Returning Echoes
by plingo_kat (LJ
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New Who, Torchwood | PG-13 | Nine, Torchwood, Master | 20,177 words
It's never a good thing when you cross timelines with yourself, the Doctor knows. It gets even worse if you involve a bunch of stupid apes and an old enemy. And don't even get him started on the other aliens...
This was mostly just to see if I could actually write a 20,000 story (which I could. Sort of.) and I always wondered what Nine would have done if he met Jack's little band of humans, so here it is! :) And since I haven't watched any of S2 Torchwood, I wanted to develop Weevils more. They just kind of disappeared.
Art by Katie (LJ | e-mail | comment) and Morgyn Leri (LJ | e-mail | comment)
Returning Echoes
The (really confusing) Return"Jack?" Gwen called out. "We've got something on the monitors. Humanoid this time."
There was a muffled curse from below in Jack's quarters. "Coming," he called up hurriedly. "Just a sec." Jumping out of the hole in the floor, only one sleeve in his greatcoat, he strode off towards the main part of the Hub. Gwen trotted to keep up.
It had been happening on and off all week, these random dumps. Ever since Abaddon (and Billis, that bastard), the Rift had been more active, but it was now, three months later, that it had decided to pick up random people (aliens) from random times and dump them onto Torchwood's doorstep. At least this one was humanoid, not gas or lightning or some other cursed hard thing to catch. And it wouldn't scare the populace as much if it was out there.
"Status report," he barked, entering the control room. "I want–" Time slowed down as his team turned from the main monitor, revealing the man on the screen. His breathing suddenly sounded loud, his heart thundering in his ears. If he was holding anything, he would have dropped it.
"No," he breathed. "No, not possible." Vaguely he was aware of his team trying to get his attention, but all he was registering was background noise. It was kind of annoying, to be honest. Couldn't they just shut up for a bit?
"What?" Owen's voice penetrated the fog surrounding Jack's mind. He sounded rather annoyed. "You're the one who asked for a status report. Don't be so bitchy about it." Jack didn't hear him. He was already halfway out of the Hub.
The team traded looks. None of then could keep up with Jack when he was going full tilt, but they should at least go up there to back him up. Gwen was already arming herself, and with a few looks Owen got up as well.
"All right, all right," he grumbled. "It's not like he'll stay dead anyway, he's a fuckin' immortal..." His mutterings continued as he followed Gwen out.
Tosh and Ianto turned back to the screen, now showing Jack yelling.
"Do we have sound?" Ianto asked the resident computer genius. (It was just curiosity, he wasn't jealous of that stranger at all, he reassured himself.)
"Wait a minute." Tosh's fingers flew across the keyboard. "I can hack... there!" Distorted by speakers but still clearly recognizable came Jack's voice.
"Doctor?" Tosh frowned. "Who's that?"
"Wait..." Both the Torchwood employees spoke at the same time. "I know who he is."
They turned to each other. "How do you know about the Doctor?"
Ianto went first. "He's the whole reason Torchwood was established. The main objective of Torchwood is to find the Doctor and exterminate him. I'm the archive keeper, so I came across it."
"I met him the Downing Street incident. He came in and told me the 'alien' that was in the crashed spaceship was a fake. Then he saved everyone."
They shared a look. No matter whether the man was good or bad, he was dangerous. And Jack was running up to him. In fact, they turned back to the monitor just in time to see Jack deck the other (obviously unsuspecting) man, who fell and hit his head.
"Oh dear," Ianto said.
"Doctor." A voice echoed in his ears. "Doctor, wake up." He frowned, blue eyes snapping open.
Bright light. He hissed, closing his eyes again, but the red imprint of it stayed in the back of his eyelids. It brought back his TARDIS, sparking. Explosions. Gallifrey, burning and the death, genocide, screaming of his people. The Time Lords. All gone, wiped from existence. Because of him. He squeezed his eyes shut tighter. It was all his fault. His fault that –
"Doctor!" A hand slapped his face, not hard, but enough to snap him out of his memories. "Doctor, snap out of it!"
"What?" he snapped, then paused and moved his jaw around. "Mm, that's different. A northern accent?" He pondered this for a moment. "Fantastic." Some movement from the corner of his eye made him sit up sharply. Not a good idea, he groaned to himself. Rassilon, his head hurt. It was a man, he saw through pain-squinted eyes. Humanoid, too. That could be either a good or a bad thing.
On second glance, the man seemed rather in shock. Moments later it was confirmed.
"Oh no," the (dark-haired, blue-eyed, handsome) man breathed. "Oh no, no, no."
"What?" he snapped again. He hated being in the dark about things, especially after – no. Don't think about the war. Don't –
"I'm from your future," the man blurted out.
"Well don't tell me anything," the Doctor said. Jack almost laughed in relief at the familiar tone of his voice, the one that said you were an idiot and would you please just shut up now? As it was, he grinned so wide it hurt his face.
"Captain Jack Harkness," he introduced himself for the second time. "Nice to meet you again, Doc."
"Right," the Doctor grunted, swinging his legs off the examination table. "Nice to meet you too. Now, where's my TARDIS?" He patted himself down. "And my sonic screwdriver?"
"Oh, right," Jack ran a hand through is hair. "I have no idea about the TRADIS, but the screwdriver is in my office so my team wouldn't try to take it apart. C'mon, I'll take you there."
Both men strode to the door. Both men jumped back when, as soon as Jack turned the doorknob, three people fell through it to land in an undignified heap. Ianto was standing nearby with a cup of coffee. He offered it to Jack.
"Coffee, sir?"
"You're an angel, Ianto," Jack said, and drained the cup. "I've got to learn how to make this stuff. Anyway," he continued without missing a beat as the Doctor cleared his throat, "the three on the floor are Toshiko, Gwen, and Owen. In that order." He grinned down at his team. "Having fun down there, kids?"
Owen flipped him off.
"This is all good and domestic," the Doctor practically spat the last word out. Then he paused, blinking. "So I don't like domestic." He shrugged. "No big loss. Anyway, back to what I was saying. Ah, yes. It's all good and domestic, but I want my screwdriver and my TARDIS and then I'll be on my way. Don't," he said, turning to point a finger at Jack when the other man tried to protest, "try to stop me. Crossing timelines is bad at the best of times. You should know."
"What?" Jack reacted as if he were physically struck. "How'd you know I was a Time Agent? It hasn't happened for you yet, you can't possibly know – Unless," he pulled a gun from the back of his belt and leveled it at the Doctor look-alike, "you aren't the Doctor."
The rest of his team immediately followed his lead, drawing their own weapons and pointing them at the alien. Good, he had trained them well. The alien's next words were completely unexpected.
"Don't be stupid." The Doctor (no, not the Doctor, he was a fake, a fake) said with enough (oh so familiar) derision that Jack almost lowered his weapon. Almost.
"I'm not," the immortal man said, hand clenching on his gun. "You're a real bastard, you know that?" How could he have been so stupid? He berated himself. Of course the Doctor appearing to answer all his questions was too good to be true. He took out his anger on the fake. "Taking on the Doctor's shape like that. I might even enjoy locking you up for the rest of your pathetic life."
Jack took a grim satisfaction in seeing his words hit home, the fake Doctor flinching a little at the words "pathetic life". If he was in a clearer state of mind he might have paid more attention to the fact that it was those particular words the alien reacted to, but he wasn't, and wouldn't be for a while yet.
"I didn't know you were a Time Agent until you told me," the Doctor growled, patience beginning to wear thin. "I can sense the bloody Vortex in you! Anyone with that much of Time and Space running through them should know the dangers. Even after..." He trailed off, eyes darkening.
Jack cautiously lowered his weapon (his team didn't), taking a small step forwards. "You know?" he questioned, breathlessly, desperately. "You know why I can't die?"
The Doctor's eyes snapped up from where they had drifted to the floor. Immediately Jack's heart fell. There was only angry confusion in that gaze, none of the knowledge that he had hoped would be there, had dreamed of every night since he had realized his immortality.
"Never mind," he said bitterly, turning away. He was irrationally angry, he knew. It wasn't this Doctor's fault. The whole thing hadn't happened to him yet, he had no idea of his betrayal, but it didn't make things any easier. Perhaps it would be better if the Doctor just left, disappeared in his TARDIS as if he had never been here.
Yes, Jack decided as he strode out of the room. He would give the Doctor his things and the Time Lord would leave.
It was for the best.
Owen spun around on the office chair, leaning back and tipping the balance dangerously.
"So how does Jack know the bane of our existence? Sleep with him or something?" His voice was mocking but devoid of malice, and the others could hear the genuine curiosity hidden within.
"Maybe," Tosh spoke up hesitantly. At the looks Gwen and Ianto shot her she crossed her arms defensively. "What? It's possible – Jack has lived a long time, and he certainly seemed happy to see him." There was no question of who 'he' was.
