in his pockets. He was wearing some sort of... uniform, maybe? Dark, bland, almost nondescript - something designed to blend in, be forgettable. Ianto offered him a half-smile; the man broke into a grin and leaned against the counter. It was not Jack's grin at all.
Under the pretence of searching for a map - "I've got one, just here, that will show you all the best spots Cardiff has to offer." - Ianto's fingers travelled along the underside of the counter and pressed the warning button, hard, as the man began to tell him about the sunny coasts he had seen before.
The words became muted by the blood pounding in Ianto's ears as his mind raced through all the known shape-shifting aliens he could recall. He - it? - drew its hands out of pockets to gesture widely, and Ianto stared as the sleeve of the jacket rode up a little, revealing wrist and forearm. The wriststrap was similar to the one that had acted as Ianto's alarm clock that very morning.
Shit.
Gwen jerked her head up at the sound of the alarm. She clicked over from the satellite image of the alley to the CCTV feed from the tourist office and paused, squinting at the screen.
She tapped her comm. "Jack, what's wrong with Ianto?"
"What do you mean? Ianto stayed at the Hub with you."
"Well, I'm looking at both of you on the monitor of the tourist office and someone's pressed the panic button."
There was a short pause before Jack answered. "I'm coming back right now. Stay put. Don't do anything until I get there!"
"Jack!" But it was no use, he'd cut the comm. Gwen watched the monitor, tapping her chair leg, as Ianto shifted from foot to foot. Subconsciously, she placed one hand over her stomach, recalling how much bigger it had been with the Nostrovite's spawn. The Nostrovite had also looked just like Jack. Ianto shot a quick look - just his eyes, but she saw it - up at the camera, and that decided it for her. Checking the cartridge of her gun, she hurried as noiselessly as she could up the passageway to the TIC.
The pretty boy in the suit wasn't much of a guard, more like a greeter. What did they call them in this time and place? Country welcomers? It didn't matter; the guy was cute enough. Agent 626 had some paralysing lip gloss in his pocket and casually pulled it out as he continued talking, a meaningless rumble he used to distract enemies and potential lovers alike. His eyes darted around - just two entrances in this room, so the one behind the counter probably led to the lower levels. He gestured to a display of picture cards - he vaguely recalled from his history lessons that all communication between faraway people used to take place on cards and sheets of paper, not through handheld devices. He stared at the other man's lower lip as he slowly applied his lip gloss, and fought back a smirk. The greeter was transfixed.
As he leaned in closer, propping his elbows on the counter and reaching up one hand to that enticing, dark red tie, he heard a faint grinding noise, and then-
"Don't. Move."
The man's eyes flicked away, and a relieved expression came over his face before it was quickly hidden again. He pulled back and straightened his tie, keeping the counter safely between them.
Raising his brows at the boy, 626 said, "You know, when a woman speaks to me in that tone of voice, I do what she says. More fun that way."
"Slowly," the voice behind him said, "place your weapons on the counter and step away."
He quickly placed his firearm and two daggers - one from the top of his left boot, and one from his belt - onto the counter. "Your wish is my command," he said, grinning. As she came further into the room, and he got a good look at her, he had to admit that he really wouldn't mind playing a little Commander & Recruit with her. She was very attractive, and pregnant to boot. He glanced at the suit as he joined her. Possible father? The two stood close together, as though they were long accustomed to the proximity, then the man slipped a hand into the woman's pocket, pulling something out. 626 went rigid when he saw what it was. That scanner wouldn't be invented for several centuries!
"And the laser knife from your right boot, the blaster down your back, the daggers up each of your sleeves and the… blinking thing in your left pocket," the man said, and 626 had to hide his wince. Grudgingly, he divested himself of the detected objects.
"That, too," the woman said, pointing to his vortex manipulator.
"This isn't a weapon-" he started, but she cut him off.
"I know what it is! We can't have you teleporting away, can we?"
626 very carefully schooled his features, shrugging in a way he'd been told was both disarming and charming, and added the cuff to the pile of his weapons.
"Ianto?" She looked to her companion. "The cells?"
"Oh," Ianto said, "I've got-"
He narrowed his eyes as the man - Ianto - reached behind a beaded curtain and pulled out a black coat. From the pocket, he retrieved a silver pair of handcuffs and held them up, smiling.
The woman's eyes widened, but she nodded decisively, gesturing at him. Ianto stepped around the counter; 626 held up his hands out in front of him, wrists together, and winked. "I had a feeling bindings would enter the picture the moment I met you. Though I pictured more you coming undone than me in shackles, but I can work with this."
Ianto rolled his eyes. "Turn around, hands behind your back."
"Commanding! I like it!" He obeyed, raising an eyebrow at the woman. He let his hands drop to his sides, forcing Ianto to grasp them in order to cuff him. Callouses on his trigger finger, quick work on the cuffs. The boy knew what he was doing. 626 felt his smile slip, momentarily.
Ianto gripped his forearm and pushed him into a passage, behind the false stone wall, as the woman gathered up his weapons and locked the room behind them. They took him down the corridor and into a lift. He slumped casually against Ianto in the lift, going down, closer to the signal. This was actually going quite well, all things considered.
As the lift descended, the woman leaned toward Ianto and whispered, "You know I'm going to ask about those later, yeah?"
Megan frowned after Jack's retreating back.
"Lit out like his arse was on fire, didn't he?" the tall, skinny copper muttered.
DS Wilson shrugged his shoulders irritably. "Left one of his own to clean up this time. For once." He fixed her with a stern look, only slightly spoiled by the gunk and slime staining his boots and trousers. There was a glistening trail of something light green on his overcoat, too, but the sergeant hadn't noticed it yet. "It's not that we don't… appreciate Torchwood's help. From time to time. But you lot need to learn how to take care of your own damn mess."
Megan raised her eyebrow. "You have slime on your coat. Would you like a hanky?"
The constable caught a sudden coughing fit as the sergeant turned crimson.
"Wilson!" a woman's voice barked from the end of the alley. "Aren't you meant to be two streets over working on the potential arson?"
He stiffened and turned to face her. "PC Davidson took it upon himself to call for backup on this case. Someone had to supervise."
The woman walked over to them. Megan took in the nice coat, paired with sturdy boots and a veritable air of authority. The woman crossed her arms and tapped the fingers of one hand on the opposite elbow.
Wilson swallowed. "Ma'am," he muttered.
"There you go, Wilson. And it looks to me like Davidson called Torchwood for a Torchwood problem. I think I can trust him to handle that without you holding his hand." Wilson nodded curtly, turned on his heel and left without a word. She turned to Megan. "Detective Inspector Kathy Swanson, Cardiff Police. I don't believe we've met."
"Megan Muli, Chief Medical Officer. Nice management style."
Swanson snorted. "Wilson and I were at school together. He's still a bit in shock that I've surpassed him, the git."
Davidson muffled another cough. Megan looked up at him. "Maybe I should listen to your lungs, eh?"
"Ah, no. Quite all right. I'll just, er, check out this, um..." He gestured further down the alley towards a large pile of rotting garbage.
Swanson grinned. "So, Chief Medical Officer Muli, what do you suppose is killing off Davidson's pet gorilla-lizards?"
"Gorilla-lizards? All right, then. Give me a hand getting down into this sewer, and I just might tell you."
She was three rungs from the bottom when Davidson shouted from the end of the alley. "Oi! We've got a live one!"
Jack had his Webley drawn even before he entered the TIC. It was locked down and completely empty. Dammit. He pulled up the CCTV on the monitor behind the counter, flicking through until he found movement. Gwen and Ianto were down in the vaults, standing in the hall, three cells to the left of a shambling Janet. Jack could see their lips moving and their eyes darting to the occupant of the cell nearest them. The prisoner looked up then, right at the camera, and the blood froze in Jack's veins. No, no, no. NO!
He was through the TIC entrance, by-passing the lift to fly down the stairs, and across the Hub proper faster than he'd ever moved before. His feet pounded down the steps leading to the cells, and he ran down the hall, skidding halfway along it on his wet boots. Ianto and Gwen looked up as he caught himself, slowed to a walk, and gestured them over to him, staying out of view of their prisoner. He made note of the look that passed between the two of them, and had just opened his mouth to assure them when Gwen pointed her scanner at him and pressed the button.
"Ouch!" he hissed. She'd gone for the whole shebang, which, he had to grudgingly admit, was necessary in this situation, but the shock still stung and raised goosebumps all over his body.
Ianto raised an eyebrow at him as he looked over Gwen's shoulder at the scanner. "Right," he said at last, and he and Gwen moved closer.
Jack reached out and pulled them farther down the hall, smirking slightly as they flinched at the shock they got from his hands. His brain caught up with the situation and he cleared his throat roughly. "Has he said anything?"
"Other than flirting? I never thought I'd say this, but you actually have finesse by comparison," Ianto replied dryly. "No. No he hasn't said anything of import."
Gwen nodded. "He seemed surprised that we were familiar with alien technology. I don't think he was expecting to find something like us here."
"Although, I think he was looking to find something here," Ianto said slowly, frowning. "All of his talk seemed like a distraction. He kept looking around."
Jack's eyes kept going to the end of the hall. He'd recognise that uniform anywhere. But what was he doing here? He'd never been to Cardiff in this exact time period, he was sure of it. And there were strict rules about crossing time-lines, which, granted, he'd broken before, but he knew of all those times. Gwen and Ianto were watching him, Gwen's hand unconsciously cradling her belly and Ianto portraying calm, though Jack could see a muscle in his jaw occasionally twitch.
"We need more information," Jack decided. "Let's bring him up to the interrogation room. Gwen, you do the questioning. Keep your comm link open; I'll give you some pointers. I don't think I should reveal my presence just yet. Oh," he added as a thought occurred to him, "you took away his vortex manipulator, right?"
Ianto patted his chest. "I have it. And no, you don't get to play with it."
"I could get information out of that thing!" Jack protested, ignoring the voice in his head that was reminding him of all the other things he could do with it.
