The Art of Far and Near (Part 5)
Rating: T
Word count: ~ 2,600
Warnings: Angst, magic, semi-borrowed, semi-altered dialogue, canon violence/character death.
Summary: Twelve steps to immortality: this is the pinnacle of alchemy, of all alchemists. Ianto has reached final goal, and all he feels is empty.
A/N: Again, my apologies for the delay. My twin brother had a crisis, and as he’s usually one of the least dramatic in my family-all men, and isn’t it girls who are supposed to be drama queens?-I felt obliged to drop everything I could and fly out to help him. So here I am a week later, with nothing written except for what bits I managed on the flight. Hopefully this isn’t too awful. -.-‘
(Btw, hopefully this answers the question of Jack's power; I went, “Hmm, pheromones…” and took a jump in logic(ish stuff?) from there.)
The Art of Far and Near
Chapter Five
“If Suzie could lockdown the Hub, she must've installed a way of reversing it just in case.” Tosh looks between them all, eyes worried, but there's a trace of anger there, too.
Watching from his seat on the stairs, Ianto understands. Gwen is so sure she’s right, so secure in her humanity, that she never stops to think about the rest of them, and it’s gotten old.
“Yeah,” Jack says, and he sounds tired, angry, frustrated. He glances over at Tosh. “Your power-can you…?”
Tosh shakes her head. “Suzie must have put some sort of ward on the systems. I can't even touch them.”
The sudden crash of Jack slamming his hand into the desk makes them all jump. “Damn it! There has to be a way out!”
“Let’s take stock of talents, yeah?” Owen snaps. “Our norm’s gone rogue alongside the undead clairvoyant with a kink for necromancy, our technomancer’s bloody useless, I'm just a Healer, and I don't see your charm affecting anyone from fifty feet underground, Harkness. What am I missing?”
“Me.”
The softly spoken syllable draws their attention, makes them turn to stare at Ianto as he rises from the stairs. He looks back at them, meets Owen’s disbelief, Tosh's sudden hope, and Jack's surprise without flinching, without backing away.
“Suzie died before you found out I was anything but a tea boy,” he says, meeting Jack's gaze. “Even if she planned for Tosh, she won't have done anything to stop an alchemist.”
The faith in Jack's face is almost painful, but Ianto can't look away as he nods and says, “All right, Ianto. Get us out of here.”
*.~.*.~.*
(Rewind.)
*.~.*.~.*
“It fell through the Rift about forty years ago. Lay at the bottom of the Bay till we dredged it up. I always figured this wasn't just lost. Whatever necromancer made it wanted rid of it.”
“You know, we never gave it a cool name.”
“I thought we called it the Resurrection Gauntlet?”
“Cool name.”
“What about the Risen Mitten?”
(Silence from all quarters.)
“I think it’s catchy.”
*.~.*.~.*
(Skip.)
*.~.*.~.*
“At last. You must be Torchwood? My team bitch about you all the time.”
Jack gives he a smile, because he can’t not. It’s his ability-maybe not as flashy as Ianto’s, or as useful as Tosh or Owen’s, but far more insidious. “And you are?”
“Detective Swanson.” She has a firm grip, just this side of a pissing contest, and a no-nonsense expression.
“I'm Captain Jack Harkness.” He tones down the charm, because they're going to be working together, and it’s rude to use it for too long. Better that she knows her own mind, rather than blindly follows him around-though, granted, her will’s probably too strong for that level of enchantment.
“So I've heard,” Swanson drawls, a hint of humor in her eyes, though it’s buried deep. “Are you always this dressy for a murder investigation?”
The straight line is so perfect that Jack can't resist-he never can. “What, you’d rather me naked?” he asks with a grin, sliding off his sunglasses.
“God help me, the stories are true,” Swanson mutters, but it’s amused.
The sunglasses go back on, and Jack's pleased with everything in general right now, murder investigation aside. It’s sunny, his team is working smoothly again, Gwen’s a fully trained agent, and Ianto seems settled, easy, rather than a silent, mourning shadow.
“Who’s the victim?” Gwen asks, and then everything goes to hell.
*.~.*.~.*
(One turn ahead, and that's enough.)
*.~.*.~.*
“Oh, my god…”
“Looks like somebody wants your attention.”
The letters are garishly red, dripping down the wall as though written in haste. The bodies are covered in red, as well, splayed out on the bed like some macabre presentation. Above them, a bright mockery of life left skewed and blood-splattered, is a framed photograph of the victims, happy and smiling.
Jack looks over the scene, grim and grey. “They've got it,” he says.
