Fic: Back, and Back, and Back a Little More (Future Optional) (2/7)
Title: Back, and Back, and Back a Little More (Future Optional) (2/7)
Author: nancybrown
Prompt: Back to the Future
Characters: Ianto, Jack, Jenny, Madame Vastra, Strax, Parker, Martha, Gwen
Rating: R
Warnings: violence, character death, mention of sexual assault, prostitution, language, and severe bending of time travel plausibility even taking all three canons into account
Spoilers: through TW: "Exit Wounds" and through DW: "The Snowmen"
Words: 32,500 (5,000 this part)
Beta: tymewyse and fide_et_spe both had a hand in making this far more comprehensible than it would have been. All remaining aspects of wtfery are mine alone.
Summary: Accidentally shot into the past by a time-travelling car, Ianto has to fix his own mistakes or he won't have a future to go back to.
AN: Written for reel_torchwood Screening 6. Also fills the Trope Bingo space: au:fusion
Disclaimer: BBC, Universal, RTD, Steven Moffat, and Robert Zemeckis own these characters and situations, and want nothing to do with this ridiculous fluff piece of faux-Victoriana.
Chapter One
***
Chapter Two
***
As the car died under him, Ianto felt himself gibbering in fear. Most of the gibbering was the word, "Shit!" repeated over and over like some scatological prayer. He was in the past, in the fucking 1880s, and his time machine had made the same sound as that poor Citroen Mam had driven did before the rusted out thing had to be towed away. He was utterly fucked. Panic made perfect sense.
Think!
He needed a secure place to store the car. If he got it working again, he could get home. Ianto had no illusions of fixing the time car himself, but he was already mulling over ideas.
His jaunt through time had spit him out in the same industrial estate he'd left, and it appeared that in this, he was in luck. A veritable warren of workman's sheds, private factories, and similar huddled together like eager children at their nurse's hem. A bit of searching and peering through cracks found him a shed that showed all the signs of being abandoned for several months. The many skills he'd picked from both youthful indiscretion and adult vocation soon jimmied the door open enough to push the car through.
Even now, as he rested, panting and admiring his own work, the time car seemed paused rather than stalled out. Her reflective surface glimmered darkly even in the low light of a lamp he'd found. Her jet black lines murmured like an insatiable lover whispering filthy suggestions (a situation with which Ianto was very familiar). He found a rotted old canvas and felt bad about covering her sleek beauty with such rags, but no help for that, not and keep her safely hidden. A dull shiver crept up his spine at the too-familiar thought.
Out in the (he presumed) London streets, everything was different, and everything was the same. Even now at the wee hours of the morning, people bustled about their business. Night workers, building their dreams by gaslight, filled the air with the sounds of hammer and saw. Ladies of a more flexible approach to the trade-offs between money and time plied their services. Men and women both on their own errands hurried by, not seeing, not wanting to be seen. Everywhere was smoke, and thin, orange lamplight, and the smells of four million people eating, and farting, and living in a time before showers.
Thoughts of eating, and a friendly (but not too friendly) nod to one of the ladies of the night suddenly put an uncomfortable thought in the forefront of his mind. His pockets held notes that would never be accepted in this time. He needed money. Perhaps he could join up for one of the crews digging tunnels everywhere? The work would be hard, but he couldn't picture there being any questions more difficult than, "Have you got your own shovel?" Which he didn't. He abandoned that idea.
As he walked, he became aware of a scuffle going on down the street and against his better judgement, he hurried his steps. Torchwood meant running towards gunshots and screams. There had been no screams here, not yet. A gang of tough-looking men had surrounded a young woman, backing her against a wall.
Ianto tried to walk by. This was history. One thing Jack had drilled into everyone's head: when in the past, don't fuck with history. Admittedly, Jack had promptly gone into the past and literally attempted to fuck his own namesake from history, but Jack was ever a fan of the "Do as I say and not as I do, unless you're doing me" school, and Ianto his deliriously willing pupil.
He saw her face. Her jaw was set, but she was clearly frightened. What the hell. If he was going to step on a butterfly, it may as well be a deserving butterfly. He tapped the closest man on the shoulder, and had his fist swinging by the time the bloke turned around to see him.
The bastard dodged and got in a right hook to Ianto's kidneys. The air went out of him and he exaggerated his fall, grabbing the knee that was heading to his face and twisting hard. The man fell to his arse, even as his friends turned their attention away from their lady friend to Ianto.
As it turned out, this was a terrible mistake on their parts. The girl's hand went to her neat bun, and removed two large hairpins holding it in place. A moment later, two of her would-be attackers screamed, clutching their wounded elbows. Ianto held off his own thug, but watched as the woman became all knees and teeth, kicking and biting the bastards in every place she could make contact.
The moment the fourth one was on the ground, courtesy of Ianto's forehead, she grabbed his hand. "Hurry," she said, out of breath, and dragged him away from the injured men. "They'll be around in a second."
He ran with her, pausing for a moment around a corner as a carriage pulled to the kerb where the men lay. A cloaked figure emerged, sword clenched in a long, elegant arm. Odd, he thought, and far more so when the veil she wore slipped for half a second.
"Run!" said his new friend, not even pausing to see the same peculiar green scales distracting Ianto as the lizard queen bent over the bodies.
They ran through alleys he couldn't name until they emerged many streets over. They both turned at the whistle of a policeman. Ianto rushed off again, this time into the road.
He felt rather than heard the startled cry of the cab driver. Ianto's head collided with something definitely wooden, and definitely solid.
***
Ianto woke, head aching, body sore in ways that suggested he hadn't spent the night with Jack, or at least not spent the night in the fun way with Jack.
The room he lay in was dark, comforting. He tried to speak and instead groaned.
Immediately, a voice said, "Good. You survived." Male. No-one he could immediately place.
Ianto managed to sit up. "Am I in hospital?"
"You are being cared for. I am your nurse. You are recovering satisfactorily from your injury, and should be fit to die in battle within a short time frame."
Odd joke to make, he thought, but if the nurse was joking, he probably would be okay. "Thank God." He fell back against the pillow. "I had the worst dream. My partner and our friends blew up in an explosion, then I was sent over a century into the past."
"Then you indeed have good news. You are not in the past. You are still here in the modern day of 1885."
