The Fountain Watch (3/5)
Title: The Fountain Watch
Author: winter_rose91
Summary: The Fountain Watch is an ornate and beautiful piece, but as Ianto Jones is soon to find out, it is also extremely dangerous.
Genre: Timey Wimey
Characters: Ianto Jack/Ianto
Rating: PG-13
A/N: Many thanks for the brilliant beta-ing by verasteine!
(Chapter 1)
(Chapter 2)
Chapter 3: Stop Watching
Darkness enveloped him, there was a warm pressure on his hand, stroking it gently. A deep voice filled his head, the sound blending with a steady beeping. He opened his eyes a fraction, light seeping in beneath his lids. The familar smell of disinfectant and bleach reached his nostrils and cotton scratched at his skin. Ianto was in hospital. He groaned.
" ... Ianto?" a familar voice said. He opened his eyes fully, Jack's face swam before him. Ianto tried to sit up. "No, no, stay down, don't get up," Jack said. "You're in hospital, you have to rest."
"Wha'ppened?" Ianto said, his voice raspy.
"You fainted, but you're alright now, you're alright." Jack sounded as though he was saying it to himself rather than Ianto. Jack squeezed his hand. His hand felt like lead. Ianto's vision sharpened a little. He was in a private room; Jack's coat sprawled over a chair, numerous Starbucks cups littered on a table. Jack was sitting on the edge of his bed, still gripping Ianto's hand, his waistcoat undone, his cuffs loose.
"What time is it?"
"Half nine," Jack said, glancing at his clunky watch.
"AM?" Ianto said, noticing how the weak sun that was seeping through the blinds was casting stripy and oddly distorting patterns on Jack's face. "How long've I been in here?"
"Just a day, it's Saturday."
"Why aren't you at the Hub?" Ianto said, panicked. The depths of Jack's feelings for him didn't matter when Cardiff needed saving. So Jack could only be here with Ianto if...
"We're locked out."
"Locked out?" Ianto croaked.
"Yeah, as soon as you fainted we went into lockdown, we had thirty seconds to get you out."
"And you haven't been able to get back in for a day?"
"No, Gwen's working on it though, and we've got my wrist strap for rift read outs."
Ianto tried to digest these disturbing facts, but a pounding in his head prevented him from doing so. "Why can't you get back in?"
"I don't know," Jack admitted. "The only way the Hub could have been put into lockdown is if you, me or Gwen activated it. It doesn't make any sense." His voice had an edge of frustration to it.
"Any funny rift traces, then?" Ianto asked.
Jack flipped open his wrist strap. “Nothing more than usual, well, the same readings from Anghyswllt Tŷ for the past couple of days."
Ianto couldn't quite remember what these were. He settled back into the pillows and closed his eyes, tired. He felt Jack's calloused fingers running softly through his hair. Ianto heard the door open, but couldn't muster the energy to look up.
"He's sleeping," Jack said in a low voice. He took hold of Ianto's hand and ran his thumb across it.
"Sorry," Gwen's voice whispered back. "Was he awake earlier?"
"For a bit."
"How is he?"
"He'll be fine," Jack reassured her.
"Has the doctor been round yet?"
"No." He heard Jack sigh heavily. "Have you done some research?"
"Yeah." He heard Gwen's leather jacket crease. She must be taking it off. "No joy on the Hub, I'm not Tosh, but I can't get back in, I did everything you said, but nothing works, and as for Anghyswllt Tŷ, I've just got some basic stuff."
"Shoot."
"Well, it was built in 1843, commissioned by Geraint Jones, watch maker, and he left it to his son, Idris Jones, when he died of TB in February 1891. Idris took residence in March 1891, and took over his watch business also."
"Watch business?" Jack said, Ianto knew he was thinking of Bilis Manger.
"Not Bilis's," Gwen said, also interpreting Jack's concern, "But here's where it gets interesting. The records say Idris moved to London three years earlier, in1878, but he just disappears after that, and bam! in March 1891, he reappears on the title deeds."
"There could be a logical reason for that," Jack said. "It's not particularly Torchwoody." Jack's voice sounded far away to Ianto.
"Torchwoody? It's a bit Toy Story isn't it?" Gwen scoffed.
"Expert are you?"
"Anyway, three months later, in June 1891, there was some sort of explosion."
"Explosion?"
"That's what the reports say. Then Idris abandoned the House and was never seen again." Gwen's voice too sounded distant.
"So he showed up for what, three months?" Jack's voice said.
