The Torchwood - 2/10
Chapter 2
When Ianto awoke he found himself laid out on the floor of a rather nice cell. He had been in cells before, most notably in the Beacons, and decided he rather enjoyed the clean floor and off-white falls as opposed to dirt, grime, and body parts. The next thing he noticed was that he was missing his shirt and that a large, red-tinged bandage had been placed on his wound. A rational and detail-oriented man, Ianto refused to become upset until he worked out exactly what had happened. His memory seemed to be intact, as he thought back over the past few hours (days, minutes, seconds? How long had he been out? No stubble on his chin, so it couldn’t have been overnight); he remembered purchasing takeaways for the team and Mr. Bevan. He remembered hearing a woman scream as he walked past an alley. He remembered turning into said alley and being hit in the head by something long and hard. He thought he remembered fighting back, but everything went a bit hazy for a while. Then he remembered the knife, small enough to be hidden in his assailant’s shirtsleeve, but large enough to do serious damage if used properly.
Ianto managed to wedge an elbow underneath his side and propel himself off the floor. It was a painful and slow movement, but a necessary one if he wanted to see more of the cell than just the one wall he was facing. He sat up and inched his back so he he could lean against one of the walls. It took a few moments for the dark shapes floating at the edges of his vision, as well as the nausea and dizziness, to temporarily subside, but Ianto was always a mind-over-matter person and decided he would not let the darkness win just yet.
The room was small, but large enough to house two prisoners comfortably. There were two mattresses on the floor (and damn if whoever had put him in here had completely missed one of them when he was laid down. If he was going to be kidnapped, he’d prefer to kidnapped by competent people), two pillows, and two blankets. The walls were all off-white and seemed to slope gently up to the ceiling, giving one the feeling of sitting inside a rather large egg. Neither his hands or nor his feet were bound, so either his kidnappers didn’t consider him a threat, or just didn’t care. There was a bucket of what appeared to be water sitting in one corner, and what looked like some sort of toilet, though he couldn’t be entirely sure due to the many pipes and buttons attached.
As he was contemplating the best way of escape, the cell door opened and three black-clad men entered. Ianto opened his mouth to ask who they were and why they had taken him, but before he could get anything out, the smallest of the men backhanded him across the face.
“You. No talking. Whatever it is, I don’t care. Sit there. Be quiet,” the main commanded with a gun pointed in Ianto’s direction. The man reached over, and before Ianto could move away, injected his left arm with a vial of a silver-blue liquid.
“What the hell?!” Ianto yelled. The small man backed away, pocketing the needle in his utility belt. As he moved, Ianto could see that the other two men were carrying a third man between them, a man with long brown hair and wearing nothing but pinstripe pants. The man’s chest and back were covered in small red marks and he seemed to be unconscious. The guards threw the other man into the cell on his stomach (again missing both the mattresses, those amateurs!) and left as suddenly and enigmatically as they had arrived.
Ianto pushed himself onto his knees and slowly crawled over to the other man. His head was swimming from the movement, his stomach burned, and the injection site on his arm itched ferociously. All he wanted to do was lay down and go back to sleep, but he convinced himself that as a member of Torchwood he had a responsibility to whomever this unknown person was.
As Ianto reached the other man, he used his remaining strength to flip him over onto his back. He was just pushing the long hair out of the man’s face when his fellow prisoner’s eyes popped open and he grabbed Ianto’s wrist.
“It’s ok. You’re safe now. I won’t hurt you. I just need to make sure you’re ok,” Ianto said softly. The worst thing would be to frighten the man any more than he already was. The man’s eyes wandered around the cell, finally alighting on Ianto’s face. Ianto was stunned by the depth in those brown eyes. Flecked with gold, it was like Ianto was drawn into them, as if there was some power there that he wanted to grasp.
“Jones, Ianto Jones? From Torchwood? You’re one of Jack’s, right? Jack Harkness? For the love of Rassilon tell me they didn’t get Jack!” The brown-eyed man dug his fingernails into Ianto’s wrist, drawing blood. “Please, please! They can’t have gotten him! She can’t have found him!”
“Ok, ok,” Ianto said, trying to calm the other man, but confused by how he knew who Ianto was. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to hold the darkness at bay for a little while longer. “They didn’t get Jack, at least, I don’t think so. Jack was still in the Hub when I was taken. I didn’t get a chance to radio in. Who are you and why are we here? How do you know Jack? What have they done to you?”
“You mean you don’t know who I am?” the man asked. Suddenly he grinned, showing far too many perfectly white teeth than any self-respecting person had a right to, and said, “I’m The Doctor!”