The nurse sparked a match, lighting a small, smoky lamp on the bedside table. As Ianto processed his words with horror, he also processed that the so-called nurse was a god-damned Sontaran, who greeted him with a potatoey smile. Ianto grabbed for his gun, when he discovered he had also misplaced most of his clothes. Which brought into view his second companion in the room.
Ianto clutched the blanket around his waist as the girl he'd saved smiled at him cheekily. "Strax here is a friend a mine. He helps us."
"Us?"
She gave a remarkably descriptive shrug. "Those of us who might not be on the right side of the law all the time."
"Ah." So he was dealing with thieves, ruffians, possibly a prostitute. Perhaps he hadn't interrupted an assault. Perhaps she'd been stealing from one of the men and had been caught. Alternately, Torchwood had nearly destroyed the planet on several occasions, and he was stuck here in the past courtesy of the former Prime Minister, who'd really been an alien in disguise. He wasn't in a position to judge.
She said, "You were very brave stepping into the fight like that. Not a lot of blokes would of done."
"Sure they would," he said, mouth on autopilot as he thought. Stuck. Past. Needing trousers desperately. "Could I please have my clothes?"
"Sure thing, Mr. Armani."
Ianto bit down on that particular question as the girl passed him his trousers, holding onto them longer than necessary. "I didn't get your name, miss."
"Jenny. Jenny Flint." The name was familiar, like the name of someone from a book. She didn't look much like a book heroine, unless it was the more romantic type of book written for a certain wistful kind of audience. Her face was on the plain side of pretty, with a beauty mark he found distracting.
"And now there is the matter of payment, Mr. Armani," said Strax, wiping his hands on a filthy cloth.
"I don't have any money that's good here. And why do you keep calling me that?"
Jenny passed his waistcoat over. "It's in your clothes, innit? Fancy bloke, with your name sewn in." She hesitated. "Unless you lifted them from some Italian fellow."
Ianto grabbed the waistcoat. "I prefer to think of it as borrowing." He thought for a second over a lie. "But his wallet was full of Italian lira. I don't have English money." That would do unless they'd gone through his wallet, which he admitted to himself was likely and he'd have done the same.
Nevertheless, Strax passed him the wallet without comment. "Then you will owe me. And I will expect interest on the loan."
Fantastic. Now he owed an unknown amount of money to a Sontaran who, for all he knew, may have already harvested Ianto's spare organs. If he truly was in 1885, he needed to keep closely in mind that he had no access to modern medicine, even penicillin, and diseases ran rampant here. Cholera was common in London during the nineteenth century, and pox, weren't they? He hadn't any idea when or where to avoid. He was trapped in the past with just enough future knowledge to get himself into trouble.
"Jack."
Strax and Jenny exchanged glances. "Who?"
Ianto let his mouth write a cheque and hoped he could cash it later. "I have an acquaintance I may be able to look up to ask for money." And help. Definitely help. Who else knew what it felt like to wash up on the shores of the past? Who else might be able to repair the time car to get him home?
"He live around here?" Jenny asked.
"I'm not even certain he's in London currently. I know he travelled. I mean, he travels." When was the Ellis Island visit? Ianto listened to Jack's stories whenever Jack was willing to tell them, but he hadn't paid much attention to dates. He'd always been too caught up in the enormity of Jack's life, and the people he'd encountered along the way. "Can you tell me where I'd find, erm." He watched their faces carefully, wondering how to ask.
Back in the day, after Lisa died and before Suzie died again, Ianto had planned out what should have been a pleasant a one-night stand with his boss. The man had expressed his interest many times, accepting Ianto's rebuffs as temporary setbacks. At the same time, he'd demonstrated his interest in Gwen, Owen, Tosh, DI Swanson, that new bloke who brought the pizzas, blowfish, sentient notes of music, and a particularly feisty (Jack's word) lamp. Jack was by his own accounts an incredible lay, and Ianto had been in a near-psychotic fugue from blue balls. An orgasm or two with someone who didn't give a damn about cuddling later was just the ticket. Ergo, his offer had been made with the full knowledge that Jack would get him off, and would go out the next day, or even later that night, looking for a new playmate. Ianto would be too blissful at having had his cock sucked to give a damn. After Jack left, after Abaddon, Ianto had to admit the one-night stand had lasted months. His ensuing identity crisis hadn't been helped by Owen's constant picking. He'd retreated back into his own head for a while, researching the past because the future was overwhelming.
He knew, watching his two rescuers, that certain activities were punishable by prison terms in this era. Asking about the location of London's current gay scene would probably get him arrested, if not killed outright.
"Sailors," he said after a moment. "Jack spends a lot of time around sailors. Where would I find the places they'd relax ashore?"
"I'll take you," said Jenny. "In case you forget your way back."
"Thanks." He wondered if he could lose her in a crowd. She didn't seem the type to be easily lost. She also wasn't the type to turn her back as a man dressed in front of her. Embarrassed, Ianto tried to put on his clothes under the blankets whilst she grinned and the Sontaran nurse watched impassively.
"Come on," she said, taking his hand as soon as he was ready. To his surprise, she didn't let go as she led him onto the street, then took his arm like they were acquainted. "Don't mind Strax," Jenny said a street away. "He's grumpy all the time, but his heart's in the right place. He helps out those that can't help themselves."
"What about you?"
"I do the same when I can. There's terrible men out there. Say what you like about filching a purse, there's plenty of men who'll kill you as soon as look at you, and the ones as looks like nobs is the worst. Too fine for this street, but happy to rough up a prossie and leave her bleeding."
A simmering growl underwrote her words. She'd fought like an animal, he recalled.
Jenny brightened up, the smile on her face making her look simple. If he hadn't seen her shrewdly size up the exact force she'd needed to crush a man's bollocks with her chin, he'd have been fooled. "That's why he needs paying. Nobody eats for free. It takes a lot of scratch to patch up the poor folks who wander his way."
"He didn't give me an amount."
"We'll let you know."
The ideal way to track Jack down would be to follow the string of satisfied smiles and broken hearts he trailed behind him. Barring that, a few inquiries later found them outside a smoke-filled pub. "This might be too dangerous for you," Ianto said to his companion. As they'd talked, he discovered that she was quite nice, intelligent in a street-smart fashion, and in another time (literally) someone he wouldn't mind getting to know better. In this time, he would have to explain to this century's Jack Harkness who he was, and doing so in front of a woman from the 1800s would not end well.