"Who wants to bet that they're having some fun right now?" Owen leered, wriggling his eyebrows.
Ianto stood, walking over to the coffee machine. "I doubt it," he said, back turned and face hidden. Not jealous, he repeated to himself. He wasn't jealous. "Coffee, anyone?"
"Me," chorused four voices.
"Jack!" Gwen gasped. "Don't scare us like that!"
"The Doctor?" Tosh interrupted before the policewoman could begin scolding their boss.
Jack jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the door leading to his office, other hand accepting a mug of coffee from Ianto. The Welshman blushed at his smile of thanks, hiding it by busying himself pouring more of the life-giving liquid for his colleagues.
"He's making sure I didn't damage his precious sonic screwdriver." Jack rolled his eyes. "I swear, the obsession that man has with sonic..."
"I'll have you know that this sonic screwdriver has saved my life more times than I can count," an annoyed voice drifted from inside Jack's office before the Doctor emerged, twirling a small silver instrument between his fingers. "And that – damn!"
He glared at his hand, then the stick of metal rolling on the floor. Stupid awkwardness of a new regeneration. Jack bent down and picked it up, examining it.
"Setting 536D?" His voice was amused. "You have it on the vibration setting?"
The Doctor growled, but before he could speak the girl (Gwen, was it?) interrupted.
"How can a screwdriver have a vibration setting?" she said. "Actually, how can a screwdriver even look like that?"
"It's sonic," Jack and the Doctor spoke at the same time. Their tone of voice implied that it explained everything. To them it did, and they shared a look that spoke volumes. For a moment the rest of the Torchwood team felt like outsiders.
Then the klaxons started blaring.
"Damnit!" Jack was already moving, tossing the screwdriver back to the Doctor and barking orders as he ran towards the basement. The Doctor followed, a grin on his face. This was just what he needed, a nice distraction from the dark thoughts plaguing his mind.
His good mood lasted for all of ten seconds before he saw what had gotten loose.
"Weevils?" The Doctor raged. "You call them Weevils?"
Gwen watched the man pace in front of Jack from Tosh's desk, the rest of the Torchwood team around her. None of them wanted to get involved in their shouting match.
"What else was I supposed to call them?" Jack's voice was exasperated, and beginning to take on a dangerous edge. "I don't know what species they are!"
"One of the oldest," the Doctor muttered, before raising his voice again. "One of the oldest races in existence – older than us by far! – and you name them Weevils. And imprison them! Just like humans to lock away anything you can't understand."
"They were killing people." Jack said flatly. "And they don't show any signs of intelligence at all. They're primitive. Savage. If they came before the Time Lords, they've devolved, and devolved a lot."
"No, that can't be right." The Doctor stopped, turning to face the immortal man. "We visited regularly, our people learning from each other. They allied with us in the war – no." Realization dawned across his features and he bowed his head, fists clenching. "No, it can't be."
"Doctor..." Jack stepped forwards, one hand reaching out in front of him, hesitantly trying to give some comfort.
"Don't'," the Doctor said. His voice was frigid, and angry. Very, very angry. All the humans in the room took an instinctive step back. Jack from hurt (didn't the Doctor trust him? Of course not, he didn't even know him, how could he forget?) and his team from fear. They had seen angry aliens aplenty, but never like this. Never with this aura of power, this cold hard fury.
And then it was gone, the tight lines around blue-grey eyes lessening as the Doctor reigned in his emotions.
"Sorry," he said. "That was uncalled for. I know you were trying to help." Jack saw a look of defeat flash across the Doctor's face. It scared him more than any amount of the Time Lord's fury ever could, because if the Doctor gave up... It didn't bear thinking about. The Doctor was the Doctor, and he would be there. That was the way things were.
Until he dies, a little voice taunted in the back of his mind. Or he leaves again, just like back on Satellite Five. Better he leave than die, Jack answered back silently. Better it be me that suffers than him. Although he knew that it would never happen, for the Doctor had lived far longer than him, seen more horrors than he had. He didn't want to use the saying "saw more horrors than he could imagine" because he wasn't sure it was true anymore. And if that wasn't a measure of how much he had changed, he didn't know what was. It scared him.
"It's all right," he shrugged. "I've seen you angry before."
"Ah," the Doctor frowned and Jack cursed himself for reminding the Time Lord that they were crossing timelines. "That's going to be problem if I'm going to stay. Do not," he stressed, "tell me anything. Nothing. Understood?"
"Yes, sir," Jack snapped off a salute. A proper military salute, with heels together, back straight, eyes forward.
The Doctor nodded in acknowledgement. "Good lad."
Jack all but turned cartwheels inside his mind. The Doctor was staying! He couldn't stop the stupid grin that spread over his face. Maybe he could help with the Rift too. They had a real expert now, not just him, with a mix of information gained from his travels all jumbled up in his mind. Well, he admitted with wry honesty, they would have an expert if the Doctor deigned to actually take the time to help identify things. More than likely he would say he wasn't a diagnostic machine and had better things to do (like saving the world) and then run off to the nearest explosion. Or the nearest bunch of screaming masses. It was always like that with the Doctor. Not that it was a bad thing. It wasn't a bad thing at all.
"This is touching and all," Owen drawled, "but can we get back on topic? You know, the Weevils?" He flinched a little at the glare the Doctor shot him, but continued on bravely (or stupidly, which was what Jack was inclined to think). "Or are you two going to stand there and make moon eyes at each other for the rest of the night?"
Ianto's hand twitched. Jack and the Doctor turned away from each other to glare. Gwen and Toshiko rolled their eyes. Owen himself held up his hands.
"Alright, alright. I'm sorry. The Weevils?"
The Doctor spoke, letting out a bunch of syllables that sounded like something between church bells and an orchestra. All the humans in the room looked at him. The Doctor muttered something (probably insulting) under his breath.
"That is what your Weevils," he sneered at the word, "are called." There was a short silence, broken by Jack.
"Was that Gallifreyan?" he asked in a stunned sort of voice.
The Doctor was silent, although his expression screamed, 'what do you think?'
"Right," Jack nodded to himself. "Stupid question. Sorry. But you never spoke Gallifreyan. Ever."
"There was probably a good reason for that, then." In an abrupt movement the Doctor turned and began to pace, voice taking on a lecturing tone. "Anyway, the" and there was the long string of syllables again, "were one of the first races that ever existed. They were there at the beginning of the universe, and they're still here now. Quite an accomplishment, actually. Now," the Doctor stopped and faced them. He was really getting into it, Jack noted. "The (long string of syllables) –"
"Can you please just use 'Weevils'?" Gwen interrupted plaintively. At the Doctor's glare she explained hastily. "It's not like they're really – whatever you call them." She waved a hand around. "I mean, you say they're this great race, but right now they really, well, aren't. If you look at it that way, they're Weevils instead of a great race from the past."
Everyone blinked a bit and looked at her in surprise. Jack's gaze held pride, too, because wasn't this why he had her join the team? To introduce a human element? Typical of Gwen, to see the actions and motivations of people, not their species. He smiled before looking up to meet the Doctor's eyes.
She's right, Jack raised an eyebrow. You know that.
Humans, the Doctor's mouth twitched. I suppose.
Glad to hear it. Jack smirked.
Don't be so smug.
Yes, sir.
"Very well," the Doctor said, turning away before the others noticed their little conversation. "The Weevils were a very psychically capable race. They have a network of interconnecting minds, not enough for them to be considered a 'hive mind' but enough to vaguely know where the rest of their race is and how they are generally feeling."
"Yes, we assumed that they had a sort of psychic link to each other." Tosh nodded. "Each Weevil's – I suppose you could call it mood – appears to be affected by what happens to other Weevils. So they can communicate?"
The Doctor nodded. "Something like that, yeah."
"So how do you know all this? Were they allies with your race?"
This time the Doctor smiled. "Something like that, yeah."
"So what are you, anyway?" Owen broke the friendly mood. Everybody glared at him (again). "What? It's a perfectly good question."
"But not very tactful," Ianto observed, finally joining the conversation. "Look at him."
The Doctor was starting at a wall, eyes far away. It wasn't just daydreaming though – his shoulders were tense, hands minutely twitching. And if you looked closely, there was a world of sorrow in his eyes.
Jack knew this mood. Every once in awhile the Doctor would encounter something that smacked him in the face, made him travel back to the Time War that had killed his people. He would stand at the TARDIS console, one hand clenched on a lever and the other softly stroking the control panel as he stared off into space. Whenever he got like that, Jack went and found Rose. She could always bring the Doctor back to the present, if not cheer him up completely. Jack wasn't so sure about his own abilities, but – he glanced at his team, who were all staring at the Doctor in curiosity – he dreaded what would happen if one of them tried. If Rose could do it, he could, right? It wasn't that hard, he'd seen her distract the Time Lord a whole bunch of times...