*.~.*.~.*
(Fast forward.)
*.~.*.~.*
“He’s gone.”
“Let me keep trying!”
“Gwen, he’s dead.”
“But I can bring him back!”
“The glove only works once.”
“But I can do it, just let me try!”
“Gwen, look at me. He’s gone.”
“That was amazing. She’s a natural. Twenty-four seconds.”
“Give Ianto a stopwatch and he’s happy.”
“It’s the button on the top.”
“What do you think, Gwen? Do you want to stop?”
(She’s still wearing the glove. She doesn't want to stop, and this is how it starts.)
*.~.*.~.*
(Skip.)
*.~.*.~.*
Ianto takes a short breath and raises his hands to head-height, facing the cog door. There’s no spark, no flash of light, but when he turns his hands palm-out and traces a circle into the air in front of him, the lines glow. They shimmer in the murky gloom, like concentrated moonlight, or lightning hammered flat and twisted into shape. A single ring, two runes like red-gold embers in the center.
“No blood?” Tosh asks, softly enough that he could ignore it if he wanted to. He forgets, at times, that she’s seen him do this before, more than the rest of them. There was so much blood in that small kitchen in Brynblaidd, so much blood when Lisa tried to kill them all. In her mind, she’s probably linked all alchemy to a need for blood, like necromancy.
But alchemy is the opposite, really. Alchemy is life.
“No,” he says absently, half of his mind on the circle between his hands. “In alchemy, at least, it’s always much harder to destroy than it is to create. I'm not destroying anything here. Just…changing it.” Another breath, careful and balanced, and he whispers, “Permuto.”
The circle spins, slowly at first and then faster, the runes a streak of fire in the center. Ianto steps back, fingers already sketching another circle, even as he murmurs, “Coepio.”
The spinning circle imbeds itself in the thick steel of the door, and the whole thing shudders. Like a heat haze from nowhere, it shimmers, wavers, and then shifts to solid oak with a groaning creak.
Behind him, Owen starts to move. “I've got something that can cut through-”
“No,” Ianto cuts him off, balancing the second circle between his hands, “just wait. Muto.”
The second circle strikes the wood with a sound like a gong, and water floods the opening, sweeping away from the now-cleared doorway in a rush. Ianto sags a little, stumbling back a step as the tension in his body releases.
Jack catches him, one hand on his elbow, one arm around his waist. “Let’s go,” he tells Owen and Tosh. “Get the SUV. We’ll be right there.”
There's no argument; they're already grabbing their gear and running for the garage by the time Jack finishes speaking. As they disappear down the corridor, the Captain turns his eyes on Ianto.
“I'm fine,” Ianto says, before he can speak. “It’s just more concentration than I'm used to, to change such a specific thing. It would have almost been easier to take out the whole wall.”
Jack snorts softly. “Well, for one, I'm glad you didn't turn the whole Hub into a lake, but that's just personal preference. Are you going to be all right staying here? Suzie might have left us some other surprises.”
Ianto smiles at him, pale but fierce, and wriggles his fingers. “Alchemy, Jack. She couldn't plan for that. I’ll be fine.”
He pulls Ianto as upright as Ianto is capable of and steers him towards Tosh's computer monitors, where he collapses into the chair. As soon as Ianto waves him off, Jack bolts for the garage. The SUV is already running, and Tosh slides into the back as Jack throws himself in the front.
“Tosh-”
“I'm already tracking Gwen’s cell phone,” she cuts in, eyes gone electric-white with her magic. “They've just arrived at Greenleaves Hospital. I’m programming the coordinates into the GPS now.”
The screen of the navigational unit comes alive, and Jack peels out of the garage. “Ianto, call Swanson, get the roads clear,” he orders into the comm. “I'm gonna break the speed limit, big time.”
*.~.*.~.*
(Break it off here; switch scenes.)
*.~.*.~.*
Gwen’s eyes are drifting closed, fluttering shut as the road stretches out in front of the car.
“Tired?” Suzie asks softly.
Gwen pulls herself up and manages a quick smile. “I’m fine.”
“Don't want you falling asleep at the wheel. One corpse is enough for this car, thanks.”
“Don't say that.”
“What?”
“Corpse. ‘Cos you're not.”
“What am I, then?”
“I dunno. You're just not, though.”
*.~.*.~.*
(Run it forward, right to the end.)
*.~.*.~.*
“The glove. Ianto! Destroy the glove! It's keeping them connected!”