"What might be too dangerous?"
"The pub. Dangerous men inside, and all. You should wait here."
Jenny stared at him. "Which of us do you think is better off going inside, then?" He became aware of a blade sliding neatly out of her sleeve, then tucking in again. She hadn't used it last night. What was this woman like?
They made their way together through the dark pub. Tables were set up in the back, where serious men, or at least men who wanted others to think they were serious, held cards in falsely languid hands. Ianto found a table nearby, and Jenny sat with him, watching the players.
At one table, Captain Jack Harkness sat with his own hand, a very small pile of money in front of him. Everything about him said he was nervous, from the drumming of his leg under the table, to the light sweat on his brow. The other men at his table, most of them in very finely-manufactured clothes, gave each other smirks as they raised the bets. The pot in the centre got bigger. Jack's pile went away entirely.
The bet went up again. Two of the others folded.
Jack played with the frilled collar of his shirt, casting glances at the pile and his hand. His expression said he couldn't afford to lose, but he also couldn't meet the bet. He asked a passing server for some paper, and carefully wrote out something.
"What're you putting in?" asked one of his opponents.
"The deed for my horse." The words came out dry as Jack put the paper in the middle.
The other two men still in the game looked at the deed. One folded. The other pulled Jack's paper out, tore it in two, and scrawled his own name. Ianto read: "1 HORS" spelled in block letters.
"I call," said the other player.
Jack had four kings.
The game broke up after that, and Ianto moved closer to Jack. "Hands off," Jack said amiably as he gathered his winnings into a bag. He gave Ianto a second look. "Although we can discuss your hands later."
"Captain Jack Harkness?"
Jack's eyes went flat. "Are you a copper?"
"No, I'm a friend." How much to risk? Ianto went with everything, dropping his voice so only Jack could hear. "Or I will be, a century from now."
Jack's eyebrows raised. Then he shoved the last of the money away. He took Ianto's arm, and his face fell slightly as Jenny took the other firmly. "Let's go talk, friend."
"We can't talk here?" asked Jenny.
"Not after Jonas finds out I beat him wagering an imaginary horse."
The three of them made their way out into the street, Jack pausing enough to show the IOU scrawl to the hostler holding his new horse. "I know a guy who can sell this in an hour," Jack explained, only looking a little stupid as he led the horse along with them.
He looked at Ianto. "So we know each other?"
Ianto nodded, then nodded meaningfully at Jenny. "I was telling this young lady here, whom I just met," he said a bit loudly, "that you and I are old friends. I owe her and her friend money."
"And I happen to have some. Why is this my problem?"
There was playing fair, and then there was Jack. Ianto said, "Because a man in a blue box would want you to."
That stopped him cold, but not half so cold as Jenny's added, "You know the Doctor?"
***
They wound up in another pub, far away from the men Jack had just fleeced. Jack had sold his horse to another man, and the bag of coins he'd received had been secreted somewhere in Jenny's skirts.
"I heard there was a Sontaran working in London," Jack said, bringing them drinks. Ianto took his beer, Jenny her sherry. Jack had a glass of something brown. Ianto stared at him as he took a long drink. Jack stared back. "What?"
"Nothing." He covered with his own drink.
Jenny said, "The Doctor dropped Strax off here a few years ago. Saved my life, too. Strax and me, we're good mates. Save the world, one soul at a time."
"Which Doctor did you meet?" Jack asked, more than curiosity in his tone.
Jenny shrugged. "The Doctor."
Ianto said, "He changes his face. I don't remember the term he uses."
"Regeneration," Jack said flatly. "It's like being reborn. He doesn't die." Ianto could practically read the thoughts in Jack's mind, wondering what had caused his condition, wondering if he himself was a Time Lord now.
"Oh. Well, I don't know about that. He was young. Sweet face." She scrunched up her own face in thought. "Big forehead and chin?"
"Jack travelled with the Ninth Doctor," Ianto said. "Before his regeneration into the Tenth. I don't know one with a big face."
"Regenerated? My Doctor died?"
"Right after he left you on the Game Station."
Jack watched him closely. "And you know this because?"
"You told me."
Jenny looked at Ianto. "You're a time traveller, then? You should have told Strax. He'd be so pleased." She herself seemed very pleased. "I've always wanted to see the things he talks about. The women in the future, they're treated the same as men, yeah?"
"By my time," Jack said. "Not sure about his. Speaking of, when exactly are you from?"
"2009. Cardiff. You've been."
"Yeah."
In for a penny. "I need to get back there, but my time machine is out of power."
"Join the club. Wait, you have a time machine?"
Ianto nodded. "Based on TARDIS technology. With which you are familiar, having worked on the control panel before."
"Yeah, I have." A slow smile spread over Jack's features, not a pleasant smile, nor the charm-filled smile Jack gave someone he was sizing up for play time. Jack was staring at him like he'd looked at the marks in the pub after he'd taken the pot: fat little fishies just waiting to share their delectable plumpness with the angler baiting his hook.
"Show me the time machine. I'll see what I can do."
"You can't come with me. You don't get to 2009 that way."
"Are you sure?"
"I'm sure."
Jack sat back, disappointment draped over him sullenly.
Ianto said, "But I can tell you that you do see him again." The mood lifted, just a touch, and Ianto used the opening. "If you'll help me. Also, I'll need a place to stay whilst we fix the time machine."
"You could stay with me n' Strax," said Jenny brightly. "We can always budge up a bit."
He turned to Jack. "I was hoping I might borrow your sofa."
Jack stared at him without comprehension. "Sofa?"
"Do you have a home?"
"I rent a room, yeah." Whether he caught Ianto's desperate look, or had his own reasons, Jack said, "You can stay with me."
"Thanks."
Jenny looked disappointed, much more so than he'd believe. "Are you sure?"
"Yep," Ianto said. "Thank you for your help. Give Strax my thanks, too." He made his tone as friendly yet dismissive as he could within the bounds of politeness. He had a strong suspicion that impoliteness would be fatal.
Jenny frowned, getting to her feet. "Well. Good luck to you, then. Captain, Strax'll probably be by. Try not to shoot him."
Ianto watched her go. Jack's gaze lasted longer on her departing bottom, but that was Jack all around. He'd made a friend, thus he'd make an excuse to say hello again under more informal circumstances. And this was over a century ago, and there was no point in being upset or jealous, any more than there was a point to it in his own time.