"I'm hungry," he said loudly, not looking at his team, sure they were giving him looks of incredulity asking, "What? Don't you want to know?" He already did, and it hurt. What the genocide of a race could do to someone... "Who's up for some bananas?"
Now they were imparting a very different kind of disbelief, the kind that said "WTF?!" instead of the more mild "What exactly are you doing?" Jack ignored them (again) and walked over to the Doctor, voice determinedly light and cheery.
"C'mon, Doc, you were the one always saying 'bananas are good'. Hell," and now Jack lowered is voice to a seductive purr, "you can have some bananas of mine any time you like."
That snapped the Doctor out of his funk, Jack noted smugly. Of course, it earned him a snort and a death glare, but it was worth it to pull the Doctor out of his past. Actually, while he was on the subject, when exactly was this for the Doc? It seemed like he got lost a lot more easily, was a lot more touchy about things. How long after the Time War was it for him? How long since the Time Lords were wiped from the history of the universe?
Jack was so lost within his thoughts that he didn't notice Ianto shoot a brief jealous look at the Doctor, a sort of longing one at himself. The Doctor did notice, however, as did Gwen. Tosh and Owen were too busy looking between the two futuristic men, too intrigued by their dynamics to notice much of anything else. It was something all of them were wondering. Who exactly was the Doctor? And how did Jack know him?
"Do you even have food in this place?" A disdainful look was cast about the alien.
"Sure. I'll even give you a tour. You guys." Jack turned to his team. "Go home and get some sleep. We'll figure out what to do about the Weevils tomorrow."
It looked like they wouldn't be getting answers any time soon.
As always, Ianto was first in the next morning. But today, on his way to make coffee and then wake Jack, he heard muffled voices coming from his boss's office. He looked in. He didn't see anyone. He walked inside. Didn't see anyone. Stepped over to the hole in the ground that was Jack's quarters. The voices got louder.
"And we were all like: 'No, nonono, we gotta run away' butt naked in the snow..."
"I can imagine that," came the Doctor's amused voice. "You seem like the kind of man who gets into a lot of trouble."
"And you're not?" Jack teased. Ianto smiled slightly, imagining the grin that always seemed to light up the immortal man's face. Jack always seemed so weary these days; tired of life and death and the thankless hours working at the Hub trying to control the Rift. Sometimes Ianto wondered whether Jack would be happier if he had never taken the job. But sometimes Ianto also wondered if Lisa would still be alive if she hadn't worked for Torchwood, or if he would have met her if that were true. Sometimes he wondered what she would think of him now, in love with the man who (pretty much) killed her.
He shook himself out of his dark thoughts. "Coffee, sir?" he called down, stepping back to allow his superior to climb out of his living quarters.
"God that's good," Jack sighed appreciatively after he finished his mug (three long pulls, straight down as always, Ianto noted). "Thanks, Yan."
Ianto flushed a little, ducking his head. "It was no problem, sir."
"I don't see how you can drink that stuff," said the Doctor. "What's wrong with a nice cup of tea?"
"Well for one thing, it doesn't wake you up." Jack's voice was dry. "And I'm American. We drink coffee. British people drink tea."
"I drink tea!" The Doctor was offended.
"Well, you're as good as British anyway."
"What do you mean by that?"
Ianto could only watch as they degenerated to childish squabbling. He sighed.
"No I'm not."
"Yes you are."
"No."
"Yes."
"No."
"Yes."
"Yes."
"No – hey, you tricked me!" Gwen punched Owen lightly in the shoulder as they walked into the Hub, eager to learn more about this mysterious "Doctor" that Jack knew so much about. Just when she thought she had gotten used to Torchwood ("used to" meaning that she didn't blink at eight-foot tall slime monsters or handsome immortal men) life threw her something like this. Actually, to be honest, Gwen didn't know why this was such a big deal. They had aliens falling through the Rift all the time these days, some benign and some... not so benign. But none of them intrigued her like the Doctor.
It was the fact the he knew Jack, she supposed, or that Jack knew him. The Torchwood team was just as curious about their leader's past as they were about the alien tech they encountered. Maybe even a little bit more. This was a perfect opportunity to find out more about their immortal boss.
"Ah, so you're finally here," Jack grinned, spinning around lazily on an office chair. Tosh sat beside him, busily typing away on her computer. The Doctor was idly browsing all the little bits and pieces of alien tech lying about. Ianto was feeding the pterodactyl.
"Yeah," Owen deadpanned. Gwen cut him off before he could insult somebody.
"So what's up?" They couldn't all just be standing around doing nothing, could they?
"Nothing." Jack twirled his chair around again.
There went that hope.
"The hell?" That was Owen. "What do you mean, 'nothing'? What about the Weevils, eh? The bloody Rift?"
The claxons went off.
"You just had to say it, didn't you?" Jack yelled above the alarms. "Tosh?"
"It's the Rift," she shouted back. "I don't know what's going on, but its energy output has increased tremendously!"
"Doctor?" Jack turned, but the Doctor already had his screwdriver out and scanning. He turned around it a circle, pointed down, then up – and stopped. Owen and Gwen grabbed their guns, Tosh her laptop and Ianto appeared in the doorway with keys in hand. Within seconds the whole group was out the door.
Below in the cells, the Weevils hissed.
Chris Mendel was just an ordinary guy. He lived in an ordinary apartment, had an ordinary girlfriend, and worked in an ordinary coffee shop on the corner of an ordinary street. So when in the middle of his shift, a glowing blue hole appeared in the air, he did what any ordinary person would do.
He stared at it.
The next thing he did was completely unordinary. In fact, it could have been called extraordinary. He turned, grabbed the nearest person (in this case a nice, ordinary man sitting and drinking his coffee) and threw him in, the movement accompanied by a startled scream. Then he turned to everyone else, baring teeth that looked just a little bit sharper than normal in something that might have been called a smile.
"Who's next?"
"Turn left," came the terse order from behind Jack as he drove, the Doctor looking at an online map of Cardiff. The immortal could see a flash of light in the rear view mirror as the Doctor twirled his sonic screwdriver between his fingers. "And drive faster, will you?"
"My foot is almost on the floor," Jack replied, watching the road. "And it would be worse if we crashed."
"For us at least," Owen muttered from the passenger seat. Gwen swatted the back of his head. "Ow! What was that for?" He turned around to glare at her.
"It's not Jack's fault," she admonished. "Be a bit more sensitive, can't you?"
"He can be more sensitive later," the Doctor said. "We're almost there."
"Anyone else hear that?" Tosh asked suddenly. Everyone shut up and listened.
"Oh fuck," said Owen. "Don't the bloody cops know Torchwood when they see us?" He ignored Gwen bristling at his badmouthing of the keepers of the peace, continuing to vent his anger. "Or are they just bloody stupid?"
"Well we can't slow down – God!" The car jerked to the right. "Don't merge without flashing your light, you idiot! Tosh, can you send them a message or something?"
"On it," she replied, "What do you want me to say?"
"Something like 'we're Torchwood, go away'," Jack shrugged, pushing the gas pedal all the way down. "We're almost there anyway, right Doc?"
"Right," the Doctor confirmed. "All we need is to hold them off for a little bit."
"Consider it done." Tosh's fingers flew over the keyboard.
Five long minutes later, Ianto and Gwen were outside trying to keep the police out. The other four were inside a trashed coffee shop.
"No blood," Owen noted.
"Yeah," the Doctor agreed absently. He sniffed. "Do you smell that?"
"Smell what?"
The Doctor took another deep breath, letting it out slowly. He strode up to Jack, placing a heavy hand on the immortal's shoulder as he leaned down and inhaled. Jack stiffened, cursing himself reacting in such a way. This was not the time, he berated himself. Not in the middle of an investigation. He could fantasize about the Doctor later, in his quarters. Not here. Not now, in front of his team and the object of his desires. But Jack couldn't help the way his eyes half-closed as the Doctor pressed just that little bit closer, breath warm on his skin and short hair tickling his ear. Neither could he help the instinctive tilt of his head to allow the Doctor better access to his neck.
"Definitely the Vortex," announced the Doctor, taking a step back. Jack shook himself (mentally of course) out of his daze, flushing a little at the looks he was receiving from his team. The Doctor ignored them, pacing around, nostrils flaring as he scented the air.
"Right here." He stopped and sketched an oval in the air, smiling a bit. "It tingles."
Tosh gave him a bit of a weird look (Owen outright snorted) but began to set up her equipment. It didn't take long and soon they were packing up and leaving, disappointed and slightly worried. Well, some were worried. Others just grumbled.
"We get called out here for nothing. And we have to deal with the bloody cops, and we're working on broad daylight, and Torchwood will be all over the fucking news tomorrow. Just watch."
"Shut up, Owen," chorused everyone else.
"So..." Owen snagged a donut from a box bought on the way back to the Hub. "Going back to the Weevils, then?"