Ianto’s up and out of the chair before the Captain finishes, Latin already on his lips as he staggers to a halt above the cold storage. The glove gleams menacingly in the low light, the metal engraved with necromantic runes, and Ianto hates it with all of his soul in that moment. Necromancy never comes to any good, not at Torchwood One and not here. He’d liked Suzie once, appreciated her swift mind and quick wit, her orderly ways. But now she’s been corrupted, changed, and the only thing that he can blame is this piece of magic, this artifact that never should have been recovered.
“Adnihilo,” he commands, fierce and sharp, and the circle burns to life beneath the glove, cherry-red and smoldering. Six runes within, six runes without, and there isn’t even ash left when they fade.
Even over the comms, Gwen’s gasp is clear, as is the ringing report of Jack's gun and the dull thud as Suzie’s body falls lifeless for a second time.
*.~.*.~.*
(In inceptum finis est.)
*.~.*.~.*
(But there's a coda here; let it end on a lighter note.)
*.~.*.~.*
“Thanks for doing this,” Jack says, looking down at Suzie’s body, carefully arranged in the morgue drawer.
Ianto keeps his eyes on the clipboard, on the details of Suzie’s life-what they know, at least, that escaped her purge of the computer systems-as they appear under his pen. “Part of my job, sir,” he says, and it is. He’s still general support, for all that he’s an alchemist. That was proved today, when they’d forgotten all about his talents.
Not that Ianto minds, exactly. Alchemy is a dangerous thing, and he’s never used it lightly. It’s just…it’s also a part of him, and they all keep overlooking it. That's the difficult part.
“No,” Jack says tiredly, and it takes Ianto a moment to remember what he’s disagreeing with. “I should be doing it, but…” He sighs and leans back against the wall, bleakly looking up at the hundreds of drawers, each one carefully labeled. “One day, we’re going to run out of space.”
It’s the look on his face-old and tired and far grimmer than Captain Jack Harkness should ever be-that motivates Ianto. He pauses, pen going still a few lines above the bottom of the page. Madness, he tells himself. The worst timing, too. But…
But this is Torchwood, and if not now, then there might never be a chance at all.
A breath to steel himself, another for courage, and he raises his head. “If you're interested…I've still got that stopwatch.”
The bleakness is gone, replaced by curiosity as Jack raises an eyebrow at him. “So?”
“Well.” Ianto has to fight off the smile that's pulling at his mouth, because this has to be one of the most awkward proposals in the history of sex. “Think about it. Lots of things you can do with a stopwatch.”
And then Jack grins, blatantly suggestive, and the entire thing is worthwhile. Even if they never go further than this, Ianto is content with that smile alone. “Oh, yeah. I can think of a few things.”
Which is good, because Ianto can't come up with a single damned one. Nevertheless, he smiles back and acknowledges, “There's quite a list.”
“I’ll send the others home early. See you in my office in ten.” Jack pushes off the wall, still smiling.
The stopwatch is still in Ianto’s pocket. He pulls it out and hits the button, trying not to laugh at himself. “That’s ten minutes, and counting.” Then the blank lines on the paper catch his eye. “Oh, Jack? What do you want me to say on the death certificate?”
Jack pauses a few yards away, serious again. “Good question.”
“She had quite a few deaths in the end,” Ianto offers, an explanation for the question, because it’s certainly not a normal one, even in their line of work.
“I don't know.” Jack looks back at the drawer, and there's a flash of something both whimsical and weary on his face. “Death by Torchwood.”
That fits as nothing else does. Ianto writes it down, and looks back at Suzie. “I'll put a few runes on the door, or a charm, just in case she goes walking again.” Because the last thing they need is a thrice-dead former coworker trying to kill them all yet again.
“Nah, no chance of that,” Jack says, turning towards the door again. “The resurrection days are over, thank God.”
(There's something ironic in that statement, in his voice. Ianto only catches it because he’s thinking of a shotgun blast to the chest, and how it never even made him waver.)
Maybe that's why he gives voice to the thought that's been in the back of his mind since the first time they found the glove. Normally, he’d be content to keep quiet about it, to let the others notice. But this time, it doesn't seem that they will, and Ianto can't stay silent anymore.
“Oh, I wouldn't be to sure about that,” he says evenly, and Jack pauses in the doorway, shoulders suddenly stiff. “That's the thing about gloves, sir. They come in pairs.”
Jack turns, one hand on the doorframe, and looks back at him. Ianto meets his eyes for a long moment, then drops his gaze to his clipboard, signing off on the report.
Another beat, and Jack's footsteps continue on, out of the morgue.
In Ianto’s pocket, the stopwatch ticks towards ten, and Ianto smiles a little in anticipation.