"Nice girl," Ianto said.
"I don't know if 'nice' is the right word," Jack replied, taking a long drink. "You probably shouldn't sleep with her."
"What?"
"She clearly fancies you. I'm far enough in my own past that it won't matter, but you're within a century of your birthday. You'll wind up shagging your great-grandmother or something."
Ianto flashed on a photograph he'd seen of the severe, stocky woman who'd birthed his grandfather and six other children, and he shuddered. "Not a problem. I'm seeing someone back home."
"Who hasn't been born yet." Jack took another drink. Ianto wondered what rationalisations Jack was going over in his own head right now. Rose Tyler wouldn't be born for another century. The Doctor was outside of time. This Jack was still closely tied to them.
"I just want to get home. Can you help?"
Jack finished his drink. "Let's look at your time machine."
***
The expression of delight and lust on Jack's face as Ianto pulled off the tarpaulin was identical to the one he'd worn in 2009. Would wear. Ugh. Ianto hated time travel grammar. His Jack chose to view his own life as a line, and spoke as such. He used past tense for the wars he'd fought in on planets which hadn't yet been colonised in Ianto's time.
"That's gorgeous," said this Jack. "Who built her?"
"Long story. Can you help me get her running again?"
"Maybe. I'll need the keys of course." He held out his hand. Ianto instinctively backed away. "What?"
"Swear to me you won't take them and go."
"Your car doesn't work."
"Swear, Jack." This Jack was a con man and a cheat. Ianto daren't trust him.
"No." Jack folded his arms. "You came to me for help. Either you trust me or you don't, and if you pick option B, the door is right there."
"You're in my shed."
"Your borrowed shed. Keys."
Ianto hesitated, but he had no choice. Jack took them with a triumphant jingle and a smirk, then slid into the driver's seat to pop the bonnet. Ianto prayed he hadn't just made a fatal error in judgement.
They stared under the bonnet together as Jack caressed the coral interior with an intimate gesture Ianto knew well. "As far as I can tell, nothing's broken. Where's the fuel cell?"
A little prodding and poking opened a latch for the boot. The fuel gauge on the dash had said empty, and now Ianto could see why. The conversion unit held nothing but fumes. "That can't be good."
"What does it run on?"
"You said plutonium."
"I did?"
They stared at each other for a moment. Ianto mentally kicked himself. "I mean, I thought I heard it was plutonium."
"Future me told you, didn't I?"
Ianto nodded slowly. "You said it gave the engine a kick. You were explaining the mechanism to someone else. I wasn't paying close attention. I think the rest of the engine might work on petrol. How many years until the petrol station is invented?"
"Too many."
"Oh, cracking," Ianto muttered, even though he'd known.
Jack looked around. "What's cracking?"
The open boot caught Ianto's attention again. He still had crates of the useless pamphlets. He doubted there would be any labelled "Tom's Broken Time Machine" but this was Torchwood. He opened a box and rooted around, setting aside historical documents and advice for employees who found themselves body-swapped. ("Michael and Mary See How the Other Half Lives.")
"Plutonium doesn't exactly grow on trees," said Jack, casting a non-too-casual glance on the pamphlets. Ianto would have to burn them. He tried to stop Jack picking one up, but Jack had already flipped open "Gerald's New Genitalia" to examine the helpful clip art diagrams. "Unless you want to advance the atomic age on Earth by sixty years, you're probably here for the duration." Jack turned the pamphlet sideways for a better look, ignoring Ianto's agitation.
"I have to get home." Ianto dug out his mobile phone. "I have a job, and a life. Look." He pulled up a snap he treasured: the five of them together at the pub, looking very nearly like normal people. Martha had snapped a few photos and texted them to Gwen. If Ianto didn't get back, he had no hope of saving Martha and Gwen, nor of going back to his Jack. Jack would wake up alone, and it would kill him.
Jack took a long look at the snap. "Look at that." He rubbed his jaw. "I keep my hair."
"Yes, you're just as handsome as ever," Ianto said impatiently.
"Too bad it's a faked picture." Jack handed the mobile back. "That chap's hair is cut off."
"No, it's not." Ianto glanced at his snap, and then horror set in. Owen stood there, not yet ready to smile in his new undeath, but starting to thaw. He wore a concert t-shirt from 2006. He had no hair. "The phone must be going bad."
Jack took the mobile back. "You didn't happen to run into anyone else while you were here, did you?"
"Just Jenny and Strax."
"How did you meet them?"
"Jenny was seeing the worse end of a street fight. I intervened. Then I got hit by a coach."
"Busy day." Jack inspected the photo. "Maybe she was supposed to die in the fight. You can't just go around changing the past."
Ianto thought about it. He didn't see how letting someone die would change Owen's history. If Jenny was some kind of ancestor for him, obviously letting her live would be better. God alone knew how they'd be related; Owen had never even known his father, leading Ianto to speculate about Jack's continued investment in their colleague. Speaking of contaminating the time line. Ianto sighed. "I dunno." He'd seen the lizard queen at the site. "I did see something weird. There's a lizard alien running around London."
"I've heard." Jack's presence in the city started to make sense. Sontarans and lizards in Victorian London? Surely the Doctor would be interested, and come investigate, and rescue him from his miserable life. Ianto was overall grateful to the Doctor for many reasons, most of which had to do with keeping the planet in one piece and being ultimately responsible for Jack's presence in Ianto's life. At the same time, there were days when all Ianto wanted was to take a swing at him.
"What if the lizard queen was supposed to kill her?" That didn't sound right, though. Something nibbled at the toes of his memory, a recent conversation. Worry filled his stomach as he tore through the stack of pamphlets again until he came up with one he remembered reading on his first day of employment. Sir Reginald Poopin's xeroxed face stared sternly at him from one corner.
Ianto skimmed the story of Poopin's interest in aliens, piqued after having sustained an unspecified injury in an alien attack. Ianto read until he found what he was looking for: Silurian lizard queen, Sontaran warrior, human bait. Worse, so much worse, as he glanced through the rest of the paper, the words had begun to fade at the end, and more faded as he read. His mouth went dry, and his stomach heaved as he folded the pamphlet, storing it again.
"Time can be rewritten, yeah?"
"Yeah." Jack would know.
