My Immortal 2. Chapter 4.
Right. It's here. (Consequences is the watch word for this one. And the tying up of loose ends.) I had hoped to finish the whole fic before Miracle Day aired, but life had other plans. Hopefully though, I should be able to post the rest before too long, since all there's left is a short interlude (a Christmas ficlet written several years ago which I thought people might enjoy) and then the final two chapters which deal with [the fallout from] 'Children of Earth'. And then it will all be OVER!
Index post for the whole ‘verse here. And the first chapter of this sequel (with Important Notes) here.
Summary: The Immortal is Captain Jack Harkness. This is what happened next.
Setting: This chapter - 2008 (The summer post 'Journey's End').
Spoilers: Torchwood, up to, and including, Children of Earth (eventually).
Rating: PG-13. (Some swearing.)
Genre: FitB, character study, BtVS/AtS/Doctor Who/Torchwood crossover.
Pairings/characters: Jack/Ianto, Gwen, Giles.
Word count: 7200+ words.
Thank you's: To my wonderful beta kathyh who really helped me get this into shape! (All mistakes mine.)
Disclaimer: Joss and RTD own these characters, I'm just playing with them.
Feedback: *is not above begging*
Chapter 4
Giles: She's a hero, you see. She's not like us.
~
Spike: And we just keep coming. But you can kill a hundred, a thousand, a thousand thousand and the enemies of Hell besides and all we need is for one of us - just one - sooner or later to have the thing we're all hoping for. One... good... day.
August 2008, London, The Watcher’s Council
“Mr Giles, there is a man to see you...”
Theresa’s voice sounded oddly flustered over the intercom, and Giles frowned. His secretary could generally be counted on to be more than calm at even the worst of times - not to mention the fact that she knew his diary inside and out, and relished reminding him of things he’d forgotten.
“What kind of man?”
“He says his name is Captain Jack Harkness, and that he’s from...” a brief pause, “Torchwood.”
“Never heard of it,” Giles replied, although it rang a distant bell somewhere. “Does he have an appointment?”
“He does...” Her voice went uncertain again, and Giles sighed.
“Fine. Just send him in.”
At least he’d managed to have a decent lunch today, and figured he might just as well take the bull by the horns.
Surveying the comfortable, wood-panelled room and everything it represented, he couldn’t help smiling. The efforts to reinstate the Watcher’s Council hadn’t been smooth sailing by any stretch, but they were beginning to gain ground now, five years hard work paying off. They had freshly minted Watchers from the new Academy to support the Slayers, and the intense feeling of ‘Never Enough, Not Prepared’ was slowly receding. And today, with the sun shining hotly outside his window, he felt ready to face the future, whatever - or whoever - it might bring.
When the door swung open, however, he immediately regretted his decision. In the doorway stood The Immortal, dressed in a World War 2 great coat and smiling widely.
“Hel-lo Giles.”
“Why are you here?” Giles asked tightly, as The Immortal put a finger across his lips with a wink, closed the door, and uninvited took a seat on the other side of the wide mahogany desk.
“I have a favour to ask. Well two actually. And one to give in return.”
“Indeed,” Giles replied coolly. “And what’s with the name? I’m presuming it’s not real.”
The Immortal grinned, all white Hollywood teeth and flashiness. “No it’s not. But I am a real Captain, so - if you wouldn’t mind - I’d prefer it if you could use that title? Working hard to keep my identities separate.”
Despite his instinctive dislike, Giles forced himself to recall the recent report Andrew had sent him about The Immortal intervening in a demon clan kerfuffle - a story which had been amply backed up by the half-demon at the heart of it. The young man had been yet another babbling Immortal admirer, but as far as Giles had been able to make out the whole thing had been done with no bloodshed, and for now he was ready to at least listen to what the other had to say.
“Very well Captain. And what is... Torchwood? I can’t quite place it.”
“Canary Wharf was also known as Torchwood Tower. But the organisation was actually set up by Queen Victoria herself to deal with alien and other unusual threats. They recruited me in 1899, and I’ve been running the Cardiff branch since 2000. Now what I was going to ask-”
Giles held up his hand.
“Sorry. I need to stop you right there - to be honest I’ve had enough of tall tales and mystery.”
The Immortal looked hurt.
“But I’ve been telling you the truth!”
Giles leaned back in his chair, studying the other man with quiet satisfaction. He was not about to waste his first chance of having the upper hand, and, smiling politely, he began setting forth his terms.
“If you want my help in any way, I insist on knowing who I am dealing with. I am afraid that the fact that Buffy trusts you isn’t enough for me to do the same. So - who are you? Where did you come from? How can you predict the future? I’ve had people research the legends of The Immortal, and it all ends in fairy tales and myths with nothing substantial of any kind - as if you sprung out of nowhere and spun tales to cover it up.”
“Not bad,” The Immortal replied, something like appreciation in his eyes. “That’s more or less what happened.”
Giles tilted his head.
“I’m presuming you didn’t come out of literally nowhere? Unless you came from a parallel dimension? Or, as Spike would have us believe, the worst hell imaginable...”
The Immortal studied him for a long time, then his eyes narrowed, and a small smile appeared in the corner of his mouth.
“Fair enough. I’ve never shown anyone this, and if I tell you this I insist it goes no further than this room. Can I borrow your computer?”
Slightly thrown Giles acquiesced, turning the screen towards the middle of the table and trying to make the keyboard and mouse cables stretch to the other side. He resented having this stuff in his office, and yet he knew he couldn’t be without them.
Then he noticed that The Immortal was apparently hacking into NASA.
“Can I ask-”
“No. Just hang on.”
A few more taps, a suppressed chuckle, and suddenly a starscape filled the screen, strange symbols - whether mathematical or alien in origin Giles couldn’t determine - displayed around the edges.
The Immortal stared at it in consternation, then frowned and tried to look at it sideways.
“They put it in upside down,” he said, surprise vying with petulance. “I give them a perfect Ettian star map, and they can’t tell up from down. Just a moment.”
“You... what?”
But The Immortal was typing again, and after a moment the stars all shifted and he smiled.
“The reason I was in Rome in 2004 was in order to dismantle a crashed space ship. NASA got a lot of stuff, including the star map. And... here we are. Now, to find Sol 3...”
A few strokes, and the solar system flashed up, as Giles tried to take on board this first revelation - and was forced to admit that the other man was clearly supremely good at covering things up.
“You know this I take it?” The Immortal asked, and Giles shot him a droll look.
“Very well. Now if we zoom out...” action followed words, and the circles turned into a dot, surrounded by other dots.
“Still with me? If we go further out, you can now see the whole galaxy, yes?”
Giles nodded, beginning to suspect he was being made a fool of, but unsure how to react.
“Now, if we move over here, and here, and here, and zoom back in.”
Another solar system, other planets.
“That planet there,” The Immortal pointed to the screen. “That’s where I was born. In 3000 years’ time; during the Third Great and Bountiful Human Empire.”
Giles looked from the screen to The Immortal’s face and back again.
“I’m a time traveller,” the other continued. “The reason I know that you eradicate vampires is because they don’t exist in the future. Nor do the Slayers. 21st Century everything changes. You change the world, and then you are forgotten, only remembered as fairy tales and myths. Much like me.”
Giles stared at the other man for a long moment, but The Immortal quite simply looked back, unmoving.
“So... you’re an alien?”
At this The Immortal chuckled.
“Mostly human, just... it’s a wide and wonderful universe.”
“I am not sure I-”
“If I wanted to lie, I could invent something much better, trust me.”
“But... why are you here?”
“Got stuck on Earth a long time ago. Needed to fill the time.”
“And the immortality?”
“Cosmic accident. And that’s all you’re getting. Now, can we talk?”
Giles studied the other man for a long moment. The answers had come readily enough, and well... the answers were certainly outrageous enough to take note of. But a time traveller...
“Tell me something from the future.”
The Immortal cocked an eyebrow.
“What would you like to know?”
For a moment Giles drew a blank, then he went with the obvious question.
“Who becomes the next President of America?”
“Obama. Can’t say I ever paid much attention to ancient history, but the first black president is something you tend to remember. Oh! And there’s a global financial crisis coming up soon. Like, in a month or two.”
“Isn’t there always?”
“Few get in the history books.”
Realising that there was no way of actually verifying the veracity of the statements, Giles decided to leave the matter for the time being. Although - if the man spoke the truth... A global financial crisis? He’d better double check all their new investments.
“Very well. Tell me what you want from me.”
The Immortal smiled lightly, making himself more comfortable in the chair.
“Let’s go with the easy one first. I have in storage The Invincible Vampire. I’m not sure that’s actually his real name, but every time I’ve tried to talk to him he just shouts ‘I’m Invincible!’ and then I have to stake him to stop him from eating anyone. Always comes back to life however, which is why we keep him cryo-frozen. Now Buffy once mentioned that she fought Dracula and that he had the same knack for pulling himself back together, so I’m presuming that it’s magic of some kind, and would be... most obliged if you could assist in working out some kind of counter spell so I could get rid of him for good. Figured it might come in handy if you want to off Dracula some day too.”