"The dates aren't exact, and I can't match them without the mainframe's database."
Ianto's hands felt numb; he could no longer feel Jack's touch. His entire body felt disconnected from his head, but instead of being panicked, he felt an odd sense of calm wash through him.
"I still don't see what's Torchwood about this." Jack's voice was mingling with the beeping of Ianto's monitor again. He heard Gwen's voice say something, but she sounded like a badly tuned radio.
"I'll get him out of this, I promise," Jack said. Ianto tried to open his eyes, to reach out, to reassure him, but instead of finding the features he knew so well, he found himself, once again, encased in darkness.
1891
The barstool beneath him was uncomfortably hard. He shifted in his seat a little, hoping to go unnoticed. The bar was shrouded in cigarette smoke, making everything further away than a foot seem ghostly and ethereal. In one corner a group of shadowy men sat playing cards. Occasionally one of them grunted through the mist, whether in commiseration or triumph, Idris found it hard to tell. On the other side of the bar the owner stood rigid, steadily wiping a glass with a grimy rag. A solitary figure sat in the corner, his startling blue eyes visible in the haze. He was staring at his drink, his shoulders slumped in a way that made Idris think he must've been bearing the weight of the world on them. Idris felt an inexplicable surge of pity for him; he looked as lonely as Idris felt.
There was no sign of an American man yet. He had no choice but to spy on this Harkness bloke. If those women knew who he was, what had happened to him, he had to find out.
The blue eyed man suddenly stood up, his chair falling back with a clatter, and slumped onto the bar, feet away from where Idris was standing. Beneath the smell of stale alcohol that hung over them all, Idris caught the scent of something spicy and enticing. He inhaled deeply ... he was on a cold hard floor, adrenaline pumping through his veins, bodies pressed together, lips millimeters apart, he was begging to be kissed...
"Whiskey," the man said to the barman. He had an American accent. Idris's pulse quickened. The barman threw down the rag and got Harkness a whiskey, as though he was interrupted from doing something really important.
"What ever happened to service with a smile?" Harkness drawled, loud enough for the entire bar to hear.
The barman gave him an extremely ugly look, tinged with confusion. "You don't like it, you get out," he said, banging the whiskey down in front of Harkness.
He didn't look the least bit perturbed. "Maybe I'm will," he said, downing his drink in one. "And maybe I won't."
"I know you," a voice called from the back of the bar. He had a strong accent. Harkness looked up. One of the men playing cards was talking to him.
"You're that bloke who was in that fight down Hope Street, last Friday," he said.
Harkness shrugged. "Liked what you saw?" he said with a bit of a leer.
"You're that bloke who got stabbed." Stabbed? From the look, of him, he was perfectly fit. Idris stared at his well-defined features looking for signs of injury. There was nothing. The man must have Harkness mistaken.
"What if I am?"
"You got stabbed in the stomach," the man said again, standing up.
"'He didn't stabbed in the stomach," one of his companions said. "He'd be dead, wouldn't he?"
"You'd think so," the man said. He pushed his chair back and staggered over to where Harkness was standing. Harkness drew himself up to his full height.
"But he isn't - nice trick, ever thought of joining a freak show?" the man said, standing to nose to nose with Harkness. Everyone in the bar was watching.
"The Doctor'll fix me," Harkness muttered under his breath. Something shifted in his eyes.
"Are you sure he got stabbed?" the man's companion asked.
"You don't believe me? I'll show you what he can do - the trick he can do..." the man slurred, grabbing an empty bottle from the bar. He smashed the bottle on the bar, glass splintering to the floor. Harkness looked wary, his shoulders hunched defensively. The man lunged forward, Idris didn't see what happened, all he saw was the two men grapple with each other before Harkness thudded to the ground, bottle gouged into his stomach.
An unnatural silence descended onto the bar. The only sound Idris could hear was his own blood hammering through his body. The flickering candlelight illuminated the brief look of shock on the man's face, before it was replaced by a somewhat satisfied grin. He flashed his teeth around the bar, in a way that reminded Idris of a dog snarling.
"He'll get up in a minute ... he'll get up," the man said, his somewhat satisfied grin fading from his face slowly. The man's card playing companions to burst into action. With a great clattering furniture and spilling of beer, they hastily exited the bar, pulling Harknesses killer with them, leaving the barman, Idris and the corpse. The bar man, shaking his head, walked round the bar to where Harkness was laying. The barman bent over him ... he was crouched by his dead body, eyes open - shocked, he reached out to touch him, but he couldn't, he just couldn’t...