"I fucked it up. The lizard queen wasn't supposed to kill her. She was supposed to fall in love with her."
***
Chapter Three
Author: nancybrown
Prompt: Back to the Future
Characters: Ianto, Jack, Jenny, Madame Vastra, Strax, Parker, Martha, Gwen
Rating: R
Warnings: violence, character death, mention of sexual assault, prostitution, language, and severe bending of time travel plausibility even taking all three canons into account
Spoilers: through TW: "Exit Wounds" and through DW: "The Snowmen"
Words: 32,500 (5,000 this part)
Beta: tymewyse and fide_et_spe both had a hand in making this far more comprehensible than it would have been. All remaining aspects of wtfery are mine alone.
Summary: Accidentally shot into the past by a time-travelling car, Ianto has to fix his own mistakes or he won't have a future to go back to.
AN: Written for reel_torchwood Screening 6. Also fills the Trope Bingo space: au:fusion
Disclaimer: BBC, Universal, RTD, Steven Moffat, and Robert Zemeckis own these characters and situations, and want nothing to do with this ridiculous fluff piece of faux-Victoriana.
Chapter One
***
Chapter Two
***
As the car died under him, Ianto felt himself gibbering in fear. Most of the gibbering was the word, "Shit!" repeated over and over like some scatological prayer. He was in the past, in the fucking 1880s, and his time machine had made the same sound as that poor Citroen Mam had driven did before the rusted out thing had to be towed away. He was utterly fucked. Panic made perfect sense.
Think!
He needed a secure place to store the car. If he got it working again, he could get home. Ianto had no illusions of fixing the time car himself, but he was already mulling over ideas.
His jaunt through time had spit him out in the same industrial estate he'd left, and it appeared that in this, he was in luck. A veritable warren of workman's sheds, private factories, and similar huddled together like eager children at their nurse's hem. A bit of searching and peering through cracks found him a shed that showed all the signs of being abandoned for several months. The many skills he'd picked from both youthful indiscretion and adult vocation soon jimmied the door open enough to push the car through.
Even now, as he rested, panting and admiring his own work, the time car seemed paused rather than stalled out. Her reflective surface glimmered darkly even in the low light of a lamp he'd found. Her jet black lines murmured like an insatiable lover whispering filthy suggestions (a situation with which Ianto was very familiar). He found a rotted old canvas and felt bad about covering her sleek beauty with such rags, but no help for that, not and keep her safely hidden. A dull shiver crept up his spine at the too-familiar thought.
Out in the (he presumed) London streets, everything was different, and everything was the same. Even now at the wee hours of the morning, people bustled about their business. Night workers, building their dreams by gaslight, filled the air with the sounds of hammer and saw. Ladies of a more flexible approach to the trade-offs between money and time plied their services. Men and women both on their own errands hurried by, not seeing, not wanting to be seen. Everywhere was smoke, and thin, orange lamplight, and the smells of four million people eating, and farting, and living in a time before showers.
Thoughts of eating, and a friendly (but not too friendly) nod to one of the ladies of the night suddenly put an uncomfortable thought in the forefront of his mind. His pockets held notes that would never be accepted in this time. He needed money. Perhaps he could join up for one of the crews digging tunnels everywhere? The work would be hard, but he couldn't picture there being any questions more difficult than, "Have you got your own shovel?" Which he didn't. He abandoned that idea.
As he walked, he became aware of a scuffle going on down the street and against his better judgement, he hurried his steps. Torchwood meant running towards gunshots and screams. There had been no screams here, not yet. A gang of tough-looking men had surrounded a young woman, backing her against a wall.
Ianto tried to walk by. This was history. One thing Jack had drilled into everyone's head: when in the past, don't fuck with history. Admittedly, Jack had promptly gone into the past and literally attempted to fuck his own namesake from history, but Jack was ever a fan of the "Do as I say and not as I do, unless you're doing me" school, and Ianto his deliriously willing pupil.
He saw her face. Her jaw was set, but she was clearly frightened. What the hell. If he was going to step on a butterfly, it may as well be a deserving butterfly. He tapped the closest man on the shoulder, and had his fist swinging by the time the bloke turned around to see him.
The bastard dodged and got in a right hook to Ianto's kidneys. The air went out of him and he exaggerated his fall, grabbing the knee that was heading to his face and twisting hard. The man fell to his arse, even as his friends turned their attention away from their lady friend to Ianto.
As it turned out, this was a terrible mistake on their parts. The girl's hand went to her neat bun, and removed two large hairpins holding it in place. A moment later, two of her would-be attackers screamed, clutching their wounded elbows. Ianto held off his own thug, but watched as the woman became all knees and teeth, kicking and biting the bastards in every place she could make contact.
The moment the fourth one was on the ground, courtesy of Ianto's forehead, she grabbed his hand. "Hurry," she said, out of breath, and dragged him away from the injured men. "They'll be around in a second."
He ran with her, pausing for a moment around a corner as a carriage pulled to the kerb where the men lay. A cloaked figure emerged, sword clenched in a long, elegant arm. Odd, he thought, and far more so when the veil she wore slipped for half a second.
"Run!" said his new friend, not even pausing to see the same peculiar green scales distracting Ianto as the lizard queen bent over the bodies.
They ran through alleys he couldn't name until they emerged many streets over. They both turned at the whistle of a policeman. Ianto rushed off again, this time into the road.
He felt rather than heard the startled cry of the cab driver. Ianto's head collided with something definitely wooden, and definitely solid.
***
Ianto woke, head aching, body sore in ways that suggested he hadn't spent the night with Jack, or at least not spent the night in the fun way with Jack.
The room he lay in was dark, comforting. He tried to speak and instead groaned.
Immediately, a voice said, "Good. You survived." Male. No-one he could immediately place.
Ianto managed to sit up. "Am I in hospital?"
"You are being cared for. I am your nurse. You are recovering satisfactorily from your injury, and should be fit to die in battle within a short time frame."
Odd joke to make, he thought, but if the nurse was joking, he probably would be okay. "Thank God." He fell back against the pillow. "I had the worst dream. My partner and our friends blew up in an explosion, then I was sent over a century into the past."
"Then you indeed have good news. You are not in the past. You are still here in the modern day of 1885."