Giles tilted his head, pleasantly surprised at the turn events were taking.
“Interesting. Yes, I think we might be able to assist you. And your second favour?”
A beat, and then The Immortal sat forward, elbows resting on the armrests and hands folded in front of him, as some strange, cold, unsettling anger lit in his eyes.
“I’m going to kill a God.”
Before Giles could formulate any kind of response, he continued.
“And I think you’re my best bet for help and information. Plus - I believe you have some experience in this matter.”
“...I beg your pardon?” Giles asked, taking on board what the other had said, and bristling against the implications. How the devil could The Immortal possibly know about...
“You killed a God once. Well, its human counterpart. Afraid my job won’t be quite so easy.”
Giles’ feelings went from incredulous through incoherence and then straight to cold fury.
“You think it was easy?”
Somewhere inside he could still vividly recall the feeling, the terrifying finality of taking a life...
“Yes,” The Immortal answered, voice completely neutral as he held Giles’ eyes.
“Get the hell out of my office!” Giles spat, not trusting himself to move for fear of actually physically attacking the monster with the face of a man across from him.
But The Immortal only smiled coldly, not moving an inch.
“And when Illyria destroys the world, I’ll make sure to let her know that you helped pave the way.”
For a second time Giles found himself tripped up by an unexpected change of subject.
“Excuse me? You... you want to kill Illyria? I admit that she is hardly the most forthcoming of creatures, but her help has been invaluable on numerous occasions. If all you have to offer is insults, I suggest you act on my words and leave.”
The Immortal shook his head.
“She will betray you.”
“You can’t know that.”
“I can, because I’ve seen it already.”
Still fuming, Giles’ eyes narrowed.
“How, if I may ask?”
The Immortal studied him silently for a long moment, and Giles began to wonder if he could trust a single word he had heard. Time traveller from the future indeed. But then The Immortal stared speaking, words slow and measured, and Giles found himself listening despite everything.
“I saw the end of the world. I saw Earth’s population decimated and humanity enslaved. I saw the Council destroyed, Buffy executed on live TV, Slayers hunted like prey and Willow-”
He suddenly broke off, briefly looking away.
“Sorry. It haunts me. Willow died, trying to save us.”
Giles, for the first time, began considering the idea that The Immortal was just completely mad, or... maybe he had inherited those visions from the Powers that Angel had mentioned? But before he could ask The Immortal once more fastened his eyes on Giles’ face, voice straining to contain the anger broiling under the surface.
“But through it all, the year of untold hell - Illyria did nothing. She did not lift a finger to save any of you, even though she was one of the few with the power to do so. And do you know why? Because she saw an empire, and she wanted it. Oh she likes you, I’m sure, but you’re still just - and I quote - ‘the muck at her feet’. If you’re in her way, she’ll walk right over you mark my words. And now she knows what’s out there: Endless worlds just waiting to be conquered. It’s not a matter of ‘if’ she’ll betray you, it’s a matter of ‘when’. It might be a hundred - a thousand - years from now, but that day will come.”
The conviction in The Immortal’s voice was clear, but still Giles found the tale too tall for his liking.
“I’m afraid I find your charge hard to take at face value. Or is this another story from the future?”
The Immortal shook his head.
“It happened in a paradox - last year. The underlying cause was destroyed, and time rewound. But those of us in the centre of it still remember.”
“Give me one single piece of evidence.”
The Immortal sat very still for a long time, seemingly lost in thought for a second time. Then his eyes narrowed and he tilted his head.
“I can get you access to the Saxon Files, but right now... There’s something I’ve wondered about. Did she cry?”
Giles remembered this from Rome - this strange, enigmatically nonsensical, disjointed discourse.
“I’m sorry?”
“Illyria. Did she cry when she heard that Harold Saxon had been killed?”
Giles stared at him astonished.
“How...”
The Immortal’s voice was now pure bitterness.
“He cried too, after he killed her. Came to me and told me how we should have all fallen down and worshipped at her feet. If ever there was a pair of star crossed lovers it was him and Illyria - forever looking for ways of stabbing each other in the back.”
Seeing the incomprehension on Giles’ face, he elaborated.
“Harold Saxon was an alien, the man who orchestrated the downfall of Earth... And the rest of the universe, in time. The files will explain the rest. My point, right now, is this: He killed Illyria. With Buffy’s Scythe. Said that she - Illyria - had a sarcophagus that could contain her essence, and that he was putting her back in something called the Deeper Well.”
He leaned forward, dark eagerness in his eyes and voice.
“That’s where I need your help. I have contacts in the demon world, so the sarcophagus is not a problem. But I figure the Deeper Well might fall under your jurisdiction. Not to mention the Scythe.”
Giles stared at him, trying to get to grips with what the other was saying, all thoughts of madness and visions fleeing.
“You... want me to get hold of Buffy’s Scythe for you so you can kill Illyria.”
The Immortal smiled - a cold, vicious smile that reminded Giles of the dark stories that no one could verify, but that clung to The Immortal’s reputation like bloodstains on a white silk shirt.
“I want to cut off her pretty little head and bury her so deep no one will ever find her, until the Earth itself burns up. And I might do a little dance on her grave for good measure.”
“I... see,” Giles said slowly, wishing that he was thirty years younger and had a Slayer’s strength so he could throw the psychopath in the big coat out of the window - something which was sadly not an option as things stood.
The Immortal shrugged, unaware - or not caring - about the impact of his words.
“There is precious little knowledge about the Old Ones around anymore, and most people refer to the Council as having the most information. But I’m not asking your permission, please understand that. I will kill her. And... I think you will help me.”
If Giles had ever met a more infuriating, smug, insulting - not to mention unsettling - person in his life, he couldn’t remember it.
“And why do you think I would do that?”
“For the same reason I came to you, and not Buffy. You’re a Watcher, and you’ll do whatever is necessary to keep the world safe.”
Seeing that Giles was still looking skeptical, he reached inside his coat and pulled out a piece of paper.
“Like I said - I’m not asking you to take my word as sole proof. Here are the details of the people you need to contact in order to see the Saxon Files, along with the relevant codes. They’re about as highly classified as it’s possible to get, but my name should see you through. Which reminds me - I mentioned doing you a favour. This man, Colonel Oduya-” he tapped the paper - “is probably the best man to talk to. You see, I’ve been thinking... you have an army of super powered girls. That can give the wrong impression, especially considering the number of species - both alien and demonic - that can body shift. Not that I’m not sure you are more than capable of sorting these things out yourself, but it would probably be helpful if you pulled together - no stepping on each other’s toes and all that. And you can tell them where to stick it when you’re dealing with demons.”
“That’s very considerate of you,” Giles said stiffly, not touching the paper, in case this would be seen as an indication that he somehow trusted the madness that had just fallen into his lap.
The Immortal got up - not trying to shake his hand, but instead putting his hands on the desk, leaning forward and studying Giles very intensely.
“Just... whatever you choose, swear to me that you will keep Dawn safe.”
“Dawn?” Giles asked surprised, affected despite himself by the earnest plea in the blue eyes across the desk.
“Illyria won’t hesitate in availing herself of the nearest interdimensional key if she should need it. Ask her if you don’t believe me - just make sure you’ve locked Dawn up first.”
Seeing the consternation on Giles’ face he reached inside his coat a second time.
“Here’s my direct number. Call me when you’ve made up your mind to help.”
With a swish of his coat he swept out of the room, leaving Giles with a new, and very unwelcome, dilemma.
***
The train pulled into Cardiff station, and Giles carefully gathered together his belongings. There was a part of him that still found it hard to believe he was actually doing this, but unfortunately The Immortal had been right. And Giles had sworn to protect this sorry world, which meant doing things he’d rather not...
As he stood on the platform a little later he looked around for The Immortal’s hard-to-be-missed coat, but frowned as the crowds thinned and the man was clearly not there.
Just as he was about to reach for his mobile phone to give The Immortal a call, a young man in a flawless suit stepped up to him - a little out of breath, as if he’d been running.
“Mr Giles, I presume?”
Giles nodded, a little thrown, and the man held his hand forward.
“My name is Ianto Jones. Captain Harkness sends his apologies, but he has unfortunately been detained and sent me to fetch you.”
Taking his hand Giles thanked him, but privately wondered how on earth The Immortal did it. Did he have armies of perfectly polite and immaculate servants scattered all around the globe? Although he was loath to admit it, Giles did rather envy him this...
Mr Jones offered to take his bags, which Giles readily accepted, only keeping the guitar case for himself.
“I’m supposed to be on holiday...” he said by way of explanation, and Mr Jones nodded gravely.
“Would you like me prepare something to lend your cover story more weight?”
Giles frowned, puzzled, and Mr Jones smiled apologetically.
“My apologies. Of course you have something ready. I wasn’t thinking. Busy... I was going to say morning, but really, it’s been nothing out of the ordinary.”
“And ‘the ordinary’ includes making up fictitious cover stories?” Giles asked lightly, and Mr Jones chuckled.