Jack looked at the Doctor, who nodded decisively.
"No use putting it off, is it? The sooner this mystery is solved, the better."
"Right," Jack agreed hollowly. And then you'll leave, he added in is mind. Leave and I'll never see you again, you won't remember me, you left me on Satellite Five... "Let's go."
The walk down to the cells was silent, Jack sneaking glances at the Doctor when he thought the other man wasn't looking.
"Are you going to say anything, or are you going to just stare at me?"
Jack twitched guiltily. "Sorry."
"Are they going to do anything?" asked Gwen, leaning closer to the monitor.
"Dunno," said Owen. "Looks like it, though. Bet Jack screwed him before."
"Owen!" Gwen and Tosh admonished. Ianto gritted his teeth and clenched his hand around the handle of his cup.
He did, however, continue. "Doctor?"
"Yes?"
"How long has it been?"
The Doctor stopped and turned to look at the immortal. "Since what?"
"The Time War."
"Time War?" said Tosh.
"Sounds like something Billis would start. You know, hopping back in forth in Time?" Gwen imagined a film she had seen.
"Perhaps we should listen. Jack or the Doctor may let some information slip." Ianto always was the practical one.
Fire. Daleks. Bright beams of light, dead and dying and some regeneration but not enough, never enough, and he had no choice but to set the world on fire. And then there was him in his TARDIS. The last.
"Not long enough," he said hoarsely. "Not long enough."
"Nothing," sighed the Torchwood team.
Jack looked at the Doctor, took in the clenched hands and overbright eyes. "Sorry," he said again, softly. "I'm sorry, Doctor."
And he was, Jack acknowledged. Although he tried to hate the Doctor for leaving him on Satellite Five even as he longed for the Time Lord's presence, he had never really succeeded. Once you met him, once he touched you... it was never the same. He had gone from a self-loathing conman to a hero. Rose from a shop-girl to intergalactic adventurer. The Doctor changed people. Made them better. Or perhaps just pulled the better part out of them, whether they wanted it or not. Jack certainly hadn't wanted to be saved, but he had been anyway. And he was glad for that.
He loved the Doctor for it.
"We're here," Jack announced as they came to the door to the cells. They strode inside.
"Let me in one of the cells."
"Do you want me to give it some sedative first?"
The Doctor considered the suggestion for a few moments. "No," he said finally. "It could interfere with the communication." Here he paused. "But thanks for the offer."
Jack smiled. "No problem." He watched as the Doctor stepped inside, cautiously approaching the Weevil. When it didn't react the Time Lord put his fingers to that oblong head, and two pairs of eyes closed.
Well, the Doctor thought, and the word echoed in the air as if it had been spoken aloud. That is, if you could call the atmosphere around him air. A swirling grey-blue miasma of fog surrounded him on all sides, constantly shifting. He looked down. He was even standing on it. Around him, though, was a sphere of clear air, the protective bubble of his own mind.
But it wasn't right. It wasn't just not right. It was wrong.
Wrong... ong... ong...
Something had tampered with a whole species' minds. Something or somebody, the Doctor had to acknowledge. Although he really couldn't think of anyone that had this kind of power. It made him nervous.
Well, the Doctor thought again. Standing here wasn't doing him any good, was it? Time to get moving, then. Explore. See what was wrong so that he could fix it...
"Like you fixed Gallifrey?" a mocking voiced asked from behind him. The Doctor whirled around, blood and death and fire behind his eyes, and saw a man.
He looked... ordinary. He had brown hair and a sort of round face. He was wearing a suit, though a casual one as if he wore something like it every day. The eyes, though... the man's (human? Or something else?) eyes were mad - that the Doctor could see at a glance. The bright and strange glitter some mistook for enthusiasm and some for determination wasn't what it seemed. He had seen it too many times; in murderers and dictators, and blue eyes in the mirror.
He knew what it meant. Sometimes they were born that way (and strangely he thought of the Master, and Koschei running through tall red grass) and sometimes it was the world – too harsh or too bright, too much life for them to handle and their minds... changed.
Only bits of the Doctor's thoughts that ran through his mind were caught by the strange landscape and reflected back. (mad... Koschei... changed...) And then, in a strange dual voice as thought and spoken word combined – "Who are you?"
(In the real world, Jack worried as he saw the Doctor's brows furrow.
"Doctor?" he said hesitantly.)
"Oh, come now," the man chuckled. "You don't recognize me, Doctor? Although I suppose that since the last time I saw you was in your future..."
The Doctor's eyes narrowed.
"Come on, Theta! Has it really been so long that you don't remember your old friend?" The Master clasped gloved hands mockingly in front of his chest. "That hurts, Doctor. Right in the heart."
"Master..." the Doctor breathed.
–aster... er... er...
"Impossible."
("Doctor?" Jack tried again.)
"Not impossible, my dear Doctor." The Master waggled a reproving finger. "Merely improbable. And I see you missed me too, if your thoughts earlier were any indication?" He beamed benevolently at the other Time Lord.
"You know about Gallifrey." The Doctor, ignoring the Master's words and seizing on his earlier comment. "You know that we're–"
"The last one's left, I know, I know." The Master waved a hand dismissively. "You told me in the future. Nothing to worry about."
"Nothing to worry about!" the Doctor sputtered. "Gallefrey, our home planet, is gone and it's nothing to worry about? I can't believe you!" But then the Doctor realized exactly who he was talking to. "Actually, I can. I forgot for a bit who I was speaking to. What are you planning?"
"Now why would you think I'm planning anything?"
"In case you haven't noticed," the Doctor's voice was dry, "this is a Jokulhaupamtourei's mind. They don't usually look like this. You're here. It's obvious you're planning something."
"A Jokulhaupamtourei's mind! Really?" The Master clapped delightedly. "Better than I had hoped! Of course," he said arrogantly, "I'm a genius. But really, a Jokulhaupamtourei? Wonderful! However," and here he posed, on hand up and finger pointing up into the air. "I'm sorry to say that I really have no idea what's causing this." Lowering his arm, he poked at a blue smoke-swirl that shied away at his touch. Grinning, he set about poking other tendrils, watching as they retreated from his hands, snickering now and then when one would hit another and both would tangle up before dissipating.
"I was just having a bit of fun with the Angel Network, is all."
"The Angel Network." It wasn't a question.
"Lovely telepathic field, subtly altering the way those apes think. It's quite genius." The Master casually brushed some lint of his jacket. "Made it myself."
"Want a demonstration?"
And the Doctor reeled as something hit his mind shields, the clear bubble around him rippling, twisting, warping as he fell down into fire and darkness and the howling screams of battle. Gallifrey wreathed in red and orange and yellow. A swarm of silver Dalek ships in the sky. A big red button in the middle of a room. The key – and the end. Flames.
("Doctor!" Jack shouted as the other man went rigid and started convulsing. "Shit!!")
Kidnapping Ensues
"I still can't believe it. It's huge. Huge! How does it work?"
"Bigger on the inside," said Ianto.
"Like that helps," said Owen, leaning idly on a pillar. "Probably some weird alien thing or something."
"I wonder how they're doing?" asked Gwen.
Tosh looked up from her examination of the TARDIS console. "Jack hasn't come out yet."
Owen snorted. "He probably has no idea what to do. I'm the doctor around here. It's in my job title. Doctor Owen Harper?"
"But I'm the one who knows how to use all this alien tech." Jack emerged unnoticed from the darkness of the corridor. All of the Torchwood team jumped.
"How is he?" Gwen was the first to recover.
"Okay," sighed Jack. "Stable, but there wasn't much I could do. It's all in his mind, no physical damage at all." He ran his hands through his hair in frustration. "How did it happen? Weevils have a weak telepathic field at best – I don't see how they could have been this great race, or how they could've gotten through the Doctor's shields. It doesn't make sense!"
"Calm down, sir." Ianto was quick to talk their leader down. "It's no use to be pacing. I'm sure the Doctor will recover. In the meantime, there is the Rift to consider."
"Ianto's right," said Tosh. "By my calculations, the Rift should be spitting out another batch of aliens soon. We should be on alert."
"Alright. Someone has to stay and watch the Doctor; that'll be me. You guys should be experienced enough by now to take care of the Hub for a bit. Stay on alert, take care of any problems – but if you really need me, my comm is on." Jack tapped his earpiece. "Just give me a call."
Once his had team left, Jack sat down in the Captain's chair with a sigh. There were too many things going on, too many factors to consider. The Rift, for one, and the Doctor, and the Weevils. Torchwood was already hard pressed to take care of all the things that fell through the hole in time and space, but add in Doctor-related chaos and the makings of a plot – well, if Cardiff was intact after this it would be somewhat of a miracle.
And that wasn't even counting in his personal feelings.