"Don't touch him," Idris found himself hissing. The barman looked up, surprised. Idris strode over to where Harkness lay. "I'll deal with him."
"Meaning you're gonna go running to the police?"
"Meaning, I'll deal with him." The stared at each other for a moment, sizing each other up, before the barman shrugged and back off.
"There's an alleyway out back. Dump him there," the barman grunted. Grabbing Harkness by the arms, Ianto dragged him through the bar, negotiating tables and chairs, whislt the barman merely watched. Idris hauled the corpse out to the back. No sooner as he stepped out into the cold night, he heard the slam of a door behind him.
He dropped the body, his arms aching. Beneath all the blood, Harkness's skin was like chalk, pale and fragile. He didn't know what to do. There was no one to call, no one who could help. Just him in this cold, dark alley, with only a stranger's corpse for company.
He suddenly realised his hands and clothes were covered with blood. He had to leave before he was found here. Giving Harkness's body one last glance, he quickly walked away, keeping to the shadows. It was a cold, still night, the only sound was his shoes on the stone floor.
"Mr. Jones?" a silky voice said in the shadows. He froze. He hadn't realised it but he had walked to the spot in which he had arranged to meet Misses Guppy and Holroyd. The two Torchwood women stepped from out of the shadows.
"Have you met our Captain?" Miss Guppy said. Miss Holroyd didn't seem like talking much ... she was clearly bad cop - he had wanted to be bad cop, but Jack said he was way too cute...
"What if I have?" he said, thinking rapidly. Thank God it was dark, they couldn't see the blood stains. Maybe if they knew Harkness was dead, they wouldn't tell him who he was. Maybe they'd assume he killed Harkness.
"You must tell us, Mr. Jones," Miss Guppy said. "And we'll tell you."
"Tell me what?"
"What we know," Miss Guppy said, leaving her lips parted.
"How do I know I can trust you?"
"You don't." There was a long pause in which he and Miss Guppy never once broke eye contact. The wind blew a little harder he gave an involuntary shiver.
"He's down that alley," he said, nodding in the direction of Harkness's corpse. Miss Guppy followed his gaze. Miss Holroyd however, maintained her stare firmly in his direction. Once again, it was making him feel uncomfortable.
"What's he doing down there?" Miss Guppy asked, taking a step closer to him. He could smell her overpowering perfume. He didn't back down. "More to the point, what were you doing down there with him?" He swallowed but remained silent. "Did he say anything interesting?" she asked, baring her teeth a little.
"Interesting in what way?"
"Did he say anything out of the ordinary? Anything about Hope Street?"
"Hope Street?" he repeated. So that was why these women were after Harkness. They too wanted to see whether the absurd rumor that he survived a stabbing was correct. Miss Guppy looked momentarily furious with herself, but recovered quickly. Miss Holroyd finally broke her stare at him to give her companion a look that could have frozen her heart. If she had one.
"Mr. Jones!" Miss Guppy said in her most dangerous tone. "Did he or he did he not mention Hope Street?"
"He did."
"And what did he say?"
"Nothing."
"'Nothing?' Come now, Mr. Jones, speak again."
"He didn't say anything, although someone else did mention it," he said, inhaling deeply.
"Who? What did he say?"
"That Harkness got stabbed," he said, keeping his tone neutral, and his expression statue like. Miss Guppy and Miss Holroyd exchanged a knowing smile.
"Very good, Mr. Jones, that wasn't so hard now, was it?" Miss Guppy said. Silence. "Anything else?"
"No - yes - he said something about a doctor." Inexplicably Miss Guppy's eyes lit up.
"What about him?" Her voice was breathless, she licked her lips.
"That he'd 'fix' him or something," Idris said, thinking back. Miss Guppy and Miss Holroyd exchanged a knowing glance. Miss Guppy looked almost delighted. "We had a deal," he said, anxiety simmering beneath his skin.
Miss Guppy nodded. "You are not Idris Jones.”
"How d'you -"
"Idris Jones is in London, working for us, you are not he."
"Who am I, then?" His voice wavered slightly. Miss Guppy smirked and gave a small shrug.
"No idea," she said and turned her back.
"Wait! You can't leave," he cried as the women stepped into the alleyway, their heels clicking on the hard street.
"I think you'll find we are, Mr. Jones," Miss Guppy called without looking back. And that was the last he saw of Miss Guppy and her companion.
Chapter 4