“One doesn’t get to be a secret undercover operation without learning to cover one’s tracks. I like those where I’m not covering up a murder.”
The polite candidness made Giles shoot the other a look, and then cautiously put forward a question.
“I’m sorry if I’m prying, but Captain Harkness was... very sketchy in describing this... Torchwood. Would you mind explaining what you do in a little more detail, Mr Jones?”
“Not at all. And please call me Ianto...”
The following ten minute car journey turned out to be very illuminating.
***
The garage didn’t look much out of the ordinary, but Ianto smiled and led the way towards a door at the back.
“Mr Giles - welcome to Torchwood.”
Giles followed, wondering at the playful nature of the smile, and then almost faltered.
The narrow passageway opened up to a huge cavernous expanse. He remembered The Immortal saying that the place had been established by Queen Victoria, but he’d not counted on them still using the same space.
Off-white ceramic tiles, which reminded him of the Underground, covered most of the walls up to average ceiling height, but above that brick walls, so grimy with age that it was anyone’s guess what colour they’d been originally, stretched up and up to a black indistinguishable ceiling. The rest of the vast space was partly filled with different levels, connected by metal gangways and concrete steps built into the floor, and computer workstations were scattered about, as well as random pieces of technology that Giles couldn’t even begin to guess at. There were also modern structures over two floors, housing offices and a greenhouse from what Giles could ascertain. And in the middle...
In the middle what looked like The Water Tower from Roald Dahl Plass.
“Are we directly beneath-” he began, voice trailing off, and Ianto nodded.
“Indeed we are. There are a couple of other ways in - one from a tourist office, and we also have an invisible lift, but it struck me that this route was probably preferable in the circumstances.”
Giles shot the other man a look. “Yes. It’s appreciated. Thank you.”
He was unsure how to react to the sight of Torchwood, and was grateful The Immortal wasn’t there yet, since it seemed Giles was going to have every preconception of the man altered. This place... He needed time to think through what it meant.
It wasn’t until Ianto politely cleared his throat that he realised that he’d become lost in thought.
“The safest place for your luggage is probably Jack’s office. If you’ll follow me...”
Having seen the guitar case safely stowed away, Giles was startled by a sharp squawk, scanning the surroundings for the source, and Ianto pointed upwards.
“Pterodactyl.”
Giles nodded, remembering the explanation of the dimensional rift running through the city, and how Ianto had used the pteradon as a prime example of the randomness of the things that came through. Scanning the deep dark depths of the ceiling until he fastened on what could only be a nest, he saw a prehistoric wing flapping about, and marvelled.
“Would you like something to drink while we wait? My coffee is excellent,” Ianto continued calmly, as if having just introduced the family labrador, and Giles nodded absently.
“Yes. Yes coffee would be just the thing,” he answered, telling himself to get a grip. It wasn’t as if he was unfamiliar with the peculiar or strange - there had been that old lady with the three headed goat a few weeks back, and Faith was right now dealing with some kind of South American Loch Ness monster. Not to mention the unicorn that Chao Ahn was investigating...
No, this was not about the strangeness of the sights, but all about the reasons for his visit. Coffee... coffee would be more than welcome.
“Please take a seat,” Ianto indicated a worn sofa. “I’m afraid nothing here is very posh, but it’s clean, trust me.”
Then his hand went to his ear, and he nodded.
“Yes, he’s here...”
A chuckle, and another nod.
“Will do. See you shortly.”
Looking up, he smiled.
“They should be back very soon. Now, let me get you a drink.”
Shortly afterward Giles was drinking an exceedingly good cup of coffee, wondering if he could get Ianto to share his secret (not even magic could make Theresa’s coffee drinkable), when a loud alarm suddenly rang out. The heavy roll door cranked open, and in strode The Immortal, coat billowing in his wake, and Giles was suddenly reminded rather forcefully of Angel. No wonder Buffy had fallen for him...
After him walked a dark haired woman, pretty, but with an edge of steel in her eyes that almost made Giles smile.
The Immortal threw his arms wide.
“Giles! Welcome! I trust that Ianto has looked after you?”
“Splendidly, yes, thank you,” Giles replied, standing up and holding out his hand.
The Immortal... no Jack, he needed to remember this, shook it thoroughly, then turned to the woman beside him.
“Gwen, this is Rupert Giles, the head of the Council of Watchers. Giles, this is Gwen Cooper, my second in command.”
Giles shook her hand, and she smiled a toothy welcome.
“Welcome to Torchwood! You’re here to sort out the vampire, right? I didn’t even know vampires existed until Spike and Buffy came by that time.”
For a second Giles wasn’t sure he’d heard correctly.
“Buffy and Spike were here?”
Jack pulled an apologetic face.
“Did I... not mention that?”
“No,” Giles said unhappily, “and neither did they. What were they doing here?”
Jack shrugged.
“Happened across them in town when tracking down an alien and... Buffy wanted some answers. I would probably have brought it up when I went to see you, except we were a little... preoccupied.”
“Yes, rather,” Giles agreed, discomfort settling on him once more as he remembered the meeting, and he took a step towards the office.
“Well no time like the present - shall I fetch the spell ingredients?”
He didn’t wait for an answer, suddenly hating the situation more than ever, and wincing as he heard Jack laugh and tell his employees to get their minds out of the gutter.
The fact that being thought a paramour of The Immortal was a preferable option to the truth was just another price to pay for trying to do the right thing... Although knowing that Buffy had lied to him already did make him feel fractionally better about going behind her back. And he had to, for the sake of her marriage. He had no doubt that Buffy would act on the information on Illyria, no matter Spike’s attachment to the Hell God, but it would undoubtedly drive a wedge between them. So here he was...
(Her betrayer and her protector all at once. Funny how history repeated itself.)
Sighing deeply he grabbed hold of the bag they needed. If anyone had ever told he’d be in cahoots with The Immortal...
The Invincible Vampire had been laid out in the medical bay, a white-tiled and scrupulously clean space in its own little alcove.
(Apparently the morgue consisted of 52 underground bays and counting. No wonder the catacombs had held no dread for The Immortal Giles though grimly, as he contemplated how deep the base had to go. Layers and layers of dead people. Rather appropriate, all things told.)
Purging the macabre thoughts from his mind, Giles took stock of the situation.
“Very good. I will need to set up a few items...”
He opened his bag and removed the candles and herbs, before bringing out a piece of chalk and carefully studying the table to see how large the circle would need to be. Thankfully the floor was concrete - white tiles would have been tricky to mark. But as he bent down to draw, Jack stopped him with a hand on his arm.
“Wait. You didn’t say anything about drawing symbols!”
“Is there a problem?”
Jack studied him silently, then bit his lip and let go of him.
“No. Fine. Go ahead.”
Giles tried to smile politely, but the antipathy was palpable, and he once more cursed the day The Immortal had walked into Buffy’s life.
Gwen however was watching with huge eyes.
“So this is, like, actual, real magic?”
“Yes,” Jack replied curtly, and Gwen shot him a speculative look, before quietly stepping backwards, observing, but not venturing forth with any more questions.
As Giles began to position the various candles, and looking through his notes - correct pronunciation was key - Jack began to slowly walk back and forth, knuckles shining white from gripping the stake, and tenseness now hanging around him like a shroud.
“Jack,” Ianto said tersely after a minute, “I swear - if you don’t stop pacing I’ll lock you in one of the weevil cells!”
Giles looked up, surprised. He’d been expecting the blank obedience of the Rome servants, but the look on Ianto’s face was exasperated and not a little angry.
“I don’t like it,” Jack replied, and Ianto sighed.
“Do I have to remind you that you asked him to come?”
“Look I’ve hated magic for more than a hundred years, it’s not the kind of dislike you can just overcome in a moment. There are... a lot of bad associations.”
Ianto rolled his eyes.
“Well the Daleks came with worse associations, but you still ran off to fight them without a second’s hesitation.”
Jack opened his mouth, hesitated, and then - miracles of miracles! - closed it again, and Giles appreciation of Ianto rose by several hundred degrees.
The spell was complex, but Gwen and Ianto proved surprisingly able helpers, something Giles made sure to remark upon once the spell was over.
“Not so different from trying to follow alien manuals,” Ianto shrugged, and Gwen nodded.
“We once had to defuse this bomb - this was while Jack was away - and there was this ridiculously complicated sequence-”
Jack interrupted the anecdote, impatiently tapping the stake against his leg.
“So - he’s just a normal vampire now.”
“Yes,” Giles replied patiently. “You can stake him now.”
Jack lifted his hand, and then stopped. A slow smile spread across his face, and Giles wondered what had finally broken the tension.
“Gwen, I’ve not been thinking straight. This is your job.”
“What?” she asked, flummoxed.
“Vampire Slayers are girls. Go on - have a go!”
He tossed her the stake, and she stared at it.
“I am pretty sure it doesn’t say anything about staking vampires in my contract...”
“Oh go on. Try.”
“But he’s... all frozen.”
Jack grinned.
“Ianto - fry him!”