"Last resort," Gwen said, crossing her arms. "I talk to him first."
Jack nodded with poor grace. "Fine. Let me go up ahead of you. Ianto, join me to observe."
He could feel the two of them rolling their eyes at each other as he left. Before he reached the stairs he felt a hand lightly touch his shoulder and turned around to find Ianto looking at him oddly.
"It is you, isn't it?" Ianto asked, and for a moment Jack thought he meant- But then Ianto's eyes shifted, glancing back to the cell, and Jack understood as Ianto continued, "His wriststrap - vortex manipulator - it's not the same as yours, the one you have now, not exactly."
Jack absently touched the leather on his left arm. Two years. "No, it wouldn't be."
626 eyed the Gorxian as he was once more escorted past its cell. These people were playing with fire; just one layer of reinforced glass between it and them. Careless. He smiled to himself. Wonderfully careless.
The man - Ianto - gripped his bound arms to steer him back up the stone steps and through the main open area. 626 did a better job at stifling his astonishment this time. A pterodactyl cawed high overhead, and his mind skirted over the memory of hunting for one during his training on an as-yet unnamed planet. Tough and stringy, and way too dangerous to let one roam free in your workspace. These people were idiots.
Ianto shoved him down a short flight of stairs and into a little room containing a table and two chairs, then set about securing him to one of the chairs. He flexed his muscles as Ianto closed iron clamps around his wrists.
He smirked down at the top of the other man's head. "I could get used to the sight of you on your knees."
Ianto pulled away, jerkily. His eyes flashed with a cold anger and something... Yes. A flush of light pink spread up from Ianto's collar to the tips of his ears. 626 filed that away in his head. Interesting.
Ianto whispered something to the woman, and she nodded and patted his arm. Ianto threw one last look over his shoulder from the doorway. 626 mimicked the woman's nod - "At ease, soldier. You're dismissed." - and chuckled under his breath as Ianto shut the door forcefully behind him.
"So... lovely accomodations you have here. Sweet houseguests. Friendly pets." He leaned back in his chair and offered up a disarming smile. And when I get my brother out, I'll be sure you people get a bit better acquainted with those guests and pets.
"You're a Time Agent from the fifty-first century," she said conversationally, offering up a smile of her own, quite a bit more armed than his. "I'm sure coming up against a welcoming committee like ours is not unusual for you."
He had to consciously relax his grip from the arms of his chair. "There are no official Time Agency outposts on this planet."
"There aren't," she agreed. "So then. Why are you here?"
"I came for the waters," he said, thinking of the rain and the bay outside.
She looked a little startled. "Right, Bogart. Do you really expect me to believe that?"
Bogart? "What, you don't think your planet's beauty is enough of a draw? Granted, it is not half so gorgeous as your luscious body-"
"Enough." She waved her hand irritably in front of her face. "You came here, to our headquarters, purposefully. Why?"
He kept his mouth shut, and she sighed, sitting back in her seat. "You're so young," she murmured. He narrowed his eyes at her. Her eyes had that warm quality he usually saw in baby Heliogs, all open and caring and trusting. But she had pointed a gun at him, and the callouses on her fingers told him she was no stranger to using it.
"I'm just looking for a good time," he tried.
"And that's all you're looking for?"
She really did have lovely eyes.
"What do you think of him?" Jack leaned into the observation window, angling his body so he could watch his other self and Gwen down below, and still see Ianto, leaning into the other corner of the window.
Ianto hitched his shoulders and made a noncommittal sound.
Audio from the interrogation room sounded in their ears; the younger Jack - Agent… what was his number? - was trying to smooth-talk Gwen by complimenting her 'full breasts, aching for release.' Jack winced.
Ianto kept his gazed focussed on the room below. "You were a bit of an arse when you were younger."
Jack inclined his head. Agent Sixty… something? "I had a lot of maturing to do."
Ianto glanced at him then looked back through the window, fingers pressed against the glass. "Will you help that along? Now that you have the opportunity?" he asked softly.
The younger Jack - 666? No, 626, that was it - shifted in his seat beneath them.
Jack was tempted to answer with a flip comment, and Ianto might let him get away with it. He opened his mouth, but changed his mind as he took in Ianto's stance, which was aching with tension. "I wouldn't listen to me," he answered.
Below them, the young agent's head lolled forward on his neck, almost as if he was agreeing.
Ianto turned to face Jack fully, frowning. "Not even about Gray? Or about-"
"Dammit!" Jack swore. Young Jack was shouting and writhing in his cuffs. Gwen scraped back her chair and made to dash around the table. "Gwen, DON'T MOVE!" Jack bellowed, running for the steps, Ianto fast on his heels. They burst into the interrogation room, the door slamming back into the wall with a loud bang.
Gwen looked up at them, eyes flashing, from her position at the head of the table. "He's faking, get back," she commanded, gesturing them away, but it was too late.
Agent 626 jerked around in his bonds, his head flopping onto his shoulder, eyes slit open and Jack felt icy cold shivers grip his spine as their eyes met. His younger self abruptly went still. Jack wasn't aware of moving in closer, but suddenly he was there, his hands on either side of his own young face, forcing himself to look him in the eye. There was a noise in the room, like the high-pitched whine of a kettle, and gradually it sunk into Jack that it was him, his own younger voice, hissing "no" over and over.
"Calm down, calm down," Jack murmured. Then in a language he hadn't spoken in… a very long time, he said, "Relax. We need to talk to you. Just calm down. This will make sense, I promise."
Agent 626's body relaxed, eyes rolling back and his body going limp in a sudden faint. Jack released him, letting his head thump onto the table.
"Jack!" Gwen protested. "That wasn't very-"
"What, nice? It's a Time Agent trick. Fake-faint when you don't understand what the hell's going on. Gives you time to think." He glanced at Ianto, trying to read what he was thinking.
Ianto avoided his gaze and bent over the perhaps-unconscious man. "That could certainly be it. You want to just leave him here for a bit, or forcibly wake him up?"
Jack sighed, but was saved from making a decision by the ringing of Ianto's mobile.
Megan scrambled up the ladder when she heard shouting. Swanson was already turning away from her, hand on her mobile. Megan cursed under her breath. She was Torchwood; she should be taking care of whatever it was the copper had seen. Her head cleared the manhole just in time to see something knock him flat on his arse.
It was a weevil, but not like any weevil she had ever studied. This one seemed possessed of a much greater strength, and it moved with such grace. Gone was the shambling gait that had been described by Dr. Harper and demonstrated by the weevil that the others insisted on calling Janet. Megan fumbled with her can of weevil spray as she rolled out of the manhole and sprang to her feet. The weevil met her eyes, and her blood turned cold. Such intelligence.
Swanson yelled from somewhere to her left, but Megan had no idea what she said. The weevil was running at her then, ignoring a glancing blow from something in Swanson's hands. Megan dug her heels in and sprayed her can full in its face. The weevil didn't even flinch, but barrelled into her. She had a brief moment to curse at fate for getting her killed on her first solo job, before the ground opened up beneath her feet and she felt herself falling backward down the manhole.
She had just a split second to twist in midair before she landed on top of the dead weevil she'd originally come here to investigate, the other weevil falling in after her. Searing pain shot through her ankle, but there was no snap, and it didn't feel broken. She shook her head, trying to clear it, and rolled away quickly. The live weevil was moaning behind her. She grasped the ladder rungs and began to pull herself up, hand over hand. There was yelling from up above, and the screeching of tyres, but all she could focus on were the sounds coming from the live weevil in the sewer. She risked a glance over her shoulder. It was on its feet, momentarily distracted by the dead weevil. It was… sniffing the dead one and, as she watched, it licked a stripe across the cooling forehead of its compatriot. The scientist in Megan had a brief debate with her instinct for survival. Survival won; she began hauling herself up the ladder once again.
A familiar face appeared at the opening, and she could have wept with relief. "Jack, the weevil is possessed," she gasped out. "Beneath me, in the sewer."
He reached in, grasped her wrists and lifted her out in one smooth motion. She would have been furious at the indignity of being hauled through the air except for the pain that shot through her ankle and stole her concentration the moment he put her down.
Then Ianto was at her side instantly, offering an arm, and she gratefully took it. "Ianto, that weevil-"
"Jack will take care of it," he responded, then frowned as she shook her head. "What is it, Dr. Muli?"
"It's not a normal weevil," she said. "It didn't react to the spray and it behaved… like an intelligent being. More intelligent."
"Davidson!" Ianto snapped at the constable. "Give her your arm; I'm going to-"
But whatever he was going to say died in his throat as Jack flopped over the top of the manhole, bleeding profusely from a gash in his neck. Ianto rushed to Jack and bent into a squat, reaching down to wrap his arms around Jack's torso and pull him the rest of the way up.
Megan shook the copper off and started forward. "Ianto-"
"Stay back!" he shouted at them, struggling to haul Jack's legs out of the manhole.
With grim determination, Megan hobbled forward on her hurt ankle. She dropped to her knees on the wet, muddy pavement beside Ianto and grabbed two fistfuls of the captain's coat to help pull. Jack's eyes were wide, his mouth gasping like a fish out of water. He had both hands pressed to his neck, but blood was still pouring through his fingers.
"Let me check it," Megan said, as calmly as she could, trying to work her hands in beneath Jack's to feel the wound.
"Help me get him to the car," Ianto said, gripping Jack under the armpits and trying to lift him up.
"Stop! We can't move him until he's stable enough."
"He's all right," Ianto called. Megan snapped her head up at him as if he were insane, but he hadn't been speaking to her. He was looking over her shoulder at the coppers standing around and gawking. "We'll handle it." Again, he tried lifting Jack up - a tiny squawk came from Jack and blood gurgled out of his mouth. "Megan, help me get him to the car."
"What are you- He's injured!"
"He's fine. He'll be-" Ianto bent close and lowered his voice. "I told you he'll be fine. Now help me get him to the car before anyone else sees."