The nurse sparked a match, lighting a small, smoky lamp on the bedside table. As Ianto processed his words with horror, he also processed that the so-called nurse was a god-damned Sontaran, who greeted him with a potatoey smile. Ianto grabbed for his gun, when he discovered he had also misplaced most of his clothes. Which brought into view his second companion in the room.
Ianto clutched the blanket around his waist as the girl he'd saved smiled at him cheekily. "Strax here is a friend a mine. He helps us."
"Us?"
She gave a remarkably descriptive shrug. "Those of us who might not be on the right side of the law all the time."
"Ah." So he was dealing with thieves, ruffians, possibly a prostitute. Perhaps he hadn't interrupted an assault. Perhaps she'd been stealing from one of the men and had been caught. Alternately, Torchwood had nearly destroyed the planet on several occasions, and he was stuck here in the past courtesy of the former Prime Minister, who'd really been an alien in disguise. He wasn't in a position to judge.
She said, "You were very brave stepping into the fight like that. Not a lot of blokes would of done."
"Sure they would," he said, mouth on autopilot as he thought. Stuck. Past. Needing trousers desperately. "Could I please have my clothes?"
"Sure thing, Mr. Armani."
Ianto bit down on that particular question as the girl passed him his trousers, holding onto them longer than necessary. "I didn't get your name, miss."
"Jenny. Jenny Flint." The name was familiar, like the name of someone from a book. She didn't look much like a book heroine, unless it was the more romantic type of book written for a certain wistful kind of audience. Her face was on the plain side of pretty, with a beauty mark he found distracting.
"And now there is the matter of payment, Mr. Armani," said Strax, wiping his hands on a filthy cloth.
"I don't have any money that's good here. And why do you keep calling me that?"
Jenny passed his waistcoat over. "It's in your clothes, innit? Fancy bloke, with your name sewn in." She hesitated. "Unless you lifted them from some Italian fellow."
Ianto grabbed the waistcoat. "I prefer to think of it as borrowing." He thought for a second over a lie. "But his wallet was full of Italian lira. I don't have English money." That would do unless they'd gone through his wallet, which he admitted to himself was likely and he'd have done the same.
Nevertheless, Strax passed him the wallet without comment. "Then you will owe me. And I will expect interest on the loan."
Fantastic. Now he owed an unknown amount of money to a Sontaran who, for all he knew, may have already harvested Ianto's spare organs. If he truly was in 1885, he needed to keep closely in mind that he had no access to modern medicine, even penicillin, and diseases ran rampant here. Cholera was common in London during the nineteenth century, and pox, weren't they? He hadn't any idea when or where to avoid. He was trapped in the past with just enough future knowledge to get himself into trouble.
"Jack."
Strax and Jenny exchanged glances. "Who?"
Ianto let his mouth write a cheque and hoped he could cash it later. "I have an acquaintance I may be able to look up to ask for money." And help. Definitely help. Who else knew what it felt like to wash up on the shores of the past? Who else might be able to repair the time car to get him home?
"He live around here?" Jenny asked.
"I'm not even certain he's in London currently. I know he travelled. I mean, he travels." When was the Ellis Island visit? Ianto listened to Jack's stories whenever Jack was willing to tell them, but he hadn't paid much attention to dates. He'd always been too caught up in the enormity of Jack's life, and the people he'd encountered along the way. "Can you tell me where I'd find, erm." He watched their faces carefully, wondering how to ask.
Back in the day, after Lisa died and before Suzie died again, Ianto had planned out what should have been a pleasant a one-night stand with his boss. The man had expressed his interest many times, accepting Ianto's rebuffs as temporary setbacks. At the same time, he'd demonstrated his interest in Gwen, Owen, Tosh, DI Swanson, that new bloke who brought the pizzas, blowfish, sentient notes of music, and a particularly feisty (Jack's word) lamp. Jack was by his own accounts an incredible lay, and Ianto had been in a near-psychotic fugue from blue balls. An orgasm or two with someone who didn't give a damn about cuddling later was just the ticket. Ergo, his offer had been made with the full knowledge that Jack would get him off, and would go out the next day, or even later that night, looking for a new playmate. Ianto would be too blissful at having had his cock sucked to give a damn. After Jack left, after Abaddon, Ianto had to admit the one-night stand had lasted months. His ensuing identity crisis hadn't been helped by Owen's constant picking. He'd retreated back into his own head for a while, researching the past because the future was overwhelming.
He knew, watching his two rescuers, that certain activities were punishable by prison terms in this era. Asking about the location of London's current gay scene would probably get him arrested, if not killed outright.
"Sailors," he said after a moment. "Jack spends a lot of time around sailors. Where would I find the places they'd relax ashore?"
"I'll take you," said Jenny. "In case you forget your way back."
"Thanks." He wondered if he could lose her in a crowd. She didn't seem the type to be easily lost. She also wasn't the type to turn her back as a man dressed in front of her. Embarrassed, Ianto tried to put on his clothes under the blankets whilst she grinned and the Sontaran nurse watched impassively.
"Come on," she said, taking his hand as soon as he was ready. To his surprise, she didn't let go as she led him onto the street, then took his arm like they were acquainted. "Don't mind Strax," Jenny said a street away. "He's grumpy all the time, but his heart's in the right place. He helps out those that can't help themselves."
"What about you?"
"I do the same when I can. There's terrible men out there. Say what you like about filching a purse, there's plenty of men who'll kill you as soon as look at you, and the ones as looks like nobs is the worst. Too fine for this street, but happy to rough up a prossie and leave her bleeding."
A simmering growl underwrote her words. She'd fought like an animal, he recalled.
Jenny brightened up, the smile on her face making her look simple. If he hadn't seen her shrewdly size up the exact force she'd needed to crush a man's bollocks with her chin, he'd have been fooled. "That's why he needs paying. Nobody eats for free. It takes a lot of scratch to patch up the poor folks who wander his way."
"He didn't give me an amount."
"We'll let you know."
The ideal way to track Jack down would be to follow the string of satisfied smiles and broken hearts he trailed behind him. Barring that, a few inquiries later found them outside a smoke-filled pub. "This might be too dangerous for you," Ianto said to his companion. As they'd talked, he discovered that she was quite nice, intelligent in a street-smart fashion, and in another time (literally) someone he wouldn't mind getting to know better. In this time, he would have to explain to this century's Jack Harkness who he was, and doing so in front of a woman from the 1800s would not end well.
"What might be too dangerous?"