Why why why did the one person he truly fell for have to be the Doctor? He'd seen and met aliens with charm, with wit, with really hot bodies; with blue skin and red skin, six arms and none. Many were much better looking than his Doctor. And they didn't yell at him, or refer to him as an ape, or have a TARDIS he could spend hours tinkering with, or make his knees weak with just a look...
Jack glanced at the med bay corridor. Would the Doctor mind if he sat in there?
Ianto sighed inwardly as they left the storage room behind. As soon at the TARDIS doors had closed Owen had begun complaining; about Jack ("That lazy mumblegrumble..."), about the Doctor (which Ianto actually agreed with, though he would never say anything); about anything and everything. It was grating on his nerves.
So when the medical specialist "asked" (more like ordered) Ianto to go get some coffee, he snapped.
"Get it yourself!" Palms stung and reddened from hitting the metal table as high cheekbones colored with an angry flush. He glared at the other man.
Owen blinked (as did Gwen and Tosh), raising his hands in surrender. "Okay. No need to shout," he said mildly. Ianto seethed as his three team members stared at his uncharacteristic behavior.
"I'll be back soon." The door hissed shut as he stalked out.
"...What's his problem?" Owen drawled after a moment of silence. The two women shared a look, and then shrugged in unison.
"Probably just frustrated," Tosh supplied. "We've all been a little on edge with the dumps the Rift has been making. I'm sure he'll come back once he's cooled down."
"You know, I've never seen him get angry before?" Gwen said. "I mean, he came close with the..." She trailed off at the forbidden topic of the Welshman's ex-girlfriend. "You know. But I've never seen him get mad just because he's frustrated. It just doesn't seem... Ianto."
"We really do take him for granted," Tosh mused. "I'll have to do something nice for him one day. Soon." She gave a pointed look at Owen. "An apology might not go amiss either."
He snorted. "Whatever."
Two hours later he wasn't so blasé. "He'd better not have gotten kidnapped or killed or some other crap like that," Owen swore. "Anything?"
"Not yet," Tosh replied absently, typing in something on her keyboard. "Still searching the CCTV's, records of the past two hours, stuff like that. No hits."
Owen swore again.
"Should I go get Jack?" Gwen made to move to the door, short and quickly aborted as Owen shook his head.
"He'll just ream us out. It's only been two hours, we can find him."
"Not right now we can't." Tosh's voice was grim. "We've got an incoming from the Rift, and it looks big."
"Sometimes I bloody hate this job."
"Found that bastard yet?" Owen gritted his teeth as he swerved around another car. "Goddamnit, get out of the way! – And where the hell do I get off this fucking highway?"
"Second exit, Willow Road. Still nothing on Ianto." Tosh's voice sounded a bit tinny through his earpiece, Owen noted. They should get new ones. State-of-the-art equipment his ass. "Keep looking," he told the woman still back in the Hub.
"Obviously," she retorted. Nothing turning up on her searches was beginning to frustrate her. State-of-the-art equipment her ass. "And turn right," she added as the Torchwood car's red dot neared an intersection on her screen.
"Yeah, yeah," Owen said. "I know where I'm going. Just keep looking for that coffee-making bastard."
There was silence on the other end of his comm. Owen shrugged. She was probably just in a huff that he didn't need her tech stuff. He was a more hand's on guy, with the bodies and the guns and the action, not sitting behind a desk looking at computers all day. Or making coffee, he thought sourly. Like Ianto, always running after Jack. Maybe they were...? Nah. Jack was too involved with the Doctor to have really been with Ianto. He would have at least given the Welshman little pity-gestures of affection.
Actually, that had been bothering him. Since when did their esteemed leader take orders from somebody else? Jack was acting like some sort of puppy, trailing around panting after the Doctor, taking his orders like a good little soldier. Owen didn't like it. He doubted any of the others on the team did either, if they had noticed. They probably had. After all, Jack hadn't hired them based on just their looks. They were the best in their chosen fields, even if they were slackers. Sometimes.
"Owen!" The car swerved violently as Gwen yanked the steering wheel.
"The fuck!" Owen swore.
"Pay attention! You nearly ran into that blue sedan."
Owen glanced in the rear view mirror. "You mean the one that's following us?"
"Yeah, that – what do mean following us?" Gwen craned her head around. "It's sped up..." she said quietly. "And it's got tinted windows."
"Tosh? You hear that?"
"I saw the license plate," Gwen announced breathlessly. "5HRK131."
"Tosh. Tosh! This is fucking serious, you can give me the cold shoulder later! Talk to me." Silence. "Goddamnit!"
"It's gaining," Gwen reported.
Owen stepped harder on the gas pedal. "I'm not a race car driver," he groused. "Cars are not meant to be driven at this speed. I'm going to crash. This sucks." He paused. "Even if it's really, really cool," he added as an afterthought. How many people got to participate in a real live car chase, after all?
A few seconds later there was an explosion, fire blooming from the hoods of three different cars piled up in the middle of the highway, metal carcasses burning. The blue sedan was nowhere to be seen.
Whistling, Jack patted his stomach. Some good old 51st century flatmoor cakes for lunch had cheered him up immensely. Sure, it had taken him some time to find the ingredients (he still wanted to know what that glowing blue stuff was), but it was worth it. Twenty first century fast food just got so boring after a while. There was only so much pizza, Chinese, and grease he could take, after all.
But now that the pleasure was over, it was time to check in with his team, see if they were doing all right, and then off to see if the Doctor had woken up yet.
The thought sobered him somewhat. The Time Lord had always seemed so – untouchable, if that was the word to use. Throughout the entire duration of their adventures, Jack had never seen the Doctor get hurt once. Oh, he got tied up like his human companions, thrown into cells and almost cooked (that one planet was particularly hostile towards humanoids), but he never actually sustained serious physical injuries. He and Rose would always get scrapes and things, dark red blood welling up from abused skin. (It was when it gushed you knew you had a problem.) But never the Doctor. He would always get out safe and sound, grinning as they ran for their lives back to the TARDIS for a check-up in the med bay.
He wondered if Time Lords healed faster.
"So how's it going?"
Silence.
Jack frowned. That wasn't good. "Gwen? Ianto?"
Still silence. Jack spoke with more authority now.
"Owen. Tosh. Are you there?"
No answer. Jack cursed, long and hard. He was still cursing when his earpiece crackled with static.
It wasn't supposed to do that.
"This is Jack."
"I know that," said a voice. Smooth, male, middle aged, had a British accent. Could be anybody. Jack snarled inwardly.
"And?" he asked tersely.
"I just wanted you to know," the voice said airily, "that I have your people here. They're not very polite." He sounded slightly put out. "They keep cursing. One in particular. Owen, I think his name is?"
Jack's eyes narrowed. Owen would never have given up his name willingly. That either meant torture (which didn't seem likely, the guy was too polite) or subterfuge (which was very likely, considering he had hacked into Jack's comm. That should have been impossible, his stuff was way ahead of anything on the current market of Earth.). How had the man hacked into the Torchwood equipment? If, indeed, he even was a man.
"Who are you?" Jack growled. "What are you?"
"Oh, just your normal run-of-the-mill human." The bastard sounded amused. "With maybe a little bit extra. Just like you, Captain."
"What do you want?"
"What does every bad guy want? To take over the world, of course. But to do that, I need the Rift. And to get the Rift, I need Torchwood. Namely, you."
"And my team?"
"Captain," said the voice disapprovingly. "I took you for a smart one. You know the answer to that question. Think a bit, would you?" There was a click, as if the man on the other end hung up a phone.
"Damnit!" Jack was torn. On one hand there was his team, on the other was the Doctor. He looked down the corridor. One quick check, he assured himself. One quick check on how the Doctor was doing, and then back to the Hub to see of he could locate his team.
He wasn't so pale anymore, Jack noted. The soft green light of the TARDIS warmed his skin instead of making it look sickly and pale. The tight lines around his eyes and mouth were still there, though, and his brows were furrowed. The Doctor was not resting peacefully.
"I wish I could help," Jack whispered. He reached forward, fingers tracing the air above the Doctor's features. "I wish I knew how."
He stood abruptly. "But I have to find my team." He spoke as if the Doctor were awake. Giving excuses. Running away. "I..." He stopped, face reflecting something like anguish and something like longing. "Get better. Please." This time fingers actually brushed skin.
Fire. Fire everywhere, heat and light and burning, burning. Burning everything.
Jack pulled back sharply, gasping. "What the - ! Doctor," he breathed, shutting his eyes in sympathy. "It's Gallifrey, isn't it? The last moments of the Time War, the end of a species... And you, doomed to watch it all." When the immortal's eyes opened, they were determined. Hard. And just a little bit resigned. He spared a short thought for his team.
I'll go find you guys soon...
It was the colors that hit him first; reds and purples, oranges and blues. They flickered oddly across his vision, first one, then another, and then the first again. Spatial dimensions seemed all wrong – it was like when he was back at the Time Agency, taking that class about how to see in five dimensions. He kept walking into walls and avoiding things that weren't actually there. There were these sort of flying bug things too, though he wasn't sure why. He dropped out after the fifteenth wall.