Ianto brought out some electrical tool or other, attached it to the vampire, and shot a full charge through him.
“And he’s all yours!” Jack said, as the creature slowly began groaning.
But-” Gwen said, looking from face to face.
“Very simple. Stake goes through the heart, vampire goes poof! Go on, before he tries to bite you!”
Face filled with sudden determination, she raised the stake and plunged it into the vampire’s chest.
Giles stood back as the demon exploded, and Gwen burst out laughing.
“Oh my God. It... really just went poof. That’s amazing!”
“See - knew you could do it! Oh I remember this one night on a beach when Buffy fought about... five. Or was it six? Hmmm, fantastic evening. Especially because then-”
He suddenly broke off, curbing a grin.
“Ah. She’d do worse than kill me if I told you.”
Ianto, busy brushing dust off his suit, shot Jack a weary look.
“You’re impossible. I’ve no idea why we put up with you.”
“Oh come on Ianto - you know exactly why you put up with me!”
The bright, suggestive smile was par for the course, but Ianto’s answering one was a surprise, and Giles felt his brain scrambling to catch up, as he was reminded of Andrew’s report which had talked about a ‘Jones’... Could it be the same man? Ianto had not hinted at any kind of knowledge of Jack’s alter ego - although, to be fair, he’d readily admitted to being an accomplished liar.
Turning it over in his mind, Giles thought that he’d sleep a lot easier knowing that Jack had someone like Ianto keeping him in check - there was something reassuringly Watcher-ly about the young man.
His thoughts were interrupted by a loud screeching alarm, which made all three Torchwood people run for the main area with a speed (and choice swear words) that spoke of genuine urgency, and Giles - figuring he would probably be in the way - slowly and methodically began to clear away the spell ingredients. Still he couldn’t help listening to the swift back-and-forth discussions that filtered down, which reminded him so forcefully of his own Slayers that he had to stop himself from offering advice.
Not that his advice was needed, as Jack quickly determined the best course of action and sent Ianto and Gwen out to deal with the emergency at hand.
When Giles made his way to the centre of the Hub again, all magical artefacts carefully stored away in the bag, he found Jack waiting for him.
“Two alarms in four hours. I could do without days like this. Still,” he smiled joylessly, “not the end of the world.”
“Indeed,” Giles returned, and Jack nodded slowly.
“You read the Saxon files,” he said. It was a statement, not a question, so Giles didn’t feel compelled to answer.
He didn’t want to discuss what he’d discovered, although Jack’s strange mixture of reluctance and suppressed anger now made a great deal more sense... As did his unpleasant invocation of Glory’s fate.
The Year That Had Never Been, soaked in the blood of millions, brought to life from dry military reports, where facts and witness reports had been scrupulously collected... the fate of the Slayers a mere footnote. And - despite himself - Giles had been forced to reconsider his opinion of The Immortal. To be a sadistic madman’s plaything for a year explained the... unhinged quality to the man’s attitude, and Giles wondered how he’d never considered that The Immortal’s immortality could be used against him.
Thankfully Jack didn’t seem to expect an answer, and instead tilted his head.
“You want to come into my office and talk shop? I’ve turned off the CCTV, we can talk freely.”
Giles nodded, and followed Jack into the office, retrieving his guitar case from under the desk.
“You going to serenade me?” Jack asked happily, but then swiftly turned serious as Giles opened the case and brought out Buffy’s Scythe.
It looked impossibly out of place against the grey, technical functionality of Torchwood... The smooth curves and deep colours standing out like a beacon from another world, and for the first time Giles began to wonder how exactly The Immortal managed to live in both worlds, and what kind of personality split was necessary in order to cope.
“How did you get it off her?” Jack asked softly as he took it from Giles’ hands, reverently turning it over.
“Told her I’d discovered some new information and needed to have a proper look at it.”
“And have you?” Jack asked, eyes sharp and calculating.
“Of course I have,” Giles snapped back impatiently. “And I am not happy about this, in case you haven’t noticed.”
Jack lowered his eyes, and Giles took a deep breath before digging out the notes at the back out the case.
“You will need these also - it will explain how her essence is to contained within her sarcophagus.”
“Thank you,” Jack said quietly, obviously trying his best to curb his own discomfort. “Are you in charge of the Deeper Well by the way?”
“More or less. The murder of Drogyn was a tragic loss, and we are still looking for a replacement. But as things stand I’ll certainly be able to perform the necessary rites.”
Jack nodded and carefully returned the Scythe and notes to the guitar case, before opening a safe in the wall and locking them in, much to Giles’ silent approval.
“Well that’s that done. Come on - sit down, have a cup of coffee. I swear, Ianto makes the best coffee in the world.”
“So I discovered.”
And impossible as Giles would once have thought the idea, he had to admit that he had misjudged the other man. It was probably a combination of factors, the knowledge of Jack’s suffering not the least, but looking around at the Hub Giles thought that maybe the surroundings played a not insignificant role. The Immortal’s mansion was... beautiful, but a place of somewhat impersonal luxury. The home of someone for whom life and death were remote and largely ignored. This place however - dark, battered, functional - felt much more... real in its grimness. Giles disliked the word ‘real’ (there was something about kids these days ‘keeping it real’, whatever that meant), but he nonetheless suspected that - despite his deep reservations about The Immortal - Captain Jack Harkness might be someone he could respect. Taking a sip of his coffee he ventured a question.
“Your Mr Jones... I was wondering... Oxford or Cambridge?”
At which Jack threw his head back and laughed whole-heartedly, and Giles tried not to sigh. Respect, yes. Like... probably not.
***
One month later, the Deeper Well
It was a cold night, autumn beginning to assert its influence. Jack wished he had a teleport or a transmat, since that would have made life a lot simpler, but slow and steady still won the race.
The silent shadow of Ianto was next to him, and behind him eight sturdy Vahrall demons, carrying Illyria’s sarcophagus.
For about the millionth time he turned his head, just to make sure it was there - that she hadn’t magically come back to life, that his plan had actually worked, that this wasn’t a dream or fantasy...
He’d thought he’d feel... different. That his actions would have brought closure, or satisfaction, or... something. The Master’s drunken ramblings (“You’ve heard the news, right? I killed God today!”) still stood out far too painfully in his memory, but he felt no similar triumph, nor any kind of sudden god-complex resulting from his actions. He’d said he’d dance on her grave, but he didn’t feel like dancing. Mostly what he felt was tired.
One down, how many more to go?
This planet... He loved this planet, but the cost of protecting it was beginning to add up. How many more would he lose, how many more would be sacrificed in order to keep Earth safe? And they never stopped coming... Demons and wanna-be gods and war mongering species from all over the universe, not to mention humankind itself - how long before the fire finally burned out and he couldn’t do this anymore? Would he end up as Alex, the man who had left him in command of Torchwood by killing himself and all his co-workers out of despair? Except death was never an option...
As the opening to the Deeper Well became apparent he spotted Giles and a couple of older Watchers waiting for them in the gathering gloom. Introductions were made, respects paid, and Jack was painfully, pathetically, grateful for the calm stoicism of the English... Even the slight fussiness of the older men - who were quietly arguing about different interpretations of ancient texts and how this might affect the ritual, as well as the particular legalities regarding Old Ones - was like a balm. It made the enormity of what he’d done fade into the background, quietly subjecting it to the scrutiny of institutions nearly as old as time, and made the act less important than which rules had been followed or broken.
Then they dove into the belly of the Earth, and Jack had to fight to stop himself from running back out as fast as his legs could carry him. Two thousand years were weighing on him, the half-memories of an unconscious deathlike unexistance, with earth above and below and all around (in his mouth, in his throat, he couldn’t even scream), history moving on and on and on... entombed like these who had once been gods.
(“What makes you think you could ever harm me?” she had asked, coldly dismissive - and he had laughed, taking her by surprise.
“I am more immortal than you. And what’s more... I remember - ‘Lyria.”
He had seen fear in her eyes then, and had known that victory would be his. But as he’d prepared to deliver the killing blow, she’d smiled, and her features had returned to that of the dead woman whose body she’d stolen. Yet her face had been cold and calculating, soft brown eyes holding less warmth than a frozen wasteland.
“You will remember me. Because you always remember what you killed ... Don't you, Jack?”
He still didn’t know why the words had unsettled him so. But at the back of his mind there was quiet terror and loss that he couldn't explain, and he hated that even in death she'd won.)
Once the spells were done, and his presence no longer needed, he stepped out of the ante chamber and found Ianto on the bridge across the Well itself, face lit up by the ghostly light from below. He didn’t look up as Jack stepped up next to him, but after a moment spoke:
“There is a hole in the world. I never knew.”
“Does it bother you?” Jack asked softly, and Ianto turned his head, his face pale and almost otherworldly, but oddly calm.
“No.”
He laid his hand on top of Jack’s, and continued, eyes searching and full of complex emotions.
“You killed a god, and the world is hollow. Seems fitting somehow.”
The only answer Jack could give was the silence of the dead that surrounded them.
(He had killed a god... But in his memories there was a silver amulet that could tell the future, and dead bodies.