She'd never heard that tone in his voice before. It was almost frightening. She got to her feet, wincing on her ankle, and helped him lift Jack. Together they carried him the few metres to the SUV and laid him across the backseat. Megan scrambled in after him and knelt, somewhat successfully, on the floor. Jack was still staring up at her, eyes wide, but no more sound came out of his mouth. He was covered in blood. Carotid artery, she thought, as she put both hands over the wound in his neck to apply more pressure.
Vaguely, she heard Ianto giving orders and that constable - Davidson - helping him carry the weevil bodies. She stared down at Jack's slack, lifeless face. The two men loaded the weevils into the boot and Davidson caught her eyes with a questioning look.
"We're fine," she lied.
A moment later the driver's side door opened and Ianto climbed in. He glanced over his seat at her as he started the engine. "How is he?"
"He's… There's no pulse," she said, faintly.
Ianto nodded. "Make him comfortable."
"But he's-"
"Just prop his head up, or he'll choke when he comes back."
Comes back…
Megan nodded, shrugging out of her waterproof and her coat. She bunched them up and pushed them beneath Jack's head.
"It's not something he likes to just tell people if he can avoid it," Ianto said as he sped up, the streetlights blurring past the windscreen.
"Five and ten baby lystriegs swimming in the deep. One leapt up and spread its wings. But when the clostrav came that night, four and ten baby lystriegs died in the deep." 626 broke off his humming, a counterpart to the sawing of his cuffs against his belt buckle, as the chain linking his hands together finally snapped on fifty-first century steel alloy.
The song had been from Gray's favourite children's tale, a gory little story of monsters in the water, and one brave soul who survived. He sighed, pushing his chair up onto two legs, rocking back and forth. Gray was here, he was sure of it, but held prisoner by… himself. His mind skittered away from the knowledge. Time Agents were not supposed to interact with other versions of themselves. It was the second rule of the Agency, right behind 'Never start a land war in Glawry.'
Well, it hadn't been his intent to meet up with his older self. And, if he recalled correctly, there should have been no Time Agency activity on Earth in the twenty-first century. So what was he doing here? As near as he could tell, he was somewhere between five and ten years older. So why wasn't he still in uniform? And why was he holding Gray?
There was a commotion out in the hall. 626 rose swiftly to his feet, plastering himself to the door and craning his neck to peer out the slit-like window. His interrogator was on one side of a dead Gorxian laid out on a trolley, the other side taken up by a limping woman he hadn't seen before. The other woman's coat was filthy, and the expression on her face was a curious mix of disgruntlement and anticipation. He could just hear her as they shuffled past, "One more to go."
Movement farther down the corridor caught his eye. He pulled his chair over and balanced gingerly upon it to get a better view. At the far end of the corridor, just inside a door that must lead to a garage or some such thing, were two figures: Ianto of the handcuffs, and, lying at his feet, older him. His breath caught in his throat and he leaned heavily on the wall to keep from falling off the chair. He was dead.
That was definitely blood all over his clothes and, even from this vantage point, 626 could tell that his skin was chalk white. He climbed shakily off the chair and grabbed the bin by the door. His last meal came roiling back up and out of his mouth. He was dead, he was dead, dead, DEAD. He vomited until he was simply dry-heaving into the bin.
There was more noise from the corridor. He ran a shaky hand over his mouth and crossed back to the door, quietly pushing the chair aside. If he had had anything else left in his stomach, he would have lost it then. Ianto was walking down the corridor, talking softly to… him. His older self. Alive. He was still covered in what should be a life-ending amount of blood, but it looked like the colour was returning to his cheeks.
626 took several shallow breaths before managing a deep one. Ianto and his older self passed by his window, neither spotting him, and he moved quickly to follow them with his eyes. At the end of the corridor, his older self paused, reaching for Ianto like he'd done it hundreds of times before, and pressed a chaste kiss to his lips, followed by one with a bit of tongue. 626 licked his lips. Ianto pulled away, murmured something, and took the left exit off the corridor. He watched himself watch Ianto walk away before taking the right exit.
Grabbing his chair, 626 hauled it back to the table. He had some things to think about. And one of them, at least, he'd be able to work to his advantage.
Megan looked up as Jack clattered down the steps into the autopsy bay. "Doc, how's that ankle?"
"Fine, swollen, could use some ice and elevation when I've the time, but not nearly as bad as I thought. Painkillers help."
"Right. Astonish me with your medical derring-do."
"I'll stick with the facts, I think." Her eyes roved over Jack's chest and neck. Clean shirt, no sign of the gaping wound. Reading it in a file was one thing, but actually witnessing that… She'd like a week. At least a week. Bloodwork. Scans. There were things in the archives she could use… Jack was still looking at her expectantly. Megan gave herself a small shake - no time to think about that now. "I would hazard to guess that the same type of thing infected all three of these weevils, the one from earlier today and the two Agent Jones just carted down here. Though I doubt it was the same, ah, specimen, in each weevil."
"Same as the previous cases?"
"Probably, though I'd have to examine them myself…?" Jack nodded, and she continued, "I would have liked to have seen them all alive. Anyhow, I'd say we're looking for something tiny, flexible and very mobile. It managed to get on to each weevil's head, burrow in through the ear on these two, the nose on that one," she pointed out each weevil, "probably eat the brains, and exit through the eye socket. And while this weevil was infected, it depicted higher levels of intelligence, despite the lack of its own brains."
"So did we get one of these things, then? In the weevil that killed me?" Jack strode over to 'his' weevil and frowned down at the mess of its face.
"Well, somewhat," she almost stuttered - he was so casual about it. She drew his attention to a small autopsy tray on her workbench. "We have half of one. The rest is..." She gestured at the weevil's face.
"Splatted," he finished for her.
"I believe Ianto shot it at the moment it was exiting the weevil's skull."
Jack joined her at the tray. "Am I looking at a tail, you think?"
The half looked almost like a shrimp, with one end divided into two flipper-type feet. They were the only feature that had any sort of discernible shape to them, the other end being rather shredded. Megan pointed out tiny little whiskers around the edges of the flippers. The entire specimen was only three centimeters long.
"Okay, this is the back end, as near as I can tell. The flippers, here, obviously help it propel itself around. I would really like to get my hands on the front end of one of these things - there's just no telling how it's possible for it to digest such a large amount of matter in such a short time, with such a - needs be - small digestive tract. It's fascinating..." She trailed off. Some of the shredded bits around what would have been the middle of the creature had started to sway.
"Is it just me, or is this thing's stomach attempting a fox trot?" Jack asked.
"Truly fascinating," she murmured, stepping closer, only to be pulled up short by Jack's arm across her shoulders.
"Megan. Go easy on this."
She blinked at him. "Oh… Of course. If we place it into a vacuum, that should do the trick." She shrugged out of Jack's grasp and slid the tray into a machine at the edge of her workbench. She and Jack both leaned over it, foreheads near brushing as they watched the ends of the creature cease their strange dance.
"Jack!" Gwen's voice called from the Hub proper. "Jack, are you ready to see yourself again?" She leaned over the railing and looked down at them.
"Yourself?" Megan asked, frowning. "I wasn't aware you'd had a psych consult, Captain."
"Ha. No, there's a-" He stopped, sighed. "It will be easier to just show you. Follow me." Jack led her up the steps and over to the window looking down into the interrogation room. He turned to her with an odd not-quite smile on his face, and stepped aside, sweeping his arm out as though presenting her with a prize.
Megan strode forward to look... "You've got to be joking. There really are two of you." She turned her head to look at Jack standing next to her. "The world can barely contain one."
"Don't I know it."
"But..." She peered back into the little room to watch the man - the double? - pace. She sent a wide-eyed look over at Gwen, the question unspoken.
Gwen nodded and smiled, encouragingly. "We did a full scan. We have our Jack; that, in there, is young Jack."
"I see," Megan said, trying to control her breathing. "How? Why?"
"That we haven't ascertained, yet," Jack said. "But don't worry, if I know me - and I do - I'll be delving deep into myself in no time at all."
Abby Bowen pulled her short, black jacket tighter round her body, doing her best to keep out the incessant rain. Her hair had all but fallen, plastered to her head, and no amount of touching up her makeup would fix her face. If that slapper Lowri Jones had just shown up with the car when she was supposed to… This was the last time Abby would rely on her, that was for certain.
Tiger, Tiger was only a few streets away - if this alley really was a shortcut - but it already felt as though the whole evening had gone to shite and she was tempted to just call a cab to take her home. Bryn was going to be there tonight. But she couldn't very well let him see her looking like this. She bet Lowri was in there right now, the slag, fawning all over him.
The streetlamp overhead buzzed, blinking on and off, and then burned brightly for a moment before crackling and going out completely. The noise startled Abby; she looked up, squinting through the rain, muttering, "Bloody wonderful," when something caught her eye. She turned her head and saw a shadow, but nothing more. Wiping her fringe out of her eyes, she peered into the dark, trying to distinguish one shadow from the next…
Something scraped against the pavement.
Abby paused, and held her breath. Scrape, scrape. There it was a again. Then she heard a gurgling, strangled moan from the darkness of the alley, and a wet slap against the ground.
She turned on her heel, her breath puffing out in foggy clouds, and continued down the alley toward the street, feet splashing in puddles with each hurried step. Not that far now to the club; she should make it easily. A loud crash echoed in the alley behind her and she couldn't stop herself from turning back to look. A man was walking toward her, stepping gingerly.
"What do you want?" Abby said, backing away even as he moved closer. There was nothing outwardly wrong with him, exactly; he was just some bloke walking in the rain. But his head was held perfectly still, eyes fixed on her, and his arms seemed to be twitching, moving as if they weren't quite connected properly to the rest of his body.
"Oi, mate, you've picked the wrong night to mess with me!" Abby shouted at him. She opened her bag to dig through the contents - concealer, eye shadow, two lipsticks, lip gloss, mascara, eye liner pencil, pack of fags, lighter, tampons (just in case), condoms (likewise), mobile - to find her rape alarm. "I mean it!" she said, voice shaking, and fumbled, spilling everything out of the bag and onto the ground.