This was the same, but somehow it all made sense – there was a TARDIS, a trail of images where it once was, a cloud ahead where it could possibly go. That was a Dalek warship, stationary but for the explosion that was inevitable in two hours or three days ago, Time twisting and warping with the strength of the war. And then...E
Jack's breath caught. It was beautiful. Dimly he could feel horror (the Doctor's, he thought) on the edges of his mind, but he was overtaken by wonder. Red and silver, silver and red. Gallifrey was a stunning planet, even while it burned. The metallic trees shone in the light, highlighted by the red grasses in the background. When the surface was hit (and it was, though you could almost ignore the craters, it was so captivating) silver shot up like a fountain, spraying liquid metal into space. The planet's lifeblood.
But it was like something... something was missing. Jack looked around, but it was like the view followed him. All he could see was Gallifrey. That wasn't the problem, though. It was the sound. There was no sound. Everything was eerily silent – like a television set on mute, pictures playing across the screen but meaningless, empty without sound. He tried to speak.
"Doctor?"
It came out strange, echo-y. It didn't sound like himself. Jack tried again.
"Doctor, it's Jack. Jack Harkness? I need –" He swallowed. "I need you wake up. Please."
The view in front of him wavered, like a mirage. In illusion. Was the Doctor trapped? Was he trying to break free?
"Doctor," Jack called again, voice rising with hope. "Doctor, you need to wake up. I... I need you. Your help. You need to wake up, Doctor."
He waited, breathless, in anticipation. The image wavered again, but didn't break, or fade, or in any other way change. Jack's spirits fell. What else could he do? He never had any training in the mind arts, no psychic ability to speak of. No real psychic ability, anyway. He could only shield, not project. That bit with Tosh and the mind-reading device was a fluke, driven by desperation.
Jack was feeling pretty desperate.
"Please!" He shouted, putting his entire mind behind the words. "Doctor!" Blue eyes, those ears, that nose, that grin. "Buy me a drink first." "Bigger on the inside." "See you, Captain." One last (and first) kiss goodbye.
The illusion shattered into blueredsilver shards, and for one moment, Jack could feel a hundred thousand Time Lords screaming as they died.
He collapsed.
"You are not helping," said Tosh, as patiently as could be expected when Owen had been swearing for over an hour. It was quite impressive, actually. He hadn't repeated himself yet.
"What's there to help?" Owen gestured violently around them. "Do you see any way out of this place?"
Tosh had to admit he had a point. The nicest thing that could be said about their cell was that it was grey. In fact, it was practically the only thing that could be said about it. Four walls and a ceiling, no chairs, no doors. Just cement.
"Are you sure you can't do anything for Ianto?" Gwen looked up from her crouch by the Welshman's form, laid out flat on the floor.
"There's nothing wrong with him," said Owen. "And even if there was, there's nothing I can do right now. Don't have any medical equipment, remember?"
"No need for snark," said Tosh. "It's not his fault."
"Isn't it?" Owen snarled and turned in his pacing. "We were looking for him when we got caught. If he hadn't disappeared, we wouldn't have gone out. We were perfectly fine until that bastard upped and walked out on us."
"He couldn't know," Tosh argued. "None of us are to blame."
"Like that helps."
"Well your attitude isn't making anything better! Couldn't you be sympathetic, for once?"
"And what good is that going to do us, huh? Do you think if we cry, our nice fucking little jailer will let us out of this shithole?"
"At least it would be better than listening to your swearing!"
"If you don't want to fucking listen, just –"
"Guys!" Gwen broke in. "This isn't helping. We're a team. We should be working together on this."
Tosh and Owen bristled, but backed down.
"Of course," Tosh said tersely. "We need to find a way out."
"Okay." It was obvious Owen was holding back a scathing remark. "How?"
"I don't know."
"Well you could find the door."
"There is no – What the hell?" Tosh looked at her companions. "Did you hear that?"
Owen and Gwen nodded silently. One of them moved to protect Ianto, prone on the floor. Tosh and Owen put their backs to the wall.
"Who are you?" Gwen aimed toward the ceiling.
"The name's Chris," said a voice. It was like there was a person in there with them, invisible. "Chris Mendel. But you can call me Master."
"No thank you," chorused Tosh and Gwen. They traded an incredulous look. Who was arrogant enough to call themselves 'Master'?
Owen just swore at him.
"Now now, don't swear." Why did it seem like their captor was waving a reproving finger? "That's a bad habit, you know."
"Fuck you."
Chris sighed. "Well, maybe your companion will be better company, once he wakes up. Not that you're not amusing, mind. But I like my prisoners to be a little bit more well behaved."
"What do you want from us?" It was just like a hostage situation, reasoned Gwen. What she had to do was negotiate the release of the prisoners. The only thing different was that this time she was one of the ones being held captive.
"Not you." Gwen cursed inwardly. No leverage, then. "Your boss. The Captain. I need a little something from him. You four are the easiest way to get it, considering. So you just sit tight in there," he sang, sounding entirely too cheerful. Had to be crazy. "Ta ta for now!"
"We're screwed," said Owen.
Gwen silently agreed.
...Ow, was the first thing Jack thought when he woke up. Ow. He had a headache the size of Manhattan. Still not opening his eyes, he pressed his forehead to cool metal. It eased the pain a little.
Ow.
"You're awake."
Jack groaned, immediately regretting opening his mouth when his head throbbed in protest. This was worse than the worst hangover he'd ever had.
"C'n you talk quieter?" he asked hoarsely. "M'head hurts."
Something under his stomach shifted. Maybe an arm. It made him kind of nauseous. "I can help with that, but only if you let me up."
Stupid voice, sounding amused at his pain. At least it was quieter, though.
"No," stated Jack childishly. "Don' wanta." His tried to enunciate through his slurring. It only partly worked.
"Captain." It was a warning now. Jack didn't care.
"No."
"I'll get rid of your headache."
Jack considered this for a moment. "No."
"I'll throw you off if you don't get off."
"No."
"I'll... kiss you."
"No." It was a measure of how out of it Jack was that he didn't even pause to consider that option.
"I'll kiss you and I'll get rid of your headache."
It hurt too much not to accept. It was probably the best offer he was going to get, anyway. "...Okay." Jack shifted, slowly. Gods, his head hurt. He lifted himself – carefully – on his arms until his feet touched the floor. Then he just stood, swaying. The world was spinning, and he hadn't even opened his eyes yet. This was one bad hangover.
"Thank you," sighed that voice. Jack frowned. Didn't it promise to cure his hangover? He directed all of his mental willpower not consumed in agony (which wasn't a lot) to thinking dark "or else" thoughts at it. The voice laughed at his pain – again! – but then firm lips were pressed against his, and he was melting against a hard body as blessed relief swept across his mind. Jack smiled dazedly, his own lips curving against cool skin.
Almost falling as his means of support stepped back wasn't nearly as nice.
"Better?" said the wry, accented tones of the Doctor. Jack opened an eye, squinting at the man he had just been kissing.
"Yeah," he replied awkwardly. What did you say to your love interest after they kissed you for no other reason than to get rid of your headache? "Thanks."
"You're welcome. Now," and the Doctor fixed him with a narrow-eyed look. "What were you doing, rummaging about?"
"Huh?"
"Why were you in my mind?" spelled out the Doctor.
"Um," said Jack as he grinned sheepishly. A hand ruffled the hair on the back of his head. "I don't know?"
"Oh, my head," groaned Ianto.
Gwen sat up from where she had been slumped against the wall. "Ianto! You're awake!"
"Yeah, that's great," snorted Owen, but he kneeled in front of the Welshman. "Look up," he said. "I need to see if you have a concussion."
Ianto looked up.
"To the right," said Owen.
Ianto looked to the right.
"Left."
Ianto looked left. And so it went.
"...You're all right," Owen pronounced eventually. He sat back on his heels.
"Now that that's been ascertained, can we finally," here Tosh shot a quick glance at Gwen. Sometimes her team spirit did absolutely nothing to help the situation. It wasn't about emotions so much as equations. Everything could be predicted and planned accordingly if one did all the right calculations and had all the variables. It wasn't her fault that was such a rare situation. "Finally start to make a plan to get out of here?"
"Where exactly is here?" asked Ianto. "The last thing I remember is coffee."
"We've been captured by a man named Chris." Tosh glared at one gray corner. What kind of self-respecting villain had a name like Chris? It wasn't right. There should have been lots of grand, unpronounceable syllables and definitely more than one name. He should have had a title, too. Like Count. Count Dracula was a good villain. "He wants to do something with the Rift, and is using us to get to Jack."
"Jack's not captured?" Ianto darted a quick look around. "Good." He paused. "And the Doctor?" he asked reluctantly.
"We don't know about him," said Gwen.