“21st Century, everything changes, Jack. And we’re not ready...”
He didn’t know how to tell Ianto that it wasn’t just the world that was hollow.)
Interlude: Secret Santa.
Chapter 5.
Index post for the whole ‘verse here. And the first chapter of this sequel (with Important Notes) here.
Summary: The Immortal is Captain Jack Harkness. This is what happened next.
Setting: This chapter - 2008 (The summer post 'Journey's End').
Spoilers: Torchwood, up to, and including, Children of Earth (eventually).
Rating: PG-13. (Some swearing.)
Genre: FitB, character study, BtVS/AtS/Doctor Who/Torchwood crossover.
Pairings/characters: Jack/Ianto, Gwen, Giles.
Word count: 7200+ words.
Thank you's: To my wonderful beta kathyh who really helped me get this into shape! (All mistakes mine.)
Disclaimer: Joss and RTD own these characters, I'm just playing with them.
Feedback: *is not above begging*
Chapter 4
Giles: She's a hero, you see. She's not like us.
~
Spike: And we just keep coming. But you can kill a hundred, a thousand, a thousand thousand and the enemies of Hell besides and all we need is for one of us - just one - sooner or later to have the thing we're all hoping for. One... good... day.
August 2008, London, The Watcher’s Council
“Mr Giles, there is a man to see you...”
Theresa’s voice sounded oddly flustered over the intercom, and Giles frowned. His secretary could generally be counted on to be more than calm at even the worst of times - not to mention the fact that she knew his diary inside and out, and relished reminding him of things he’d forgotten.
“What kind of man?”
“He says his name is Captain Jack Harkness, and that he’s from...” a brief pause, “Torchwood.”
“Never heard of it,” Giles replied, although it rang a distant bell somewhere. “Does he have an appointment?”
“He does...” Her voice went uncertain again, and Giles sighed.
“Fine. Just send him in.”
At least he’d managed to have a decent lunch today, and figured he might just as well take the bull by the horns.
Surveying the comfortable, wood-panelled room and everything it represented, he couldn’t help smiling. The efforts to reinstate the Watcher’s Council hadn’t been smooth sailing by any stretch, but they were beginning to gain ground now, five years hard work paying off. They had freshly minted Watchers from the new Academy to support the Slayers, and the intense feeling of ‘Never Enough, Not Prepared’ was slowly receding. And today, with the sun shining hotly outside his window, he felt ready to face the future, whatever - or whoever - it might bring.
When the door swung open, however, he immediately regretted his decision. In the doorway stood The Immortal, dressed in a World War 2 great coat and smiling widely.
“Hel-lo Giles.”
“Why are you here?” Giles asked tightly, as The Immortal put a finger across his lips with a wink, closed the door, and uninvited took a seat on the other side of the wide mahogany desk.
“I have a favour to ask. Well two actually. And one to give in return.”
“Indeed,” Giles replied coolly. “And what’s with the name? I’m presuming it’s not real.”
The Immortal grinned, all white Hollywood teeth and flashiness. “No it’s not. But I am a real Captain, so - if you wouldn’t mind - I’d prefer it if you could use that title? Working hard to keep my identities separate.”
Despite his instinctive dislike, Giles forced himself to recall the recent report Andrew had sent him about The Immortal intervening in a demon clan kerfuffle - a story which had been amply backed up by the half-demon at the heart of it. The young man had been yet another babbling Immortal admirer, but as far as Giles had been able to make out the whole thing had been done with no bloodshed, and for now he was ready to at least listen to what the other had to say.
“Very well Captain. And what is... Torchwood? I can’t quite place it.”
“Canary Wharf was also known as Torchwood Tower. But the organisation was actually set up by Queen Victoria herself to deal with alien and other unusual threats. They recruited me in 1899, and I’ve been running the Cardiff branch since 2000. Now what I was going to ask-”
Giles held up his hand.
“Sorry. I need to stop you right there - to be honest I’ve had enough of tall tales and mystery.”
The Immortal looked hurt.
“But I’ve been telling you the truth!”
Giles leaned back in his chair, studying the other man with quiet satisfaction. He was not about to waste his first chance of having the upper hand, and, smiling politely, he began setting forth his terms.
“If you want my help in any way, I insist on knowing who I am dealing with. I am afraid that the fact that Buffy trusts you isn’t enough for me to do the same. So - who are you? Where did you come from? How can you predict the future? I’ve had people research the legends of The Immortal, and it all ends in fairy tales and myths with nothing substantial of any kind - as if you sprung out of nowhere and spun tales to cover it up.”
“Not bad,” The Immortal replied, something like appreciation in his eyes. “That’s more or less what happened.”
Giles tilted his head.
“I’m presuming you didn’t come out of literally nowhere? Unless you came from a parallel dimension? Or, as Spike would have us believe, the worst hell imaginable...”
The Immortal studied him for a long time, then his eyes narrowed, and a small smile appeared in the corner of his mouth.
“Fair enough. I’ve never shown anyone this, and if I tell you this I insist it goes no further than this room. Can I borrow your computer?”
Slightly thrown Giles acquiesced, turning the screen towards the middle of the table and trying to make the keyboard and mouse cables stretch to the other side. He resented having this stuff in his office, and yet he knew he couldn’t be without them.
Then he noticed that The Immortal was apparently hacking into NASA.
“Can I ask-”
“No. Just hang on.”
A few more taps, a suppressed chuckle, and suddenly a starscape filled the screen, strange symbols - whether mathematical or alien in origin Giles couldn’t determine - displayed around the edges.
The Immortal stared at it in consternation, then frowned and tried to look at it sideways.
“They put it in upside down,” he said, surprise vying with petulance. “I give them a perfect Ettian star map, and they can’t tell up from down. Just a moment.”
“You... what?”
But The Immortal was typing again, and after a moment the stars all shifted and he smiled.
“The reason I was in Rome in 2004 was in order to dismantle a crashed space ship. NASA got a lot of stuff, including the star map. And... here we are. Now, to find Sol 3...”
A few strokes, and the solar system flashed up, as Giles tried to take on board this first revelation - and was forced to admit that the other man was clearly supremely good at covering things up.
“You know this I take it?” The Immortal asked, and Giles shot him a droll look.
“Very well. Now if we zoom out...” action followed words, and the circles turned into a dot, surrounded by other dots.
“Still with me? If we go further out, you can now see the whole galaxy, yes?”
Giles nodded, beginning to suspect he was being made a fool of, but unsure how to react.
“Now, if we move over here, and here, and here, and zoom back in.”
Another solar system, other planets.
“That planet there,” The Immortal pointed to the screen. “That’s where I was born. In 3000 years’ time; during the Third Great and Bountiful Human Empire.”
Giles looked from the screen to The Immortal’s face and back again.
“I’m a time traveller,” the other continued. “The reason I know that you eradicate vampires is because they don’t exist in the future. Nor do the Slayers. 21st Century everything changes. You change the world, and then you are forgotten, only remembered as fairy tales and myths. Much like me.”
Giles stared at the other man for a long moment, but The Immortal quite simply looked back, unmoving.
“So... you’re an alien?”
At this The Immortal chuckled.
“Mostly human, just... it’s a wide and wonderful universe.”
“I am not sure I-”
“If I wanted to lie, I could invent something much better, trust me.”
“But... why are you here?”
“Got stuck on Earth a long time ago. Needed to fill the time.”
“And the immortality?”
“Cosmic accident. And that’s all you’re getting. Now, can we talk?”
Giles studied the other man for a long moment. The answers had come readily enough, and well... the answers were certainly outrageous enough to take note of. But a time traveller...
“Tell me something from the future.”
The Immortal cocked an eyebrow.
“What would you like to know?”
For a moment Giles drew a blank, then he went with the obvious question.
“Who becomes the next President of America?”
“Obama. Can’t say I ever paid much attention to ancient history, but the first black president is something you tend to remember. Oh! And there’s a global financial crisis coming up soon. Like, in a month or two.”
“Isn’t there always?”
“Few get in the history books.”
Realising that there was no way of actually verifying the veracity of the statements, Giles decided to leave the matter for the time being. Although - if the man spoke the truth... A global financial crisis? He’d better double check all their new investments.
“Very well. Tell me what you want from me.”
The Immortal smiled lightly, making himself more comfortable in the chair.
“Let’s go with the easy one first. I have in storage The Invincible Vampire. I’m not sure that’s actually his real name, but every time I’ve tried to talk to him he just shouts ‘I’m Invincible!’ and then I have to stake him to stop him from eating anyone. Always comes back to life however, which is why we keep him cryo-frozen. Now Buffy once mentioned that she fought Dracula and that he had the same knack for pulling himself back together, so I’m presuming that it’s magic of some kind, and would be... most obliged if you could assist in working out some kind of counter spell so I could get rid of him for good. Figured it might come in handy if you want to off Dracula some day too.”
Giles tilted his head, pleasantly surprised at the turn events were taking.
“Interesting. Yes, I think we might be able to assist you. And your second favour?”