The man was only about two metres away now. Abby chucked her cute, lime green, faux leather, Gucci knock-off bag at him and ran. These shoes weren't really designed for running on slick concrete; Abby skidded and tripped, falling to the ground and scraping the skin off her knees. The man was walking steadily behind her, yet seemed to be closing the distance far too quickly. It was all a bit too much like a horror film, and she knew how those always ended for the girl.
Up ahead, a dull red almost gleamed under the light of a far streetlamp. It was one of those old-fashioned phone boxes - Abby hadn't really seen one before, except on the telly. She pushed herself up and ran for it. When she reached the phone box she found the door was stuck, but a few hard tugs got it open for her. She threw herself inside and pulled the door closed.
It stank inside the dark, cramped, closed box, of piss and wet rubbish and body odour. There was a mess of newspaper, like a blanket, at her feet, and the phone itself was missing, nothing left but the dangling end of the cord. Through the rain-streaked glass, Abby could just make out the shape of the man, still walking steadily forward, coming closer and closer. Her mobile, along with the rest of her stuff, was in a puddle somewhere back down the alley.
The man was mere feet away now, but he wasn't looking at her anymore. Abby held her breath and prayed he'd just keep on walking and then... It appeared to work. He was just past the phone box when he stopped and his whole body shook, head jerking right and then left, and then he was looking right at her. And there was something wrong with his face. His eyes were bugging out and his mouth was open in a silent scream; his hands came up to claw at his throat and tear at his ears. He stumbled forward and fell into the glass of the phone box, his face bouncing off with a wet smack, fists pounding against the door.
"Just go away!" Abby cried. She backed up a couple of paces, hit the other wall and slid to the floor, sinking into the sodden newspapers, rubbish and stale cigarette butts. The man banged his head on the glass again, and blood trickled out of his nose and ears. "Stop it!" she shouted at him. "Stop it," she said again, closing her eyes and sobbing into her knees. "Just leave me alone."
The sound of the man's hands banging against the glass was loud until, abruptly, it stopped, and all she could hear was the steady drumming of the rain. Abby sat there for a moment, head buried in her arms, heart fluttering in her chest, and tried to steady her breathing. Slowly, she lifted her head, her arms wrapped tight around her knees. She wiped her wet hair away from her face; she could hardly see anything through the grimy glass and the pouring rain, but the coast looked clear. The stench inside the phone box was becoming unbearable. Abby sat forward and reached out to push the door open. It didn't budge, stuck like before. She stood, leaned back and gave the door a good Buffy-style kick. It groaned and fell open a couple of inches, then jammed again. Abby leaned all her weight against the door and slowly nudged it open enough to slip out.
Her foot caught on something, she tripped and landed, sprawled out, in a puddle. Great! Now her skirt was ruined, as well. A rubbish end to a rubbish night. Her knees stung as she got to her feet, blood and sweat washing away in the rain, grit embedded in the flesh. She tried to brush it away, but it hurt, and the strap of her shoe was caught on somethi-
Abby wrenched her foot away, stumbling back from the man's body splayed out at her feet. He was twisted up, legs and torso bent in awkward positions. His arm lay out at his side with his fingers curled inward, the way a baby's would. The rain poured down into his open mouth. But the rest of his face was missing. Broken open and spilling out onto the pavement, the skin ragged in a mess of blood and bone fragments.
She couldn't stop herself, the bile rose in her throat and she had just enough time to bring her hand up to her mouth as her legs gave out. Abby collapsed right next to the man's body; her throat and mouth and nose burned as she heaved, her hand sticky with long strings of what was once pasta and cheese sauce. Rain sluiced over her, swirling in puddles round her knees, mixing sick and blood and muck.
When there was nothing left in her stomach to bring up, Abby tried to catch her breath, but her stomach continued to revolt. She scrabbled away from the body and the mess she'd left, hot tears running down her face, and spotted her handbag laying several metres away. She slipped getting up, but quickly made her way over to retrieve the bag and gather up some of its contents, including her mobile. She had to shake water out of it, but it still worked well enough to dial 999.
"Emergency - which service?"
"I thought he was going to kill me, but he's dead! I don't know what happened!"
All In Good Time: Part Two
All In Good Time
by: blue_fjords, kel_reiley
"It was a dark and stormy night…"
Ianto smiled into his bottle of beer and raised an eyebrow at Gwen. She shook her head, her hair still damp and clinging to her temples from the terrible weather outside, and rolled her eyes as Jack continued his story.
"…the trees were nearly bent in two and the waves were twice - no, three times! - the height of the Millennium Centre." Jack gestured wildly, nearly knocking a container of rice off the conference room table.
"Generous assessment," Ianto murmured against the lip of his bottle, and Gwen snorfled a laugh into her next bite of mu shu pork.
Jack ignored them both. "The tiny cabin was completely silent, except for the eerie whistling of the wind." He pursed his lips together and whistled a melancholy tune. Ianto watched his lips until Gwen balled up a paper napkin and threw it across the table at him. It hit him square on the nose, and he felt his cheeks begin to heat as Jack snickered at him. Flicking the napkin back across the table, he scowled at Gwen and she gave him an innocent look.
"The only occupant?" Jack said, pulling their attention back to him and widening his eyes comically. "A desiccated corpse with a large hole in its stomach - almost as if something had forced its way out, through guts and fat and skin!"
Ianto wrinkled his nose at his carton of shrimp lo mein, but found himself leaning forward, against his better judgment. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Gwen fiddling with her chopsticks.
"Suddenly, the wind ceased and the waves crashed down." Jack's voice was hushed. "Into the silence-"
A buzz-saw sounded from the autopsy bay. Gwen jumped and dropped a chopstick. Ianto laughed, but his heart was beating just a touch faster than normal.
"Muli!" Jack yelled, "keep it down, will you? We're having a very important discussion up here!"
The buzzing stopped and Dr. Muli's voice sailed up to them, "What was that, Captain?"
"You're missing dinner and story time, Megan!" Gwen called back. "Ianto made delicious take-away."
"Mm-yes, just want to finish this up, first." There was a clanking sound of heavy metal on metal, then the lighter clinking noises of medical instruments and Muli's low voice, too muffled to understand.
Jack huffed. "Where was I?"
"Silence," Ianto answered, smirking.
Water trickled down the back of Agent 626's neck, seeping beneath his clothes and making him shiver. So much rain! It was like breathing water. He adjusted the collar on his flight jacket again, wiping at the wetness beneath his cap. The signal was coming from underground, he was sure of it. Or maybe out in the bay, but please not at the bottom of all that dirty water. His target was definitely here. He squinted up at the sky for the hundredth time since he'd landed, and stuck his tongue out. Bleurgh! Earth's rain was already contaminated.
"Nineteen hundred hours. Examining the corpse of a member of the alien species called 'weevil'. Cause of death appears to be from an unknown object exiting through the weevil's left eyesocket. Have cracked open the skull to determine the nature of this object. Point of entry appears to be the right nostril, as evidenced by the slight smear of greenish sludge just below the… nose and up into the nasal cavity."
The tape recorder blinked green as Megan grabbed the overhead light and brought it closer to the skull. Whatever had eaten through the weevil's head had exploded out of the socket in a messy burst of vitreous humour, blood, bone fragments, and brain matter - and it had left a trail. Fascinating. She squinted at what appeared to be tiny hatch marks in the mess. They ended halfway down the weevil's cheek.
"It's possible the object, or objects, that killed the weevil was organic in nature and, upon exiting the weevil, then fell or leapt off the creature. A parasite of some sort, possibly?"
She fumbled with her camera and snapped a picture of the hatch marks. "The captain will have to look at those," she muttered to herself. Rifling through the captain's brief notes on one of the earlier cases, from before Megan had joined them, she wondered if it might be possible to pull one of those bodies out of cold storage to examine. Harkness's notes were hardly detailed, but he'd seemed to think they were dealing with the same menace as previously when they'd brought this weevil in earlier today. Something from the weevils' home planet that had come through with them, perhaps?
Megan could hear him with the others, off in the distance, shouting something inane about food. Who could possibly eat when there were such treasures to explore?
"Skull is completely lacking its brains, though some brain matter still clings to the exit wound. Will be taking a closer look on a slide."
Agent 626 paused and sniffed the air. It smelled like... like wet Gorxian. He wrinkled his nose. Like dead wet Gorxian. His hand tightened on his laser as he took a cautious step forward. And froze. It was dead wet Gorxian! Lying in an alley in its shit-encrusted boiler suit. On this planet? A trickle of unease crept down his spine as he surveyed the exploded eyesocket. He took another step back. This was not what he was here for, and not his problem… but it wouldn't kill him to do a little clean up. Very little. He nudged the body with the toe of his boot - definitely dead. There was what looked like the access point to a sewer just a few feet away; 626 dragged the Gorxian over and shoved it into the hole - it would probably just decay down there and nobody would ever be any the wiser.
He'd get underground some other way. There was most likely an entrance somewhere round the edge of the large plaza. All that empty space had to conceal something.
Gwen stabbed at her empty plate and looked, forlornly, at the cartons she'd specifically set aside for Megan. Jack's story had long ago devolved into one of his 'things I might or might not have done, but you'll never figure it out' tales and she'd stopped really paying attention. A hand on her arm startled her and she looked up. "Hmm?"
Ianto smiled over at her. "I asked you if you wanted any more."
"Oh." She sighed. "No, suppose I should just head on home."
"Big plans?" Jack asked, licking his fingers completely un-self-consciously.
"Rhys is out on a piss-up with his mates, so I'll probably just watch a movie and fall asleep on the sofa." Again, she didn't add. "You?"
"We've got some..." Ianto paused, lips twitching almost into a grin. "Office work."
"Ianto reads the procedural manuals to me aloud. It's sexy."
Gwen tried to envision Jack and Ianto as part of some sort of naked book club. It was… actually not that difficult to imagine. "You're a very strange man, Jack."
"But that's why you guys love me."
Ianto paused, fork halfway to his mouth. Grinning at him, Gwen glanced over at Jack, who was too preoccupied trying to get the last bit of fried rice out of the container to notice either of them.