"Not that he'd be much help anyway." Owen lounged with his back against the wall, ankles crossed. "Considering that he was pretty much in a coma the last time we saw him."
"Well he is alien." Gwen was optimistic. "Maybe he's gotten better?"
"Possibly," said Tosh in a way that made it clear that it really wasn't. "But best not to hope for much help on that front. We should make our own plan to get out of here."
Well now, Ianto thought. Why hadn't they made a plan earlier? It sounded like they'd been in this situation a while. When he voiced his thoughts, Owen was the one to answer. Apparently there was no way out. All four walls, floor and ceiling were solid concrete. They weren't even sure how they got in. And as for sending a signal, well... what were they going to send it with?
Ianto pulled out a tube of chap stick and unscrewed the lid. "This?" he said and pushed a button.
A few miles away in opposite directions, two machines began beeping.
"Excuse me," said the Master solicitously. "But it seems that something has come up. I don't suppose you could come back another time?"
The journalists and news reporters all murmured their agreement. Of course they could come back later, Harold Saxon was surely a busy man. He had things to do, you know, like run for minister. They wouldn't take up any more of his time. Although perhaps at a later date...? Yes, yes of course next week would be fine. Most definitely. Goodbye...
As soon as everybody left, the Master stood. It had been a while since anything like this had happened. Good thing, too. He had begun to get bored. And a bored Master did not bode well for the human race.
The Doctor always brought trouble with him, the Master mused.
Well then. Time to check on what this little signal was about. The Time Lord strode across the room, arrogant even when there was nobody there to see. Fingers with manicured nails grasped a shiny gold doorknob (doorknob, the Master sneered. These apes were so primitive) and opened the portal with a quick, deft twist.
The room inside was surprisingly plain and comfortable looking; walls a gleaming wood, floor mostly covered by a thick plash carpet. A whole side of the room was taken up by a towering television screen, black and silver and sleek. Two glass cabinets on either side held the dark chrome boxed that controlled the stereo surround sound and DVD player. In the center of the floor there was a low coffee table and puffy, comfortable-looking couch. Various other chairs were scattered about as well. It definitely wasn't one would expect from an evil alien genius who planned to take over the Earth.
"Hello, dear." A blonde woman looked up from her book, shifting bare feet on the sofa. "Done already? Have a seat." She folded up her legs and patted the cushions next to her.
"Not quite, my dear." The Master brushed an absent kiss over his wife's lips. "Did any of my little machines start beeping? Ah," he continued without waiting for an answer. "Here we go." He pressed a button on their stereo with a flourish. The television flickered on.
"Lucy," said the Master. She had already begun to move, however, slipping a bookmark between crisp white pages and twisting in her seat to grasp the remote perched behind her on the sofa's spine.
"I will be so glad when the Plan begins," sighed the Master. "Hiding just isn't my style." The screen in front of him switched from the food channel to a gently rotating black-and-green model of the city with a push of a button.
"Now, murmured the Time Lord. "What's this?" He lightly touched a finger to a pulsing red dot situated on two intersecting lines. The map blinked out of existence, replaced by a different web of glowing green. The Master made a small noise of surprise.
"What is it?" Lucy stood and swayed over to her husband, concerned.
"It seems," said the Master, tapping the television, "that someone is sending a distress signal from the inside of a few miles of solid rock."
"Which isn't possible, surely?"
"No, my dear Lucy, it is not. And this means that we may have a few complications on our hands." The Master smiled. It wasn't a nice smile. "And I do so love complications."
"No, really." Jack hurried to keep up with the Doctor. "I don't know what happened. All I did was touch you."
"Well don't touch me, then," said the Doctor in that off-hand, factual way of his. He rolled his eyes. "But we'll talk about that later. The TARDIS has received a distress signal."
"My team?" Jack tried hard not to sound too hopeful. He wasn't sure he succeeded.
"Possibly," the Doctor acknowledged as they entered the console room. He immediately began to tap keys. "Definitely alien technology."
"You tracing it?"
"Coming from below a few warehouses sever miles north of here," replied the Doctor to Jack's question. "The sonic screwdriver can track. Come on!"
As Jack ran after the Doctor, he reveled in how familiar this all was. The leather jacket (and great ass, he had to notice) in front of him, feet pounding the ground and the wind in his face; his breath and heartbeat loud in his ears. This was how he knew he was alive.
They didn't run all the way down to the warehouse district, of course. A quick cab ride took care of that, Jack paying the fare because (of course) the Doctor had no money. When they got there Jack's breathing was even again.
"Where to, Doc?" he asked, turning in a circle to survey his surroundings. It was one habit he had never bothered to break. Just because you couldn't be killed didn't mean that you couldn't try to prevent yourself from dying. Besides, it was good to set an example for his team. And he wanted them alive. Always.
The Doctor tapped Jack on the shoulder, quick and light, before sprinting off with the sonic screwdriver glowing blue in front of him. Jack was already moving when alien skin had barely touched cloth, he was so hyper-aware of the Doctor's presence. It didn't go unnoticed, the Doctor tucking the fact away in a file labeled "Jack Harkness" held in his mind. Little bits and pieces already in that particular folder were painting a very interesting picture.
Then the sonic screwdriver beeped.
"What?" the Doctor glared tat his instrument. "Oh, that's very helpful. So helpful it's useless." He clicked it off with a snort of disgust.
"Something wrong?"
"Pointing down," said the Doctor succinctly. "We'll have to find a way in. Left or right?"
"Jack eyed the ware houses on either side of them. "Right," he decided. It looked exactly like all the rest of the buildings he could see. But they could get lucky, right?
Right?
The Doctor froze as they went through the door.
"Master."
More Bloody Confusing Returns
"Mast – wait what?" Jack turned to the Doctor. "What's going on? Who's he?"
This was getting just a bit old, Jack reflected. During his time as the leader of Torchwood Three, he had gotten used to knowing what was going on, or at least knowing more of what was going on than anyone else. New that he was back with the Doctor, that wasn't true anymore. And it sort of pissed him off when he was left to flounder behind, trying to catch up.
Not knowing what was happening was a Bad Thing to have in a leader. They had to know what they were doing, to Make Decisions. Jack didn't mind leaving the Make Decisions part to the Doctor. The Time Lord was good at that. It was the knowing things that he wasn't satisfied with. Jack had forgotten how little he really knew of his friend (his really hot friend who he would mind having sex with), especially when he had already lived the other man's future.
And wasn't that a conundrum. Jack was quite sure that when the Doctor met him later (before?) in the past (future?) he didn't know who the former Time Agent was. He was also just as sure that this Doctor was in that Doctor's past. How did the Time Lord not remember him? Retcon immediately came to mind, but Jack blanched at the thought. Retcon the Doctor? No. For one thing, he didn't know if it would work. And for another, he wasn't sure he could do it.
Now he understood what the Agency meant when they said not to meddle too much in whenever you went. Things got complicated when you became too attached.
It seemed like the Doctor might know a bit about that. He was staring at the "Master" (And what kind of name was that? Arrogant, that's for sure. Jack already disliked him, just on principle) as if the other man was a horrible, beautiful dream. The kind that you wanted so badly to be real that you ached; the kind that you simultaneously longed for and hated because you knew it would never, ever come true. Like his dreams about the Doctor.
"Oh, it's your pet human." Jack snapped out of his funk. What?
"What?" echoed the Doctor in an unintentional voicing of Jack's thoughts.
"Your pet human," repeated the Master. "Still have him, I see. Or would it be: interesting you had him so far back?"
"You know not to tell me the future," snapped the Doctor.
At the same time (and in the same tone of voice) Jack spoke, stung by the use of the Doctor's phrase spoken by a complete stranger. "What are you then, if humans are apes?"
The Master laughed delightedly. "He even sounds like you, Doctor. And just for your information," he turned to Jack, "I am a Time Lord."
Jack blinked, nonplussed. "What?" he said incredulously. "The Doctor is –" before he cut himself off when he remembered that the Doctor was right next to him. Fire and screams flashed by lightning-quick behind his eyes.
"It turns out that I'm not the last," confirmed the Doctor sardonically. "Although I could've done without the other being you." He cast a quick glare the Master's way. "Romana would've been nice."
"Of course you would have liked the Lady President," sneered the Master. "Another one of yours to follow you around. What, not happy to see an old friend?"
"Well, I'm generally unhappy to see someone who always tries to kill me."
Jack was lost again. (Again, he sighed.) Here was his Doctor, talking to an enemy Time Lord (and he never thought he'd be saying that, an enemy Time Lord) like everything was normal. When did it all go durian-shaped? Jack thought he sort of knew the Doctor by now. And the Doctor (his Doctor) would have either: a) devised a plan to get around this enemy or: b) tried to desperately convince his fellow Time Lord to come with them. The Doctor would do pretty much anything to have Gallifrey and the rest of his race back. He hated to admit it, but Jack's companion should have pretty much jumped the Master by now.