A beat, and then The Immortal sat forward, elbows resting on the armrests and hands folded in front of him, as some strange, cold, unsettling anger lit in his eyes.
“I’m going to kill a God.”
Before Giles could formulate any kind of response, he continued.
“And I think you’re my best bet for help and information. Plus - I believe you have some experience in this matter.”
“...I beg your pardon?” Giles asked, taking on board what the other had said, and bristling against the implications. How the devil could The Immortal possibly know about...
“You killed a God once. Well, its human counterpart. Afraid my job won’t be quite so easy.”
Giles’ feelings went from incredulous through incoherence and then straight to cold fury.
“You think it was easy?”
Somewhere inside he could still vividly recall the feeling, the terrifying finality of taking a life...
“Yes,” The Immortal answered, voice completely neutral as he held Giles’ eyes.
“Get the hell out of my office!” Giles spat, not trusting himself to move for fear of actually physically attacking the monster with the face of a man across from him.
But The Immortal only smiled coldly, not moving an inch.
“And when Illyria destroys the world, I’ll make sure to let her know that you helped pave the way.”
For a second time Giles found himself tripped up by an unexpected change of subject.
“Excuse me? You... you want to kill Illyria? I admit that she is hardly the most forthcoming of creatures, but her help has been invaluable on numerous occasions. If all you have to offer is insults, I suggest you act on my words and leave.”
The Immortal shook his head.
“She will betray you.”
“You can’t know that.”
“I can, because I’ve seen it already.”
Still fuming, Giles’ eyes narrowed.
“How, if I may ask?”
The Immortal studied him silently for a long moment, and Giles began to wonder if he could trust a single word he had heard. Time traveller from the future indeed. But then The Immortal stared speaking, words slow and measured, and Giles found himself listening despite everything.
“I saw the end of the world. I saw Earth’s population decimated and humanity enslaved. I saw the Council destroyed, Buffy executed on live TV, Slayers hunted like prey and Willow-”
He suddenly broke off, briefly looking away.
“Sorry. It haunts me. Willow died, trying to save us.”
Giles, for the first time, began considering the idea that The Immortal was just completely mad, or... maybe he had inherited those visions from the Powers that Angel had mentioned? But before he could ask The Immortal once more fastened his eyes on Giles’ face, voice straining to contain the anger broiling under the surface.
“But through it all, the year of untold hell - Illyria did nothing. She did not lift a finger to save any of you, even though she was one of the few with the power to do so. And do you know why? Because she saw an empire, and she wanted it. Oh she likes you, I’m sure, but you’re still just - and I quote - ‘the muck at her feet’. If you’re in her way, she’ll walk right over you mark my words. And now she knows what’s out there: Endless worlds just waiting to be conquered. It’s not a matter of ‘if’ she’ll betray you, it’s a matter of ‘when’. It might be a hundred - a thousand - years from now, but that day will come.”
The conviction in The Immortal’s voice was clear, but still Giles found the tale too tall for his liking.
“I’m afraid I find your charge hard to take at face value. Or is this another story from the future?”
The Immortal shook his head.
“It happened in a paradox - last year. The underlying cause was destroyed, and time rewound. But those of us in the centre of it still remember.”
“Give me one single piece of evidence.”
The Immortal sat very still for a long time, seemingly lost in thought for a second time. Then his eyes narrowed and he tilted his head.
“I can get you access to the Saxon Files, but right now... There’s something I’ve wondered about. Did she cry?”
Giles remembered this from Rome - this strange, enigmatically nonsensical, disjointed discourse.
“I’m sorry?”
“Illyria. Did she cry when she heard that Harold Saxon had been killed?”
Giles stared at him astonished.
“How...”
The Immortal’s voice was now pure bitterness.
“He cried too, after he killed her. Came to me and told me how we should have all fallen down and worshipped at her feet. If ever there was a pair of star crossed lovers it was him and Illyria - forever looking for ways of stabbing each other in the back.”
Seeing the incomprehension on Giles’ face, he elaborated.
“Harold Saxon was an alien, the man who orchestrated the downfall of Earth... And the rest of the universe, in time. The files will explain the rest. My point, right now, is this: He killed Illyria. With Buffy’s Scythe. Said that she - Illyria - had a sarcophagus that could contain her essence, and that he was putting her back in something called the Deeper Well.”
He leaned forward, dark eagerness in his eyes and voice.
“That’s where I need your help. I have contacts in the demon world, so the sarcophagus is not a problem. But I figure the Deeper Well might fall under your jurisdiction. Not to mention the Scythe.”
Giles stared at him, trying to get to grips with what the other was saying, all thoughts of madness and visions fleeing.
“You... want me to get hold of Buffy’s Scythe for you so you can kill Illyria.”
The Immortal smiled - a cold, vicious smile that reminded Giles of the dark stories that no one could verify, but that clung to The Immortal’s reputation like bloodstains on a white silk shirt.
“I want to cut off her pretty little head and bury her so deep no one will ever find her, until the Earth itself burns up. And I might do a little dance on her grave for good measure.”
“I... see,” Giles said slowly, wishing that he was thirty years younger and had a Slayer’s strength so he could throw the psychopath in the big coat out of the window - something which was sadly not an option as things stood.
The Immortal shrugged, unaware - or not caring - about the impact of his words.
“There is precious little knowledge about the Old Ones around anymore, and most people refer to the Council as having the most information. But I’m not asking your permission, please understand that. I will kill her. And... I think you will help me.”
If Giles had ever met a more infuriating, smug, insulting - not to mention unsettling - person in his life, he couldn’t remember it.
“And why do you think I would do that?”
“For the same reason I came to you, and not Buffy. You’re a Watcher, and you’ll do whatever is necessary to keep the world safe.”
Seeing that Giles was still looking skeptical, he reached inside his coat and pulled out a piece of paper.
“Like I said - I’m not asking you to take my word as sole proof. Here are the details of the people you need to contact in order to see the Saxon Files, along with the relevant codes. They’re about as highly classified as it’s possible to get, but my name should see you through. Which reminds me - I mentioned doing you a favour. This man, Colonel Oduya-” he tapped the paper - “is probably the best man to talk to. You see, I’ve been thinking... you have an army of super powered girls. That can give the wrong impression, especially considering the number of species - both alien and demonic - that can body shift. Not that I’m not sure you are more than capable of sorting these things out yourself, but it would probably be helpful if you pulled together - no stepping on each other’s toes and all that. And you can tell them where to stick it when you’re dealing with demons.”
“That’s very considerate of you,” Giles said stiffly, not touching the paper, in case this would be seen as an indication that he somehow trusted the madness that had just fallen into his lap.
The Immortal got up - not trying to shake his hand, but instead putting his hands on the desk, leaning forward and studying Giles very intensely.
“Just... whatever you choose, swear to me that you will keep Dawn safe.”
“Dawn?” Giles asked surprised, affected despite himself by the earnest plea in the blue eyes across the desk.
“Illyria won’t hesitate in availing herself of the nearest interdimensional key if she should need it. Ask her if you don’t believe me - just make sure you’ve locked Dawn up first.”
Seeing the consternation on Giles’ face he reached inside his coat a second time.
“Here’s my direct number. Call me when you’ve made up your mind to help.”
With a swish of his coat he swept out of the room, leaving Giles with a new, and very unwelcome, dilemma.
***
The train pulled into Cardiff station, and Giles carefully gathered together his belongings. There was a part of him that still found it hard to believe he was actually doing this, but unfortunately The Immortal had been right. And Giles had sworn to protect this sorry world, which meant doing things he’d rather not...
As he stood on the platform a little later he looked around for The Immortal’s hard-to-be-missed coat, but frowned as the crowds thinned and the man was clearly not there.
Just as he was about to reach for his mobile phone to give The Immortal a call, a young man in a flawless suit stepped up to him - a little out of breath, as if he’d been running.
“Mr Giles, I presume?”
Giles nodded, a little thrown, and the man held his hand forward.
“My name is Ianto Jones. Captain Harkness sends his apologies, but he has unfortunately been detained and sent me to fetch you.”
Taking his hand Giles thanked him, but privately wondered how on earth The Immortal did it. Did he have armies of perfectly polite and immaculate servants scattered all around the globe? Although he was loath to admit it, Giles did rather envy him this...
Mr Jones offered to take his bags, which Giles readily accepted, only keeping the guitar case for himself.
“I’m supposed to be on holiday...” he said by way of explanation, and Mr Jones nodded gravely.
“Would you like me prepare something to lend your cover story more weight?”
Giles frowned, puzzled, and Mr Jones smiled apologetically.
“My apologies. Of course you have something ready. I wasn’t thinking. Busy... I was going to say morning, but really, it’s been nothing out of the ordinary.”
“And ‘the ordinary’ includes making up fictitious cover stories?” Giles asked lightly, and Mr Jones chuckled.
“One doesn’t get to be a secret undercover operation without learning to cover one’s tracks. I like those where I’m not covering up a murder.”
The polite candidness made Giles shoot the other a look, and then cautiously put forward a question.