Megan lifted her head from the microscope, blinking. She leaned back over the scope and gently adjusted the setting before peering at the slide once more. Still completely inexplicable. Her breath came a little faster and her lips twitched once, twice, before she smoothed her features. She clicked the recorder yet again.
"Residual brain matter contains trace elements of three different compounds, which, according to the notes left by my predecessor, do not belong in the brain of a weevil."
She glanced at the notebooks stacked neatly at the end of her work counter. Her first week on the job had been spent carefully reviewing the autopsy reports provided by Owen Harper (and, after she'd cleared all the 'moonflowers' out of the Hub, she'd made sure to familiarise herself with everyone's personal medical files). Dr. Harper was especially detailed in his observations on weevils, though the man's handwriting was atrocious and his grasp of basic spelling and punctuation was unrefined at best (the pornographic material he'd hidden amongst his reports was just another Torchwood surprise).
"I will now attempt to separate out each of these compounds for further study."
She clicked the recorder off and reached for more slides. Separating the matter would require her to use the centrifuge in the corner, something she'd grown more eager to test since her conversion to using the Bekaran scanner. Toshiko Sato had modified it using alien technology. Ianto had called it a Krystalian Spinner during her tour. Megan's grudging respect for Dr. Harper and his weevil reports was nothing compared to what she felt for the genius of Toshiko Sato.
Still, it would be best if she could compare this brain matter to an intact weevil brain, just to make sure. It would be a worthwhile learning experience. And the more mess, the more fun.
The main phone line rang, and Ianto shot a glance at the remains of his dinner before sliding his chair back from the table and answering. Jack tried to reach across to snag Ianto's last spring roll, but Gwen knocked his hand out of the way and they engaged in a bit of chopstick wrestling.
"What was that, Andy?" Ianto said into the phone.
Gwen looked up at the mention of the name. "What is it, Ianto?"
'Weevil,' he mouthed at them, pulling out his PDA. "Got it, Andy. We'll collect it, don't worry."
Jack jumped up and rounded the table as he headed for the door. "Muli," he shouted, "we've got a live one!"
"Dead one, actually," Ianto corrected, handing over his PDA. "It's only a couple streets from here."
"Even better. Dead weevil should get her out of her cave, if dinner won't," Jack declared. "Any other takers?"
"It's pouring," Ianto said. "I think we'll pass."
"Wise choice, Ianto," Gwen said, nodding gratefully. She'd already been out once today in this weather to pick up dead things. "I'll, um, monitor you from here," she added, following Jack from the board room.
Ianto paused at the door and pointed back toward the rest of the cartons left on the table. "Are you sure you don't want any more, Gwen?"
"I think I'm-" She burped and quickly brought her hand to her mouth, eyes wide. "Think I'm full for now, but..." Gwen looked down at the slight swell of her stomach. "Hmm… maybe save it for later, yeah?"
With a nod, he gestured for her to precede him into the main chamber of the Hub. She settled at her work station, pulling on her comm just as Jack came stomping out of his office.
"Ianto! Where's my coat?" Jack bellowed and marched over to the railing overlooking the autopsy bay. "Megan, have I got a special treat for you!"
Gwen tuned them out as she readied herself to provide tech support. She was finally getting the hang of it, and had soon pulled up various CCTV angles and a satellite image of the alley Andy had reported. Sure enough, there was Andy himself, peering down into an open sewer. He was with another man, a Detective Sergeant who Gwen vaguely remembered as an arrogant blowhard. She watched, interestedly, as the DS slipped whilst trying to get a look at the body, as well.
"All set then, Gwen?" Jack called to her, and she looked up. Ianto was smoothing the greatcoat across Jack's shoulders. They were soon joined by Megan, who looked more eager than Gwen had ever seen her, completely decked out in waterproof gear and knee-high wellies, her med kit slung over one shoulder.
"Good to go, Jack," Gwen said. "Have fun, Megan."
Megan gave her a tight smile as she walked past toward the door. Ianto caught Gwen's eye. 'You got a smile,' he mouthed at her, and she broke into one of her own.
"Don't wait up, kiddies. Mom and Dad have a romantic evening of sewer diving planned." Jack turned to follow Megan out, but not before reaching out and goosing Ianto. Gwen bit back a laugh and pretended not to see, though it was difficult not to notice Ianto take hold of his dignity again.
He rolled his eyes at the closing door. "I'll get you some tea," he told Gwen. "And I'm going to close up the TIC before Pinky and the Brain get back," he called back over his shoulder.
626 spat on the ground and watched the rain wash it away. A light down by the waterfront, warm and shimmery in the dark night, caught his eye - an open door to an office of some sort set beneath the closed shops. He forced himself to walk slowly, naturally, across the empty space, but pulled back into the shadows as two people exited. A tall figure wearing a long, sweeping coat and a shorter one pulling a hood over its head quickly made their way along the boardwalk and disappeared into the rain. The light extinguished as the door shut - the door, a possible point of entrance to further underground. Or an easier place to make an entrance. The signal was stronger here.
Ianto surveyed the TIC. It was still well-stocked - JJ's legacy, in clumps of red plastic dragon keychains. A few brochures had fallen off the counter, so he walked around out front and bent down to pick them up. The bell above the door tinkled behind him. Ianto muffled a sigh and surreptitiously checked his watch.
"Well, hello there," Jack's voice sounded behind him, rich and deep.
Straightening up, his back to the door, Ianto tried to hide his smirk, pulling his face into a more sombre expression. "Back so soon, sir? Or did you forget something?"
"Couldn't stay away."
Shaking his head, Ianto felt the smile win out. "You should really..." He turned around and his voice died in his throat. A man with Jack's face and Jack's voice stood before him. Ianto coughed to cover his hesitation. "You should really check out the wonders of the Welsh coastline. It's quite starkly beautiful at this time of year. Let me show you a map."
He crossed back behind the counter, mind racing, as the man came closer. His hands were in his pockets. He was wearing some sort of... uniform, maybe? Dark, bland, almost nondescript - something designed to blend in, be forgettable. Ianto offered him a half-smile; the man broke into a grin and leaned against the counter. It was not Jack's grin at all.
Under the pretence of searching for a map - "I've got one, just here, that will show you all the best spots Cardiff has to offer." - Ianto's fingers travelled along the underside of the counter and pressed the warning button, hard, as the man began to tell him about the sunny coasts he had seen before.
The words became muted by the blood pounding in Ianto's ears as his mind raced through all the known shape-shifting aliens he could recall. He - it? - drew its hands out of pockets to gesture widely, and Ianto stared as the sleeve of the jacket rode up a little, revealing wrist and forearm. The wriststrap was similar to the one that had acted as Ianto's alarm clock that very morning.
Shit.
Gwen jerked her head up at the sound of the alarm. She clicked over from the satellite image of the alley to the CCTV feed from the tourist office and paused, squinting at the screen.
She tapped her comm. "Jack, what's wrong with Ianto?"
"What do you mean? Ianto stayed at the Hub with you."
"Well, I'm looking at both of you on the monitor of the tourist office and someone's pressed the panic button."
There was a short pause before Jack answered. "I'm coming back right now. Stay put. Don't do anything until I get there!"
"Jack!" But it was no use, he'd cut the comm. Gwen watched the monitor, tapping her chair leg, as Ianto shifted from foot to foot. Subconsciously, she placed one hand over her stomach, recalling how much bigger it had been with the Nostrovite's spawn. The Nostrovite had also looked just like Jack. Ianto shot a quick look - just his eyes, but she saw it - up at the camera, and that decided it for her. Checking the cartridge of her gun, she hurried as noiselessly as she could up the passageway to the TIC.
The pretty boy in the suit wasn't much of a guard, more like a greeter. What did they call them in this time and place? Country welcomers? It didn't matter; the guy was cute enough. Agent 626 had some paralysing lip gloss in his pocket and casually pulled it out as he continued talking, a meaningless rumble he used to distract enemies and potential lovers alike. His eyes darted around - just two entrances in this room, so the one behind the counter probably led to the lower levels. He gestured to a display of picture cards - he vaguely recalled from his history lessons that all communication between faraway people used to take place on cards and sheets of paper, not through handheld devices. He stared at the other man's lower lip as he slowly applied his lip gloss, and fought back a smirk. The greeter was transfixed.
As he leaned in closer, propping his elbows on the counter and reaching up one hand to that enticing, dark red tie, he heard a faint grinding noise, and then-
"Don't. Move."
The man's eyes flicked away, and a relieved expression came over his face before it was quickly hidden again. He pulled back and straightened his tie, keeping the counter safely between them.
Raising his brows at the boy, 626 said, "You know, when a woman speaks to me in that tone of voice, I do what she says. More fun that way."
"Slowly," the voice behind him said, "place your weapons on the counter and step away."
He quickly placed his firearm and two daggers - one from the top of his left boot, and one from his belt - onto the counter. "Your wish is my command," he said, grinning. As she came further into the room, and he got a good look at her, he had to admit that he really wouldn't mind playing a little Commander & Recruit with her. She was very attractive, and pregnant to boot. He glanced at the suit as he joined her. Possible father? The two stood close together, as though they were long accustomed to the proximity, then the man slipped a hand into the woman's pocket, pulling something out. 626 went rigid when he saw what it was. That scanner wouldn't be invented for several centuries!
"And the laser knife from your right boot, the blaster down your back, the daggers up each of your sleeves and the… blinking thing in your left pocket," the man said, and 626 had to hide his wince. Grudgingly, he divested himself of the detected objects.
"That, too," the woman said, pointing to his vortex manipulator.
"This isn't a weapon-" he started, but she cut him off.
"I know what it is! We can't have you teleporting away, can we?"
626 very carefully schooled his features, shrugging in a way he'd been told was both disarming and charming, and added the cuff to the pile of his weapons.
"Ianto?" She looked to her companion. "The cells?"