"The pub. Dangerous men inside, and all. You should wait here."
Jenny stared at him. "Which of us do you think is better off going inside, then?" He became aware of a blade sliding neatly out of her sleeve, then tucking in again. She hadn't used it last night. What was this woman like?
They made their way together through the dark pub. Tables were set up in the back, where serious men, or at least men who wanted others to think they were serious, held cards in falsely languid hands. Ianto found a table nearby, and Jenny sat with him, watching the players.
At one table, Captain Jack Harkness sat with his own hand, a very small pile of money in front of him. Everything about him said he was nervous, from the drumming of his leg under the table, to the light sweat on his brow. The other men at his table, most of them in very finely-manufactured clothes, gave each other smirks as they raised the bets. The pot in the centre got bigger. Jack's pile went away entirely.
The bet went up again. Two of the others folded.
Jack played with the frilled collar of his shirt, casting glances at the pile and his hand. His expression said he couldn't afford to lose, but he also couldn't meet the bet. He asked a passing server for some paper, and carefully wrote out something.
"What're you putting in?" asked one of his opponents.
"The deed for my horse." The words came out dry as Jack put the paper in the middle.
The other two men still in the game looked at the deed. One folded. The other pulled Jack's paper out, tore it in two, and scrawled his own name. Ianto read: "1 HORS" spelled in block letters.
"I call," said the other player.
Jack had four kings.
The game broke up after that, and Ianto moved closer to Jack. "Hands off," Jack said amiably as he gathered his winnings into a bag. He gave Ianto a second look. "Although we can discuss your hands later."
"Captain Jack Harkness?"
Jack's eyes went flat. "Are you a copper?"
"No, I'm a friend." How much to risk? Ianto went with everything, dropping his voice so only Jack could hear. "Or I will be, a century from now."
Jack's eyebrows raised. Then he shoved the last of the money away. He took Ianto's arm, and his face fell slightly as Jenny took the other firmly. "Let's go talk, friend."
"We can't talk here?" asked Jenny.
"Not after Jonas finds out I beat him wagering an imaginary horse."
The three of them made their way out into the street, Jack pausing enough to show the IOU scrawl to the hostler holding his new horse. "I know a guy who can sell this in an hour," Jack explained, only looking a little stupid as he led the horse along with them.
He looked at Ianto. "So we know each other?"
Ianto nodded, then nodded meaningfully at Jenny. "I was telling this young lady here, whom I just met," he said a bit loudly, "that you and I are old friends. I owe her and her friend money."
"And I happen to have some. Why is this my problem?"
There was playing fair, and then there was Jack. Ianto said, "Because a man in a blue box would want you to."
That stopped him cold, but not half so cold as Jenny's added, "You know the Doctor?"
***
They wound up in another pub, far away from the men Jack had just fleeced. Jack had sold his horse to another man, and the bag of coins he'd received had been secreted somewhere in Jenny's skirts.
"I heard there was a Sontaran working in London," Jack said, bringing them drinks. Ianto took his beer, Jenny her sherry. Jack had a glass of something brown. Ianto stared at him as he took a long drink. Jack stared back. "What?"
"Nothing." He covered with his own drink.
Jenny said, "The Doctor dropped Strax off here a few years ago. Saved my life, too. Strax and me, we're good mates. Save the world, one soul at a time."
"Which Doctor did you meet?" Jack asked, more than curiosity in his tone.
Jenny shrugged. "The Doctor."
Ianto said, "He changes his face. I don't remember the term he uses."
"Regeneration," Jack said flatly. "It's like being reborn. He doesn't die." Ianto could practically read the thoughts in Jack's mind, wondering what had caused his condition, wondering if he himself was a Time Lord now.
"Oh. Well, I don't know about that. He was young. Sweet face." She scrunched up her own face in thought. "Big forehead and chin?"
"Jack travelled with the Ninth Doctor," Ianto said. "Before his regeneration into the Tenth. I don't know one with a big face."
"Regenerated? My Doctor died?"
"Right after he left you on the Game Station."
Jack watched him closely. "And you know this because?"
"You told me."
Jenny looked at Ianto. "You're a time traveller, then? You should have told Strax. He'd be so pleased." She herself seemed very pleased. "I've always wanted to see the things he talks about. The women in the future, they're treated the same as men, yeah?"
"By my time," Jack said. "Not sure about his. Speaking of, when exactly are you from?"
"2009. Cardiff. You've been."
"Yeah."
In for a penny. "I need to get back there, but my time machine is out of power."
"Join the club. Wait, you have a time machine?"
Ianto nodded. "Based on TARDIS technology. With which you are familiar, having worked on the control panel before."
"Yeah, I have." A slow smile spread over Jack's features, not a pleasant smile, nor the charm-filled smile Jack gave someone he was sizing up for play time. Jack was staring at him like he'd looked at the marks in the pub after he'd taken the pot: fat little fishies just waiting to share their delectable plumpness with the angler baiting his hook.
"Show me the time machine. I'll see what I can do."
"You can't come with me. You don't get to 2009 that way."
"Are you sure?"
"I'm sure."
Jack sat back, disappointment draped over him sullenly.
Ianto said, "But I can tell you that you do see him again." The mood lifted, just a touch, and Ianto used the opening. "If you'll help me. Also, I'll need a place to stay whilst we fix the time machine."
"You could stay with me n' Strax," said Jenny brightly. "We can always budge up a bit."
He turned to Jack. "I was hoping I might borrow your sofa."
Jack stared at him without comprehension. "Sofa?"
"Do you have a home?"
"I rent a room, yeah." Whether he caught Ianto's desperate look, or had his own reasons, Jack said, "You can stay with me."
"Thanks."
Jenny looked disappointed, much more so than he'd believe. "Are you sure?"
"Yep," Ianto said. "Thank you for your help. Give Strax my thanks, too." He made his tone as friendly yet dismissive as he could within the bounds of politeness. He had a strong suspicion that impoliteness would be fatal.
Jenny frowned, getting to her feet. "Well. Good luck to you, then. Captain, Strax'll probably be by. Try not to shoot him."
Ianto watched her go. Jack's gaze lasted longer on her departing bottom, but that was Jack all around. He'd made a friend, thus he'd make an excuse to say hello again under more informal circumstances. And this was over a century ago, and there was no point in being upset or jealous, any more than there was a point to it in his own time.