“I’m sorry if I’m prying, but Captain Harkness was... very sketchy in describing this... Torchwood. Would you mind explaining what you do in a little more detail, Mr Jones?”
“Not at all. And please call me Ianto...”
The following ten minute car journey turned out to be very illuminating.
***
The garage didn’t look much out of the ordinary, but Ianto smiled and led the way towards a door at the back.
“Mr Giles - welcome to Torchwood.”
Giles followed, wondering at the playful nature of the smile, and then almost faltered.
The narrow passageway opened up to a huge cavernous expanse. He remembered The Immortal saying that the place had been established by Queen Victoria, but he’d not counted on them still using the same space.
Off-white ceramic tiles, which reminded him of the Underground, covered most of the walls up to average ceiling height, but above that brick walls, so grimy with age that it was anyone’s guess what colour they’d been originally, stretched up and up to a black indistinguishable ceiling. The rest of the vast space was partly filled with different levels, connected by metal gangways and concrete steps built into the floor, and computer workstations were scattered about, as well as random pieces of technology that Giles couldn’t even begin to guess at. There were also modern structures over two floors, housing offices and a greenhouse from what Giles could ascertain. And in the middle...
In the middle what looked like The Water Tower from Roald Dahl Plass.
“Are we directly beneath-” he began, voice trailing off, and Ianto nodded.
“Indeed we are. There are a couple of other ways in - one from a tourist office, and we also have an invisible lift, but it struck me that this route was probably preferable in the circumstances.”
Giles shot the other man a look. “Yes. It’s appreciated. Thank you.”
He was unsure how to react to the sight of Torchwood, and was grateful The Immortal wasn’t there yet, since it seemed Giles was going to have every preconception of the man altered. This place... He needed time to think through what it meant.
It wasn’t until Ianto politely cleared his throat that he realised that he’d become lost in thought.
“The safest place for your luggage is probably Jack’s office. If you’ll follow me...”
Having seen the guitar case safely stowed away, Giles was startled by a sharp squawk, scanning the surroundings for the source, and Ianto pointed upwards.
“Pterodactyl.”
Giles nodded, remembering the explanation of the dimensional rift running through the city, and how Ianto had used the pteradon as a prime example of the randomness of the things that came through. Scanning the deep dark depths of the ceiling until he fastened on what could only be a nest, he saw a prehistoric wing flapping about, and marvelled.
“Would you like something to drink while we wait? My coffee is excellent,” Ianto continued calmly, as if having just introduced the family labrador, and Giles nodded absently.
“Yes. Yes coffee would be just the thing,” he answered, telling himself to get a grip. It wasn’t as if he was unfamiliar with the peculiar or strange - there had been that old lady with the three headed goat a few weeks back, and Faith was right now dealing with some kind of South American Loch Ness monster. Not to mention the unicorn that Chao Ahn was investigating...
No, this was not about the strangeness of the sights, but all about the reasons for his visit. Coffee... coffee would be more than welcome.
“Please take a seat,” Ianto indicated a worn sofa. “I’m afraid nothing here is very posh, but it’s clean, trust me.”
Then his hand went to his ear, and he nodded.
“Yes, he’s here...”
A chuckle, and another nod.
“Will do. See you shortly.”
Looking up, he smiled.
“They should be back very soon. Now, let me get you a drink.”
Shortly afterward Giles was drinking an exceedingly good cup of coffee, wondering if he could get Ianto to share his secret (not even magic could make Theresa’s coffee drinkable), when a loud alarm suddenly rang out. The heavy roll door cranked open, and in strode The Immortal, coat billowing in his wake, and Giles was suddenly reminded rather forcefully of Angel. No wonder Buffy had fallen for him...
After him walked a dark haired woman, pretty, but with an edge of steel in her eyes that almost made Giles smile.
The Immortal threw his arms wide.
“Giles! Welcome! I trust that Ianto has looked after you?”
“Splendidly, yes, thank you,” Giles replied, standing up and holding out his hand.
The Immortal... no Jack, he needed to remember this, shook it thoroughly, then turned to the woman beside him.
“Gwen, this is Rupert Giles, the head of the Council of Watchers. Giles, this is Gwen Cooper, my second in command.”
Giles shook her hand, and she smiled a toothy welcome.
“Welcome to Torchwood! You’re here to sort out the vampire, right? I didn’t even know vampires existed until Spike and Buffy came by that time.”
For a second Giles wasn’t sure he’d heard correctly.
“Buffy and Spike were here?”
Jack pulled an apologetic face.
“Did I... not mention that?”
“No,” Giles said unhappily, “and neither did they. What were they doing here?”
Jack shrugged.
“Happened across them in town when tracking down an alien and... Buffy wanted some answers. I would probably have brought it up when I went to see you, except we were a little... preoccupied.”
“Yes, rather,” Giles agreed, discomfort settling on him once more as he remembered the meeting, and he took a step towards the office.
“Well no time like the present - shall I fetch the spell ingredients?”
He didn’t wait for an answer, suddenly hating the situation more than ever, and wincing as he heard Jack laugh and tell his employees to get their minds out of the gutter.
The fact that being thought a paramour of The Immortal was a preferable option to the truth was just another price to pay for trying to do the right thing... Although knowing that Buffy had lied to him already did make him feel fractionally better about going behind her back. And he had to, for the sake of her marriage. He had no doubt that Buffy would act on the information on Illyria, no matter Spike’s attachment to the Hell God, but it would undoubtedly drive a wedge between them. So here he was...
(Her betrayer and her protector all at once. Funny how history repeated itself.)
Sighing deeply he grabbed hold of the bag they needed. If anyone had ever told he’d be in cahoots with The Immortal...
The Invincible Vampire had been laid out in the medical bay, a white-tiled and scrupulously clean space in its own little alcove.
(Apparently the morgue consisted of 52 underground bays and counting. No wonder the catacombs had held no dread for The Immortal Giles though grimly, as he contemplated how deep the base had to go. Layers and layers of dead people. Rather appropriate, all things told.)
Purging the macabre thoughts from his mind, Giles took stock of the situation.
“Very good. I will need to set up a few items...”
He opened his bag and removed the candles and herbs, before bringing out a piece of chalk and carefully studying the table to see how large the circle would need to be. Thankfully the floor was concrete - white tiles would have been tricky to mark. But as he bent down to draw, Jack stopped him with a hand on his arm.
“Wait. You didn’t say anything about drawing symbols!”
“Is there a problem?”
Jack studied him silently, then bit his lip and let go of him.
“No. Fine. Go ahead.”
Giles tried to smile politely, but the antipathy was palpable, and he once more cursed the day The Immortal had walked into Buffy’s life.
Gwen however was watching with huge eyes.
“So this is, like, actual, real magic?”
“Yes,” Jack replied curtly, and Gwen shot him a speculative look, before quietly stepping backwards, observing, but not venturing forth with any more questions.
As Giles began to position the various candles, and looking through his notes - correct pronunciation was key - Jack began to slowly walk back and forth, knuckles shining white from gripping the stake, and tenseness now hanging around him like a shroud.
“Jack,” Ianto said tersely after a minute, “I swear - if you don’t stop pacing I’ll lock you in one of the weevil cells!”
Giles looked up, surprised. He’d been expecting the blank obedience of the Rome servants, but the look on Ianto’s face was exasperated and not a little angry.
“I don’t like it,” Jack replied, and Ianto sighed.
“Do I have to remind you that you asked him to come?”
“Look I’ve hated magic for more than a hundred years, it’s not the kind of dislike you can just overcome in a moment. There are... a lot of bad associations.”
Ianto rolled his eyes.
“Well the Daleks came with worse associations, but you still ran off to fight them without a second’s hesitation.”
Jack opened his mouth, hesitated, and then - miracles of miracles! - closed it again, and Giles appreciation of Ianto rose by several hundred degrees.
The spell was complex, but Gwen and Ianto proved surprisingly able helpers, something Giles made sure to remark upon once the spell was over.
“Not so different from trying to follow alien manuals,” Ianto shrugged, and Gwen nodded.
“We once had to defuse this bomb - this was while Jack was away - and there was this ridiculously complicated sequence-”
Jack interrupted the anecdote, impatiently tapping the stake against his leg.
“So - he’s just a normal vampire now.”
“Yes,” Giles replied patiently. “You can stake him now.”
Jack lifted his hand, and then stopped. A slow smile spread across his face, and Giles wondered what had finally broken the tension.
“Gwen, I’ve not been thinking straight. This is your job.”
“What?” she asked, flummoxed.
“Vampire Slayers are girls. Go on - have a go!”
He tossed her the stake, and she stared at it.
“I am pretty sure it doesn’t say anything about staking vampires in my contract...”
“Oh go on. Try.”
“But he’s... all frozen.”
Jack grinned.
“Ianto - fry him!”
Ianto brought out some electrical tool or other, attached it to the vampire, and shot a full charge through him.
“And he’s all yours!” Jack said, as the creature slowly began groaning.
But-” Gwen said, looking from face to face.