"Oh," Ianto said, "I've got-"
He narrowed his eyes as the man - Ianto - reached behind a beaded curtain and pulled out a black coat. From the pocket, he retrieved a silver pair of handcuffs and held them up, smiling.
The woman's eyes widened, but she nodded decisively, gesturing at him. Ianto stepped around the counter; 626 held up his hands out in front of him, wrists together, and winked. "I had a feeling bindings would enter the picture the moment I met you. Though I pictured more you coming undone than me in shackles, but I can work with this."
Ianto rolled his eyes. "Turn around, hands behind your back."
"Commanding! I like it!" He obeyed, raising an eyebrow at the woman. He let his hands drop to his sides, forcing Ianto to grasp them in order to cuff him. Callouses on his trigger finger, quick work on the cuffs. The boy knew what he was doing. 626 felt his smile slip, momentarily.
Ianto gripped his forearm and pushed him into a passage, behind the false stone wall, as the woman gathered up his weapons and locked the room behind them. They took him down the corridor and into a lift. He slumped casually against Ianto in the lift, going down, closer to the signal. This was actually going quite well, all things considered.
As the lift descended, the woman leaned toward Ianto and whispered, "You know I'm going to ask about those later, yeah?"
Megan frowned after Jack's retreating back.
"Lit out like his arse was on fire, didn't he?" the tall, skinny copper muttered.
DS Wilson shrugged his shoulders irritably. "Left one of his own to clean up this time. For once." He fixed her with a stern look, only slightly spoiled by the gunk and slime staining his boots and trousers. There was a glistening trail of something light green on his overcoat, too, but the sergeant hadn't noticed it yet. "It's not that we don't… appreciate Torchwood's help. From time to time. But you lot need to learn how to take care of your own damn mess."
Megan raised her eyebrow. "You have slime on your coat. Would you like a hanky?"
The constable caught a sudden coughing fit as the sergeant turned crimson.
"Wilson!" a woman's voice barked from the end of the alley. "Aren't you meant to be two streets over working on the potential arson?"
He stiffened and turned to face her. "PC Davidson took it upon himself to call for backup on this case. Someone had to supervise."
The woman walked over to them. Megan took in the nice coat, paired with sturdy boots and a veritable air of authority. The woman crossed her arms and tapped the fingers of one hand on the opposite elbow.
Wilson swallowed. "Ma'am," he muttered.
"There you go, Wilson. And it looks to me like Davidson called Torchwood for a Torchwood problem. I think I can trust him to handle that without you holding his hand." Wilson nodded curtly, turned on his heel and left without a word. She turned to Megan. "Detective Inspector Kathy Swanson, Cardiff Police. I don't believe we've met."
"Megan Muli, Chief Medical Officer. Nice management style."
Swanson snorted. "Wilson and I were at school together. He's still a bit in shock that I've surpassed him, the git."
Davidson muffled another cough. Megan looked up at him. "Maybe I should listen to your lungs, eh?"
"Ah, no. Quite all right. I'll just, er, check out this, um..." He gestured further down the alley towards a large pile of rotting garbage.
Swanson grinned. "So, Chief Medical Officer Muli, what do you suppose is killing off Davidson's pet gorilla-lizards?"
"Gorilla-lizards? All right, then. Give me a hand getting down into this sewer, and I just might tell you."
She was three rungs from the bottom when Davidson shouted from the end of the alley. "Oi! We've got a live one!"
Jack had his Webley drawn even before he entered the TIC. It was locked down and completely empty. Dammit. He pulled up the CCTV on the monitor behind the counter, flicking through until he found movement. Gwen and Ianto were down in the vaults, standing in the hall, three cells to the left of a shambling Janet. Jack could see their lips moving and their eyes darting to the occupant of the cell nearest them. The prisoner looked up then, right at the camera, and the blood froze in Jack's veins. No, no, no. NO!
He was through the TIC entrance, by-passing the lift to fly down the stairs, and across the Hub proper faster than he'd ever moved before. His feet pounded down the steps leading to the cells, and he ran down the hall, skidding halfway along it on his wet boots. Ianto and Gwen looked up as he caught himself, slowed to a walk, and gestured them over to him, staying out of view of their prisoner. He made note of the look that passed between the two of them, and had just opened his mouth to assure them when Gwen pointed her scanner at him and pressed the button.
"Ouch!" he hissed. She'd gone for the whole shebang, which, he had to grudgingly admit, was necessary in this situation, but the shock still stung and raised goosebumps all over his body.
Ianto raised an eyebrow at him as he looked over Gwen's shoulder at the scanner. "Right," he said at last, and he and Gwen moved closer.
Jack reached out and pulled them farther down the hall, smirking slightly as they flinched at the shock they got from his hands. His brain caught up with the situation and he cleared his throat roughly. "Has he said anything?"
"Other than flirting? I never thought I'd say this, but you actually have finesse by comparison," Ianto replied dryly. "No. No he hasn't said anything of import."
Gwen nodded. "He seemed surprised that we were familiar with alien technology. I don't think he was expecting to find something like us here."
"Although, I think he was looking to find something here," Ianto said slowly, frowning. "All of his talk seemed like a distraction. He kept looking around."
Jack's eyes kept going to the end of the hall. He'd recognise that uniform anywhere. But what was he doing here? He'd never been to Cardiff in this exact time period, he was sure of it. And there were strict rules about crossing time-lines, which, granted, he'd broken before, but he knew of all those times. Gwen and Ianto were watching him, Gwen's hand unconsciously cradling her belly and Ianto portraying calm, though Jack could see a muscle in his jaw occasionally twitch.
"We need more information," Jack decided. "Let's bring him up to the interrogation room. Gwen, you do the questioning. Keep your comm link open; I'll give you some pointers. I don't think I should reveal my presence just yet. Oh," he added as a thought occurred to him, "you took away his vortex manipulator, right?"
Ianto patted his chest. "I have it. And no, you don't get to play with it."
"I could get information out of that thing!" Jack protested, ignoring the voice in his head that was reminding him of all the other things he could do with it.
"Last resort," Gwen said, crossing her arms. "I talk to him first."
Jack nodded with poor grace. "Fine. Let me go up ahead of you. Ianto, join me to observe."
He could feel the two of them rolling their eyes at each other as he left. Before he reached the stairs he felt a hand lightly touch his shoulder and turned around to find Ianto looking at him oddly.
"It is you, isn't it?" Ianto asked, and for a moment Jack thought he meant- But then Ianto's eyes shifted, glancing back to the cell, and Jack understood as Ianto continued, "His wriststrap - vortex manipulator - it's not the same as yours, the one you have now, not exactly."
Jack absently touched the leather on his left arm. Two years. "No, it wouldn't be."
626 eyed the Gorxian as he was once more escorted past its cell. These people were playing with fire; just one layer of reinforced glass between it and them. Careless. He smiled to himself. Wonderfully careless.
The man - Ianto - gripped his bound arms to steer him back up the stone steps and through the main open area. 626 did a better job at stifling his astonishment this time. A pterodactyl cawed high overhead, and his mind skirted over the memory of hunting for one during his training on an as-yet unnamed planet. Tough and stringy, and way too dangerous to let one roam free in your workspace. These people were idiots.
Ianto shoved him down a short flight of stairs and into a little room containing a table and two chairs, then set about securing him to one of the chairs. He flexed his muscles as Ianto closed iron clamps around his wrists.
He smirked down at the top of the other man's head. "I could get used to the sight of you on your knees."
Ianto pulled away, jerkily. His eyes flashed with a cold anger and something... Yes. A flush of light pink spread up from Ianto's collar to the tips of his ears. 626 filed that away in his head. Interesting.
Ianto whispered something to the woman, and she nodded and patted his arm. Ianto threw one last look over his shoulder from the doorway. 626 mimicked the woman's nod - "At ease, soldier. You're dismissed." - and chuckled under his breath as Ianto shut the door forcefully behind him.
"So... lovely accomodations you have here. Sweet houseguests. Friendly pets." He leaned back in his chair and offered up a disarming smile. And when I get my brother out, I'll be sure you people get a bit better acquainted with those guests and pets.
"You're a Time Agent from the fifty-first century," she said conversationally, offering up a smile of her own, quite a bit more armed than his. "I'm sure coming up against a welcoming committee like ours is not unusual for you."
He had to consciously relax his grip from the arms of his chair. "There are no official Time Agency outposts on this planet."
"There aren't," she agreed. "So then. Why are you here?"
"I came for the waters," he said, thinking of the rain and the bay outside.
She looked a little startled. "Right, Bogart. Do you really expect me to believe that?"
Bogart? "What, you don't think your planet's beauty is enough of a draw? Granted, it is not half so gorgeous as your luscious body-"
"Enough." She waved her hand irritably in front of her face. "You came here, to our headquarters, purposefully. Why?"
He kept his mouth shut, and she sighed, sitting back in her seat. "You're so young," she murmured. He narrowed his eyes at her. Her eyes had that warm quality he usually saw in baby Heliogs, all open and caring and trusting. But she had pointed a gun at him, and the callouses on her fingers told him she was no stranger to using it.
"I'm just looking for a good time," he tried.
"And that's all you're looking for?"
She really did have lovely eyes.
"What do you think of him?" Jack leaned into the observation window, angling his body so he could watch his other self and Gwen down below, and still see Ianto, leaning into the other corner of the window.
Ianto hitched his shoulders and made a noncommittal sound.
Audio from the interrogation room sounded in their ears; the younger Jack - Agent… what was his number? - was trying to smooth-talk Gwen by complimenting her 'full breasts, aching for release.' Jack winced.
Ianto kept his gazed focussed on the room below. "You were a bit of an arse when you were younger."
Jack inclined his head. Agent Sixty… something? "I had a lot of maturing to do."
Ianto glanced at him then looked back through the window, fingers pressed against the glass. "Will you help that along? Now that you have the opportunity?" he asked softly.
The younger Jack - 666? No, 626, that was it - shifted in his seat beneath them.
Jack was tempted to answer with a flip comment, and Ianto might let him get away with it. He opened his mouth, but changed his mind as he took in Ianto's stance, which was aching with tension. "I wouldn't listen to me," he answered.