"Nice girl," Ianto said.
"I don't know if 'nice' is the right word," Jack replied, taking a long drink. "You probably shouldn't sleep with her."
"What?"
"She clearly fancies you. I'm far enough in my own past that it won't matter, but you're within a century of your birthday. You'll wind up shagging your great-grandmother or something."
Ianto flashed on a photograph he'd seen of the severe, stocky woman who'd birthed his grandfather and six other children, and he shuddered. "Not a problem. I'm seeing someone back home."
"Who hasn't been born yet." Jack took another drink. Ianto wondered what rationalisations Jack was going over in his own head right now. Rose Tyler wouldn't be born for another century. The Doctor was outside of time. This Jack was still closely tied to them.
"I just want to get home. Can you help?"
Jack finished his drink. "Let's look at your time machine."
***
The expression of delight and lust on Jack's face as Ianto pulled off the tarpaulin was identical to the one he'd worn in 2009. Would wear. Ugh. Ianto hated time travel grammar. His Jack chose to view his own life as a line, and spoke as such. He used past tense for the wars he'd fought in on planets which hadn't yet been colonised in Ianto's time.
"That's gorgeous," said this Jack. "Who built her?"
"Long story. Can you help me get her running again?"
"Maybe. I'll need the keys of course." He held out his hand. Ianto instinctively backed away. "What?"
"Swear to me you won't take them and go."
"Your car doesn't work."
"Swear, Jack." This Jack was a con man and a cheat. Ianto daren't trust him.
"No." Jack folded his arms. "You came to me for help. Either you trust me or you don't, and if you pick option B, the door is right there."
"You're in my shed."
"Your borrowed shed. Keys."
Ianto hesitated, but he had no choice. Jack took them with a triumphant jingle and a smirk, then slid into the driver's seat to pop the bonnet. Ianto prayed he hadn't just made a fatal error in judgement.
They stared under the bonnet together as Jack caressed the coral interior with an intimate gesture Ianto knew well. "As far as I can tell, nothing's broken. Where's the fuel cell?"
A little prodding and poking opened a latch for the boot. The fuel gauge on the dash had said empty, and now Ianto could see why. The conversion unit held nothing but fumes. "That can't be good."
"What does it run on?"
"You said plutonium."
"I did?"
They stared at each other for a moment. Ianto mentally kicked himself. "I mean, I thought I heard it was plutonium."
"Future me told you, didn't I?"
Ianto nodded slowly. "You said it gave the engine a kick. You were explaining the mechanism to someone else. I wasn't paying close attention. I think the rest of the engine might work on petrol. How many years until the petrol station is invented?"
"Too many."
"Oh, cracking," Ianto muttered, even though he'd known.
Jack looked around. "What's cracking?"
The open boot caught Ianto's attention again. He still had crates of the useless pamphlets. He doubted there would be any labelled "Tom's Broken Time Machine" but this was Torchwood. He opened a box and rooted around, setting aside historical documents and advice for employees who found themselves body-swapped. ("Michael and Mary See How the Other Half Lives.")
"Plutonium doesn't exactly grow on trees," said Jack, casting a non-too-casual glance on the pamphlets. Ianto would have to burn them. He tried to stop Jack picking one up, but Jack had already flipped open "Gerald's New Genitalia" to examine the helpful clip art diagrams. "Unless you want to advance the atomic age on Earth by sixty years, you're probably here for the duration." Jack turned the pamphlet sideways for a better look, ignoring Ianto's agitation.
"I have to get home." Ianto dug out his mobile phone. "I have a job, and a life. Look." He pulled up a snap he treasured: the five of them together at the pub, looking very nearly like normal people. Martha had snapped a few photos and texted them to Gwen. If Ianto didn't get back, he had no hope of saving Martha and Gwen, nor of going back to his Jack. Jack would wake up alone, and it would kill him.
Jack took a long look at the snap. "Look at that." He rubbed his jaw. "I keep my hair."
"Yes, you're just as handsome as ever," Ianto said impatiently.
"Too bad it's a faked picture." Jack handed the mobile back. "That chap's hair is cut off."
"No, it's not." Ianto glanced at his snap, and then horror set in. Owen stood there, not yet ready to smile in his new undeath, but starting to thaw. He wore a concert t-shirt from 2006. He had no hair. "The phone must be going bad."
Jack took the mobile back. "You didn't happen to run into anyone else while you were here, did you?"
"Just Jenny and Strax."
"How did you meet them?"
"Jenny was seeing the worse end of a street fight. I intervened. Then I got hit by a coach."
"Busy day." Jack inspected the photo. "Maybe she was supposed to die in the fight. You can't just go around changing the past."
Ianto thought about it. He didn't see how letting someone die would change Owen's history. If Jenny was some kind of ancestor for him, obviously letting her live would be better. God alone knew how they'd be related; Owen had never even known his father, leading Ianto to speculate about Jack's continued investment in their colleague. Speaking of contaminating the time line. Ianto sighed. "I dunno." He'd seen the lizard queen at the site. "I did see something weird. There's a lizard alien running around London."
"I've heard." Jack's presence in the city started to make sense. Sontarans and lizards in Victorian London? Surely the Doctor would be interested, and come investigate, and rescue him from his miserable life. Ianto was overall grateful to the Doctor for many reasons, most of which had to do with keeping the planet in one piece and being ultimately responsible for Jack's presence in Ianto's life. At the same time, there were days when all Ianto wanted was to take a swing at him.
"What if the lizard queen was supposed to kill her?" That didn't sound right, though. Something nibbled at the toes of his memory, a recent conversation. Worry filled his stomach as he tore through the stack of pamphlets again until he came up with one he remembered reading on his first day of employment. Sir Reginald Poopin's xeroxed face stared sternly at him from one corner.
Ianto skimmed the story of Poopin's interest in aliens, piqued after having sustained an unspecified injury in an alien attack. Ianto read until he found what he was looking for: Silurian lizard queen, Sontaran warrior, human bait. Worse, so much worse, as he glanced through the rest of the paper, the words had begun to fade at the end, and more faded as he read. His mouth went dry, and his stomach heaved as he folded the pamphlet, storing it again.
"Time can be rewritten, yeah?"
"Yeah." Jack would know.
"I fucked it up. The lizard queen wasn't supposed to kill her. She was supposed to fall in love with her."
***
Chapter Three