“Very simple. Stake goes through the heart, vampire goes poof! Go on, before he tries to bite you!”
Face filled with sudden determination, she raised the stake and plunged it into the vampire’s chest.
Giles stood back as the demon exploded, and Gwen burst out laughing.
“Oh my God. It... really just went poof. That’s amazing!”
“See - knew you could do it! Oh I remember this one night on a beach when Buffy fought about... five. Or was it six? Hmmm, fantastic evening. Especially because then-”
He suddenly broke off, curbing a grin.
“Ah. She’d do worse than kill me if I told you.”
Ianto, busy brushing dust off his suit, shot Jack a weary look.
“You’re impossible. I’ve no idea why we put up with you.”
“Oh come on Ianto - you know exactly why you put up with me!”
The bright, suggestive smile was par for the course, but Ianto’s answering one was a surprise, and Giles felt his brain scrambling to catch up, as he was reminded of Andrew’s report which had talked about a ‘Jones’... Could it be the same man? Ianto had not hinted at any kind of knowledge of Jack’s alter ego - although, to be fair, he’d readily admitted to being an accomplished liar.
Turning it over in his mind, Giles thought that he’d sleep a lot easier knowing that Jack had someone like Ianto keeping him in check - there was something reassuringly Watcher-ly about the young man.
His thoughts were interrupted by a loud screeching alarm, which made all three Torchwood people run for the main area with a speed (and choice swear words) that spoke of genuine urgency, and Giles - figuring he would probably be in the way - slowly and methodically began to clear away the spell ingredients. Still he couldn’t help listening to the swift back-and-forth discussions that filtered down, which reminded him so forcefully of his own Slayers that he had to stop himself from offering advice.
Not that his advice was needed, as Jack quickly determined the best course of action and sent Ianto and Gwen out to deal with the emergency at hand.
When Giles made his way to the centre of the Hub again, all magical artefacts carefully stored away in the bag, he found Jack waiting for him.
“Two alarms in four hours. I could do without days like this. Still,” he smiled joylessly, “not the end of the world.”
“Indeed,” Giles returned, and Jack nodded slowly.
“You read the Saxon files,” he said. It was a statement, not a question, so Giles didn’t feel compelled to answer.
He didn’t want to discuss what he’d discovered, although Jack’s strange mixture of reluctance and suppressed anger now made a great deal more sense... As did his unpleasant invocation of Glory’s fate.
The Year That Had Never Been, soaked in the blood of millions, brought to life from dry military reports, where facts and witness reports had been scrupulously collected... the fate of the Slayers a mere footnote. And - despite himself - Giles had been forced to reconsider his opinion of The Immortal. To be a sadistic madman’s plaything for a year explained the... unhinged quality to the man’s attitude, and Giles wondered how he’d never considered that The Immortal’s immortality could be used against him.
Thankfully Jack didn’t seem to expect an answer, and instead tilted his head.
“You want to come into my office and talk shop? I’ve turned off the CCTV, we can talk freely.”
Giles nodded, and followed Jack into the office, retrieving his guitar case from under the desk.
“You going to serenade me?” Jack asked happily, but then swiftly turned serious as Giles opened the case and brought out Buffy’s Scythe.
It looked impossibly out of place against the grey, technical functionality of Torchwood... The smooth curves and deep colours standing out like a beacon from another world, and for the first time Giles began to wonder how exactly The Immortal managed to live in both worlds, and what kind of personality split was necessary in order to cope.
“How did you get it off her?” Jack asked softly as he took it from Giles’ hands, reverently turning it over.
“Told her I’d discovered some new information and needed to have a proper look at it.”
“And have you?” Jack asked, eyes sharp and calculating.
“Of course I have,” Giles snapped back impatiently. “And I am not happy about this, in case you haven’t noticed.”
Jack lowered his eyes, and Giles took a deep breath before digging out the notes at the back out the case.
“You will need these also - it will explain how her essence is to contained within her sarcophagus.”
“Thank you,” Jack said quietly, obviously trying his best to curb his own discomfort. “Are you in charge of the Deeper Well by the way?”
“More or less. The murder of Drogyn was a tragic loss, and we are still looking for a replacement. But as things stand I’ll certainly be able to perform the necessary rites.”
Jack nodded and carefully returned the Scythe and notes to the guitar case, before opening a safe in the wall and locking them in, much to Giles’ silent approval.
“Well that’s that done. Come on - sit down, have a cup of coffee. I swear, Ianto makes the best coffee in the world.”
“So I discovered.”
And impossible as Giles would once have thought the idea, he had to admit that he had misjudged the other man. It was probably a combination of factors, the knowledge of Jack’s suffering not the least, but looking around at the Hub Giles thought that maybe the surroundings played a not insignificant role. The Immortal’s mansion was... beautiful, but a place of somewhat impersonal luxury. The home of someone for whom life and death were remote and largely ignored. This place however - dark, battered, functional - felt much more... real in its grimness. Giles disliked the word ‘real’ (there was something about kids these days ‘keeping it real’, whatever that meant), but he nonetheless suspected that - despite his deep reservations about The Immortal - Captain Jack Harkness might be someone he could respect. Taking a sip of his coffee he ventured a question.
“Your Mr Jones... I was wondering... Oxford or Cambridge?”
At which Jack threw his head back and laughed whole-heartedly, and Giles tried not to sigh. Respect, yes. Like... probably not.
***
One month later, the Deeper Well
It was a cold night, autumn beginning to assert its influence. Jack wished he had a teleport or a transmat, since that would have made life a lot simpler, but slow and steady still won the race.
The silent shadow of Ianto was next to him, and behind him eight sturdy Vahrall demons, carrying Illyria’s sarcophagus.
For about the millionth time he turned his head, just to make sure it was there - that she hadn’t magically come back to life, that his plan had actually worked, that this wasn’t a dream or fantasy...
He’d thought he’d feel... different. That his actions would have brought closure, or satisfaction, or... something. The Master’s drunken ramblings (“You’ve heard the news, right? I killed God today!”) still stood out far too painfully in his memory, but he felt no similar triumph, nor any kind of sudden god-complex resulting from his actions. He’d said he’d dance on her grave, but he didn’t feel like dancing. Mostly what he felt was tired.
One down, how many more to go?
This planet... He loved this planet, but the cost of protecting it was beginning to add up. How many more would he lose, how many more would be sacrificed in order to keep Earth safe? And they never stopped coming... Demons and wanna-be gods and war mongering species from all over the universe, not to mention humankind itself - how long before the fire finally burned out and he couldn’t do this anymore? Would he end up as Alex, the man who had left him in command of Torchwood by killing himself and all his co-workers out of despair? Except death was never an option...
As the opening to the Deeper Well became apparent he spotted Giles and a couple of older Watchers waiting for them in the gathering gloom. Introductions were made, respects paid, and Jack was painfully, pathetically, grateful for the calm stoicism of the English... Even the slight fussiness of the older men - who were quietly arguing about different interpretations of ancient texts and how this might affect the ritual, as well as the particular legalities regarding Old Ones - was like a balm. It made the enormity of what he’d done fade into the background, quietly subjecting it to the scrutiny of institutions nearly as old as time, and made the act less important than which rules had been followed or broken.
Then they dove into the belly of the Earth, and Jack had to fight to stop himself from running back out as fast as his legs could carry him. Two thousand years were weighing on him, the half-memories of an unconscious deathlike unexistance, with earth above and below and all around (in his mouth, in his throat, he couldn’t even scream), history moving on and on and on... entombed like these who had once been gods.
(“What makes you think you could ever harm me?” she had asked, coldly dismissive - and he had laughed, taking her by surprise.
“I am more immortal than you. And what’s more... I remember - ‘Lyria.”
He had seen fear in her eyes then, and had known that victory would be his. But as he’d prepared to deliver the killing blow, she’d smiled, and her features had returned to that of the dead woman whose body she’d stolen. Yet her face had been cold and calculating, soft brown eyes holding less warmth than a frozen wasteland.
“You will remember me. Because you always remember what you killed ... Don't you, Jack?”
He still didn’t know why the words had unsettled him so. But at the back of his mind there was quiet terror and loss that he couldn't explain, and he hated that even in death she'd won.)
Once the spells were done, and his presence no longer needed, he stepped out of the ante chamber and found Ianto on the bridge across the Well itself, face lit up by the ghostly light from below. He didn’t look up as Jack stepped up next to him, but after a moment spoke:
“There is a hole in the world. I never knew.”
“Does it bother you?” Jack asked softly, and Ianto turned his head, his face pale and almost otherworldly, but oddly calm.
“No.”
He laid his hand on top of Jack’s, and continued, eyes searching and full of complex emotions.
“You killed a god, and the world is hollow. Seems fitting somehow.”
The only answer Jack could give was the silence of the dead that surrounded them.
(He had killed a god... But in his memories there was a silver amulet that could tell the future, and dead bodies.
“21st Century, everything changes, Jack. And we’re not ready...”
He didn’t know how to tell Ianto that it wasn’t just the world that was hollow.)
Interlude: Secret Santa.
Chapter 5.