Below them, the young agent's head lolled forward on his neck, almost as if he was agreeing.
Ianto turned to face Jack fully, frowning. "Not even about Gray? Or about-"
"Dammit!" Jack swore. Young Jack was shouting and writhing in his cuffs. Gwen scraped back her chair and made to dash around the table. "Gwen, DON'T MOVE!" Jack bellowed, running for the steps, Ianto fast on his heels. They burst into the interrogation room, the door slamming back into the wall with a loud bang.
Gwen looked up at them, eyes flashing, from her position at the head of the table. "He's faking, get back," she commanded, gesturing them away, but it was too late.
Agent 626 jerked around in his bonds, his head flopping onto his shoulder, eyes slit open and Jack felt icy cold shivers grip his spine as their eyes met. His younger self abruptly went still. Jack wasn't aware of moving in closer, but suddenly he was there, his hands on either side of his own young face, forcing himself to look him in the eye. There was a noise in the room, like the high-pitched whine of a kettle, and gradually it sunk into Jack that it was him, his own younger voice, hissing "no" over and over.
"Calm down, calm down," Jack murmured. Then in a language he hadn't spoken in… a very long time, he said, "Relax. We need to talk to you. Just calm down. This will make sense, I promise."
Agent 626's body relaxed, eyes rolling back and his body going limp in a sudden faint. Jack released him, letting his head thump onto the table.
"Jack!" Gwen protested. "That wasn't very-"
"What, nice? It's a Time Agent trick. Fake-faint when you don't understand what the hell's going on. Gives you time to think." He glanced at Ianto, trying to read what he was thinking.
Ianto avoided his gaze and bent over the perhaps-unconscious man. "That could certainly be it. You want to just leave him here for a bit, or forcibly wake him up?"
Jack sighed, but was saved from making a decision by the ringing of Ianto's mobile.
Megan scrambled up the ladder when she heard shouting. Swanson was already turning away from her, hand on her mobile. Megan cursed under her breath. She was Torchwood; she should be taking care of whatever it was the copper had seen. Her head cleared the manhole just in time to see something knock him flat on his arse.
It was a weevil, but not like any weevil she had ever studied. This one seemed possessed of a much greater strength, and it moved with such grace. Gone was the shambling gait that had been described by Dr. Harper and demonstrated by the weevil that the others insisted on calling Janet. Megan fumbled with her can of weevil spray as she rolled out of the manhole and sprang to her feet. The weevil met her eyes, and her blood turned cold. Such intelligence.
Swanson yelled from somewhere to her left, but Megan had no idea what she said. The weevil was running at her then, ignoring a glancing blow from something in Swanson's hands. Megan dug her heels in and sprayed her can full in its face. The weevil didn't even flinch, but barrelled into her. She had a brief moment to curse at fate for getting her killed on her first solo job, before the ground opened up beneath her feet and she felt herself falling backward down the manhole.
She had just a split second to twist in midair before she landed on top of the dead weevil she'd originally come here to investigate, the other weevil falling in after her. Searing pain shot through her ankle, but there was no snap, and it didn't feel broken. She shook her head, trying to clear it, and rolled away quickly. The live weevil was moaning behind her. She grasped the ladder rungs and began to pull herself up, hand over hand. There was yelling from up above, and the screeching of tyres, but all she could focus on were the sounds coming from the live weevil in the sewer. She risked a glance over her shoulder. It was on its feet, momentarily distracted by the dead weevil. It was… sniffing the dead one and, as she watched, it licked a stripe across the cooling forehead of its compatriot. The scientist in Megan had a brief debate with her instinct for survival. Survival won; she began hauling herself up the ladder once again.
A familiar face appeared at the opening, and she could have wept with relief. "Jack, the weevil is possessed," she gasped out. "Beneath me, in the sewer."
He reached in, grasped her wrists and lifted her out in one smooth motion. She would have been furious at the indignity of being hauled through the air except for the pain that shot through her ankle and stole her concentration the moment he put her down.
Then Ianto was at her side instantly, offering an arm, and she gratefully took it. "Ianto, that weevil-"
"Jack will take care of it," he responded, then frowned as she shook her head. "What is it, Dr. Muli?"
"It's not a normal weevil," she said. "It didn't react to the spray and it behaved… like an intelligent being. More intelligent."
"Davidson!" Ianto snapped at the constable. "Give her your arm; I'm going to-"
But whatever he was going to say died in his throat as Jack flopped over the top of the manhole, bleeding profusely from a gash in his neck. Ianto rushed to Jack and bent into a squat, reaching down to wrap his arms around Jack's torso and pull him the rest of the way up.
Megan shook the copper off and started forward. "Ianto-"
"Stay back!" he shouted at them, struggling to haul Jack's legs out of the manhole.
With grim determination, Megan hobbled forward on her hurt ankle. She dropped to her knees on the wet, muddy pavement beside Ianto and grabbed two fistfuls of the captain's coat to help pull. Jack's eyes were wide, his mouth gasping like a fish out of water. He had both hands pressed to his neck, but blood was still pouring through his fingers.
"Let me check it," Megan said, as calmly as she could, trying to work her hands in beneath Jack's to feel the wound.
"Help me get him to the car," Ianto said, gripping Jack under the armpits and trying to lift him up.
"Stop! We can't move him until he's stable enough."
"He's all right," Ianto called. Megan snapped her head up at him as if he were insane, but he hadn't been speaking to her. He was looking over her shoulder at the coppers standing around and gawking. "We'll handle it." Again, he tried lifting Jack up - a tiny squawk came from Jack and blood gurgled out of his mouth. "Megan, help me get him to the car."
"What are you- He's injured!"
"He's fine. He'll be-" Ianto bent close and lowered his voice. "I told you he'll be fine. Now help me get him to the car before anyone else sees."
She'd never heard that tone in his voice before. It was almost frightening. She got to her feet, wincing on her ankle, and helped him lift Jack. Together they carried him the few metres to the SUV and laid him across the backseat. Megan scrambled in after him and knelt, somewhat successfully, on the floor. Jack was still staring up at her, eyes wide, but no more sound came out of his mouth. He was covered in blood. Carotid artery, she thought, as she put both hands over the wound in his neck to apply more pressure.
Vaguely, she heard Ianto giving orders and that constable - Davidson - helping him carry the weevil bodies. She stared down at Jack's slack, lifeless face. The two men loaded the weevils into the boot and Davidson caught her eyes with a questioning look.
"We're fine," she lied.
A moment later the driver's side door opened and Ianto climbed in. He glanced over his seat at her as he started the engine. "How is he?"
"He's… There's no pulse," she said, faintly.
Ianto nodded. "Make him comfortable."
"But he's-"
"Just prop his head up, or he'll choke when he comes back."
Comes back…
Megan nodded, shrugging out of her waterproof and her coat. She bunched them up and pushed them beneath Jack's head.
"It's not something he likes to just tell people if he can avoid it," Ianto said as he sped up, the streetlights blurring past the windscreen.
"Five and ten baby lystriegs swimming in the deep. One leapt up and spread its wings. But when the clostrav came that night, four and ten baby lystriegs died in the deep." 626 broke off his humming, a counterpart to the sawing of his cuffs against his belt buckle, as the chain linking his hands together finally snapped on fifty-first century steel alloy.
The song had been from Gray's favourite children's tale, a gory little story of monsters in the water, and one brave soul who survived. He sighed, pushing his chair up onto two legs, rocking back and forth. Gray was here, he was sure of it, but held prisoner by… himself. His mind skittered away from the knowledge. Time Agents were not supposed to interact with other versions of themselves. It was the second rule of the Agency, right behind 'Never start a land war in Glawry.'
Well, it hadn't been his intent to meet up with his older self. And, if he recalled correctly, there should have been no Time Agency activity on Earth in the twenty-first century. So what was he doing here? As near as he could tell, he was somewhere between five and ten years older. So why wasn't he still in uniform? And why was he holding Gray?
There was a commotion out in the hall. 626 rose swiftly to his feet, plastering himself to the door and craning his neck to peer out the slit-like window. His interrogator was on one side of a dead Gorxian laid out on a trolley, the other side taken up by a limping woman he hadn't seen before. The other woman's coat was filthy, and the expression on her face was a curious mix of disgruntlement and anticipation. He could just hear her as they shuffled past, "One more to go."
Movement farther down the corridor caught his eye. He pulled his chair over and balanced gingerly upon it to get a better view. At the far end of the corridor, just inside a door that must lead to a garage or some such thing, were two figures: Ianto of the handcuffs, and, lying at his feet, older him. His breath caught in his throat and he leaned heavily on the wall to keep from falling off the chair. He was dead.
That was definitely blood all over his clothes and, even from this vantage point, 626 could tell that his skin was chalk white. He climbed shakily off the chair and grabbed the bin by the door. His last meal came roiling back up and out of his mouth. He was dead, he was dead, dead, DEAD. He vomited until he was simply dry-heaving into the bin.
There was more noise from the corridor. He ran a shaky hand over his mouth and crossed back to the door, quietly pushing the chair aside. If he had had anything else left in his stomach, he would have lost it then. Ianto was walking down the corridor, talking softly to… him. His older self. Alive. He was still covered in what should be a life-ending amount of blood, but it looked like the colour was returning to his cheeks.
626 took several shallow breaths before managing a deep one. Ianto and his older self passed by his window, neither spotting him, and he moved quickly to follow them with his eyes. At the end of the corridor, his older self paused, reaching for Ianto like he'd done it hundreds of times before, and pressed a chaste kiss to his lips, followed by one with a bit of tongue. 626 licked his lips. Ianto pulled away, murmured something, and took the left exit off the corridor. He watched himself watch Ianto walk away before taking the right exit.
Grabbing his chair, 626 hauled it back to the table. He had some things to think about. And one of them, at least, he'd be able to work to his advantage.
Megan looked up as Jack clattered down the steps into the autopsy bay. "Doc, how's that ankle?"
"Fine, swollen, could use some ice and elevation when I've the time, but not nearly as bad as I thought. Painkillers help."
"Right. Astonish me with your medical derring-do."
"I'll stick with the facts, I think." Her eyes roved over Jack's chest and neck. Clean shirt, no sign of the gaping wound. Reading it in a file was one thing, but actually witnessing that… She'd like a week. At least a week. Bloodwork. Scans. There were things in the archives she could use… Jack was still looking at her expectantly. Megan gave herself a small shake - no time to think about that now. "I would hazard to guess that the same type of thing infected all three of these weevils, the one from earlier today and the two Agent Jones just carted down here. Though I doubt it was the same, ah, specimen, in each weevil."
"Same as the previous cases?"
"Probably, though I'd have to examine them myself…?" Jack nodded, and she continued, "I would have liked to have seen them all alive. Anyhow, I'd say we're looking for something tiny, flexible and very mobile. It managed to get on to each weevil's head, burrow in through the ear on these two, the nose on that one," she pointed out each weevil, "probably eat the brains, and exit through the eye socket. And while this weevil was infected, it depicted higher levels of intelligence, despite the lack of its own brains."
"So did we get one of these things, then? In the weevil that killed me?" Jack strode over to 'his' weevil and frowned down at the mess of its face.
"Well, somewhat," she almost stuttered - he was so casual about it. She drew his attention to a small autopsy tray on her workbench. "We have half of one. The rest is..." She gestured at the weevil's face.
"Splatted," he finished for her.
"I believe Ianto shot it at the moment it was exiting the weevil's skull."
Jack joined her at the tray. "Am I looking at a tail, you think?"
The half looked almost like a shrimp, with one end divided into two flipper-type feet. They were the only feature that had any sort of discernible shape to them, the other end being rather shredded. Megan pointed out tiny little whiskers around the edges of the flippers. The entire specimen was only three centimeters long.
"Okay, this is the back end, as near as I can tell. The flippers, here, obviously help it propel itself around. I would really like to get my hands on the front end of one of these things - there's just no telling how it's possible for it to digest such a large amount of matter in such a short time, with such a - needs be - small digestive tract. It's fascinating..." She trailed off. Some of the shredded bits around what would have been the middle of the creature had started to sway.
"Is it just me, or is this thing's stomach attempting a fox trot?" Jack asked.
"Truly fascinating," she murmured, stepping closer, only to be pulled up short by Jack's arm across her shoulders.
"Megan. Go easy on this."
She blinked at him. "Oh… Of course. If we place it into a vacuum, that should do the trick." She shrugged out of Jack's grasp and slid the tray into a machine at the edge of her workbench. She and Jack both leaned over it, foreheads near brushing as they watched the ends of the creature cease their strange dance.
"Jack!" Gwen's voice called from the Hub proper. "Jack, are you ready to see yourself again?" She leaned over the railing and looked down at them.
"Yourself?" Megan asked, frowning. "I wasn't aware you'd had a psych consult, Captain."
"Ha. No, there's a-" He stopped, sighed. "It will be easier to just show you. Follow me." Jack led her up the steps and over to the window looking down into the interrogation room. He turned to her with an odd not-quite smile on his face, and stepped aside, sweeping his arm out as though presenting her with a prize.
Megan strode forward to look... "You've got to be joking. There really are two of you." She turned her head to look at Jack standing next to her. "The world can barely contain one."
"Don't I know it."
"But..." She peered back into the little room to watch the man - the double? - pace. She sent a wide-eyed look over at Gwen, the question unspoken.
Gwen nodded and smiled, encouragingly. "We did a full scan. We have our Jack; that, in there, is young Jack."
"I see," Megan said, trying to control her breathing. "How? Why?"
"That we haven't ascertained, yet," Jack said. "But don't worry, if I know me - and I do - I'll be delving deep into myself in no time at all."
Abby Bowen pulled her short, black jacket tighter round her body, doing her best to keep out the incessant rain. Her hair had all but fallen, plastered to her head, and no amount of touching up her makeup would fix her face. If that slapper Lowri Jones had just shown up with the car when she was supposed to… This was the last time Abby would rely on her, that was for certain.
Tiger, Tiger was only a few streets away - if this alley really was a shortcut - but it already felt as though the whole evening had gone to shite and she was tempted to just call a cab to take her home. Bryn was going to be there tonight. But she couldn't very well let him see her looking like this. She bet Lowri was in there right now, the slag, fawning all over him.
The streetlamp overhead buzzed, blinking on and off, and then burned brightly for a moment before crackling and going out completely. The noise startled Abby; she looked up, squinting through the rain, muttering, "Bloody wonderful," when something caught her eye. She turned her head and saw a shadow, but nothing more. Wiping her fringe out of her eyes, she peered into the dark, trying to distinguish one shadow from the next…
Something scraped against the pavement.
Abby paused, and held her breath. Scrape, scrape. There it was a again. Then she heard a gurgling, strangled moan from the darkness of the alley, and a wet slap against the ground.
She turned on her heel, her breath puffing out in foggy clouds, and continued down the alley toward the street, feet splashing in puddles with each hurried step. Not that far now to the club; she should make it easily. A loud crash echoed in the alley behind her and she couldn't stop herself from turning back to look. A man was walking toward her, stepping gingerly.
"What do you want?" Abby said, backing away even as he moved closer. There was nothing outwardly wrong with him, exactly; he was just some bloke walking in the rain. But his head was held perfectly still, eyes fixed on her, and his arms seemed to be twitching, moving as if they weren't quite connected properly to the rest of his body.
"Oi, mate, you've picked the wrong night to mess with me!" Abby shouted at him. She opened her bag to dig through the contents - concealer, eye shadow, two lipsticks, lip gloss, mascara, eye liner pencil, pack of fags, lighter, tampons (just in case), condoms (likewise), mobile - to find her rape alarm. "I mean it!" she said, voice shaking, and fumbled, spilling everything out of the bag and onto the ground.
The man was only about two metres away now. Abby chucked her cute, lime green, faux leather, Gucci knock-off bag at him and ran. These shoes weren't really designed for running on slick concrete; Abby skidded and tripped, falling to the ground and scraping the skin off her knees. The man was walking steadily behind her, yet seemed to be closing the distance far too quickly. It was all a bit too much like a horror film, and she knew how those always ended for the girl.
Up ahead, a dull red almost gleamed under the light of a far streetlamp. It was one of those old-fashioned phone boxes - Abby hadn't really seen one before, except on the telly. She pushed herself up and ran for it. When she reached the phone box she found the door was stuck, but a few hard tugs got it open for her. She threw herself inside and pulled the door closed.
It stank inside the dark, cramped, closed box, of piss and wet rubbish and body odour. There was a mess of newspaper, like a blanket, at her feet, and the phone itself was missing, nothing left but the dangling end of the cord. Through the rain-streaked glass, Abby could just make out the shape of the man, still walking steadily forward, coming closer and closer. Her mobile, along with the rest of her stuff, was in a puddle somewhere back down the alley.
The man was mere feet away now, but he wasn't looking at her anymore. Abby held her breath and prayed he'd just keep on walking and then... It appeared to work. He was just past the phone box when he stopped and his whole body shook, head jerking right and then left, and then he was looking right at her. And there was something wrong with his face. His eyes were bugging out and his mouth was open in a silent scream; his hands came up to claw at his throat and tear at his ears. He stumbled forward and fell into the glass of the phone box, his face bouncing off with a wet smack, fists pounding against the door.
"Just go away!" Abby cried. She backed up a couple of paces, hit the other wall and slid to the floor, sinking into the sodden newspapers, rubbish and stale cigarette butts. The man banged his head on the glass again, and blood trickled out of his nose and ears. "Stop it!" she shouted at him. "Stop it," she said again, closing her eyes and sobbing into her knees. "Just leave me alone."
The sound of the man's hands banging against the glass was loud until, abruptly, it stopped, and all she could hear was the steady drumming of the rain. Abby sat there for a moment, head buried in her arms, heart fluttering in her chest, and tried to steady her breathing. Slowly, she lifted her head, her arms wrapped tight around her knees. She wiped her wet hair away from her face; she could hardly see anything through the grimy glass and the pouring rain, but the coast looked clear. The stench inside the phone box was becoming unbearable. Abby sat forward and reached out to push the door open. It didn't budge, stuck like before. She stood, leaned back and gave the door a good Buffy-style kick. It groaned and fell open a couple of inches, then jammed again. Abby leaned all her weight against the door and slowly nudged it open enough to slip out.
Her foot caught on something, she tripped and landed, sprawled out, in a puddle. Great! Now her skirt was ruined, as well. A rubbish end to a rubbish night. Her knees stung as she got to her feet, blood and sweat washing away in the rain, grit embedded in the flesh. She tried to brush it away, but it hurt, and the strap of her shoe was caught on somethi-
Abby wrenched her foot away, stumbling back from the man's body splayed out at her feet. He was twisted up, legs and torso bent in awkward positions. His arm lay out at his side with his fingers curled inward, the way a baby's would. The rain poured down into his open mouth. But the rest of his face was missing. Broken open and spilling out onto the pavement, the skin ragged in a mess of blood and bone fragments.
She couldn't stop herself, the bile rose in her throat and she had just enough time to bring her hand up to her mouth as her legs gave out. Abby collapsed right next to the man's body; her throat and mouth and nose burned as she heaved, her hand sticky with long strings of what was once pasta and cheese sauce. Rain sluiced over her, swirling in puddles round her knees, mixing sick and blood and muck.
When there was nothing left in her stomach to bring up, Abby tried to catch her breath, but her stomach continued to revolt. She scrabbled away from the body and the mess she'd left, hot tears running down her face, and spotted her handbag laying several metres away. She slipped getting up, but quickly made her way over to retrieve the bag and gather up some of its contents, including her mobile. She had to shake water out of it, but it still worked well enough to dial 999.
"Emergency - which service?"
"I thought he was going to kill me, but he's dead! I don't know what happened!"
All In Good Time: Part Two