At least, if Jack were the Doctor he would have jumped him. The Doctor probably would just gape and hug and fellow Time Lord, and say "fantastic!" over and over. But that wasn't happening. The Doctor was acting normal. He was bantering.
And Jack really, truly realized; this wasn't his Doctor.
His Doctor wouldn't be there for a while yet. This was still the Doctor, of course. The core personality, the being that made the Doctor the Doctor was till there. But the second biggest thing? The hang-up over Gallifrey? It was like this Doctor could actually forget about it for a while. His Doctor was haunted by what he lost (destroyed, whispered a voice) every second of every day. Perhaps it was possible that the Doctor hadn't yet had time to really realize what happened (fire and blood and screaming – coldcoldcold darkness) and just reverted back to his mannerisms from before the Time War. Classic denial. Jack had seen it more than once during his time spent in the war.
Jack still felt guilty about wanting his Doctor back, Time war and all. It didn't feel exactly right with this one.
"Jack," said the Doctor, and he snapped to attention.
"Huh?" he said intelligently.
"We're going." The Doctor cocked his head to where the Master had begun to walk away.
Blink. "Isn't he a bad guy?"
"We have similar interests," sighed the Doctor. "And I'm sure that we don't want him to find your team before we do. And stop daydreaming, will you?" That last part was spoken sharply, but not with any real rancor. Jack smiled. That was more like the Doctor he knew, all snapped retorts and harsh witticisms, but soft eyes despite it.
"Yes, sir."
Owen sat. Picking at your nails could only last so long, and he had exhausted that particular activity thirty minutes ago. Now he was doing... nothing. Staring into space, maybe. Looking at his fellow prisoners.
Gwen was asleep, curled up in a corner of the cell. Her hair fell to cover most of her face, knees and arms down loosely up close to her body. Her head was pillowed on Ianto's jacket. Why that man wore a suit every day Owen would never know. This was not a suit job.
And speaking (or thinking) or Ianto, he too was sitting, feet flat on the floor and arms on his knees. It looked like he waiting for something. Jack, probably. Their illustrious leader. Tosh was sitting too, much like himself: legs out in front, ankles crossed. But her arms were folded and her shoulder slouched. Bad for her back, the doctor in him noticed.
Hss! – the speaker, wherever it was, cracked to life. Gwen jerked awake.
"Attention all worthless lay bouts that call themselves my team," boomed out Jack's voice. Owen rolled his eyes at their leader's sense of (very off) humor. "This is a friendly hack brought to you by the evil overlord planning to take of Earth and probably kill us all – Oh give me that!" the voice changed abruptly. The team exchanged glances. Since when did Jack goof off this much? He was always the serious leader type on the job. Usually.
"I resent that you didn't use my name," could be heard faintly in the background. "The Master. It has a nice ring to it, would gone rather will with your dramatic speech, don't you think Doctor?" Owen filed this under "highly suspicious". Their holder had told them to call him Master, and then there was this guy (who Jack claimed to be an evil overlord) calling himself "the Master"? Yeah, highly suspicious.
"We're coming to get you," said the Doctor, stoically ignoring the argument his companions were having behind him. "Don't do anything stupid." He hung up with a click.
There was a pause.
Crackle. "And be ready to run." Click.
Deep within the Hub, a shadowy figure maneuvered its way through the dark halls. It moved with purpose, head turning this way and that. Sometimes it looked down at its handheld, computerized map.
"-------!" said the figure as it stubbed its toe and barked its shin. At the same time. On opposite legs.
"That's it. I'm going to find the lights first."
It limped away.
"You know, I'm not doing this out of the goodness of my heart." The Master crossed his arms as he leaned against a relatively clean metal beam. They had set up base, so to speak, in one of the many old warehouses in the area that was out of sight of any casual passerby (and hopefully their enemy, although Jack wasn't sure exactly who that was at the moment).
"I know," replied the Doctor absently from under a mess of wires. They sparked. "Drat!" He glared at the two twists of metal he was trying to connect.
"Here, let me." The Master strolled over. "I was always better than you at electronics, Theta."
"Humph," snorted the Doctor, but he stood back so the Master could work. "You're just as curious as we are about what's happening," he replied to the Master's earlier statement. "You would have done this anyway."
"Ah, but I didn't have to help you, did I?"
"So?" broke in Jack impatiently. He was feeling irrationally jealous.
"So you two," the Master looked up as he connected the two wires the Doctor had been struggling with, "will, as the humans say, 'owe me one'." He smirked. "You do have such interesting phrases on this planet," he mused. "'To skin a cat'? I'll have to try that sometime. Literally."
"No you won't," snapped the Doctor as he vibrated to attention.
"Still the soft-hearted fool I see!" The Master grinned maliciously. "Perhaps even more than usual? I wonder why that is..." He stood up in one fluid movement and began to pace around the Doctor "Or don't you remember what happened on Gall–"
"Stop it."
The Master looked over to see Jack standing very still by the wall, the stillness of a body about to leap into action. There was a strange, glittery-eyed look on the human's face.
"Oh, all right," sighed the Master. "But only because we should get going. "He gestured at the device next to him. It looked a little bit like a toaster, but with strange and disturbing paddles stuck out all over it. They wobbled.
"All right, let's get to work." The Doctor didn't look at either of his companions as he began to walk off. "We know where to go. Let's go rescue somebody."
Jack shot a quick glance at the toaster thing before he started to move. "How can you tell which way it's pointing?" he muttered.
Strand and snatches of "Mission Impossible" wove around the Hub. Chris Mendel's head bobbed as he hummed, and when the music reached its peak, pressed the enter key with a flourish. Deep below ground, countless doors unlocked.
CAL-UNK
"Well," said the Master, impressed. As impressed as he could be when he was dealing with humans, at least.
"Oh, fantastic!" grinned the Doctor He practically bounced over to the see-through electric blue walls holding Jack's team, sonic screwdriver out and ready To do what, only the Doctor knew.
"A dimensional Jell-o prison?" goggled Jack. "How did he build one of those?"
"Not exactly," said the Doctor as he snapped of his screwdriver. "It's quite jury-rigged. I'm surprised it works, actually. Quite a nice job."
"So if it's jury-rigged..." Jack spoke slowly and deliberately. "It should be easy to get my team out, right?"
"Oh yes," said the Doctor. "It's only solid from the inside. Look." And he poked a hole through the rippling blue with a finger. Across the room, Gwen blinked. Jack saw her mouth something (sound didn't penetrate, it seemed) and point to where the Doctor had breached the wall. It was a bit cowardly to check it out in a pack, though. They were in a contained environment, easily controlled. No need for that much caution.
Jack stuck his head through the energy field. "Hello, team." He said expansively. "We have come –" He stepped forward, creating a Jack shaped hold in the cell, "to rescue you." He spread his arms wide and grinned.
"Hello, sir." Ah, good old Ianto.
"How did you do that?" And Tosh.
"If you would hurry up," drawled the Master as he and the Doctor were creating a larger hole in the field, "that would be immensely helpful. Not that I care what happens to you, of course."
"And the prison is going to collapse soon." The Doctor sounded much too blasé about the situation, considering that as soon as the words left his lips the whole inside of the seemingly grey concrete box rippled. The Torchwood team tumbled out of the hole in their cell and watched as it shank down to a small orange point of light. Then it imploded, silently. A soft wind blew everybody's hair back.
Jack winced. He wouldn't want o get stuck in that. He might not come back. As he turned to address his team (they must be so confused, he thought fondly) the Doctor caught his eye. Rolled optics and a quick jerk of the head came though loud and clear: get moving. Get out of here. What're you waiting for, an invitation for tea?
A grin and a nod. Yes sir, whatever you say, sir.
The corners of the Doctor's mouth twitched, Jack saw, before he turned away again. Not that he was staring at the Doctor's mouth or anything. Well, he was, but... never mind. He shook himself like a dog, a toss of the head that moved down across his shoulder and through his hips to the floor. Blue cloth swished and settled.
"Tosh, Gwen, Owen, Ianto," he said. "Let's go."
"Excellent idea," mocked the Master. "Why didn't I think of that? I'm sure there are no alarms to tell when the cage explodes. We can just walk out of here."
"Master," growled the Doctor in warning.
"You never let me have any fun, Doctor." The Master pouted.
"What you do doesn't count as fun"
"That's what you think."
"That's what I think."
The Master looked at him for a long moment. "Well," he said, surprised. "You're really being serious. Quite different from a few of your previous regenerations, Doctor." There was another pause. "Let's get going, then."
"Now wait a minute." Ah, and there was Owen. Jack was beginning to wonder what had happened to his team; they weren't their ordinary onerous selves. "Is that Harold Saxon? You're Harold Saxon, aren't you?" His voice sounded faintly accusing and very suspicious, as though it were the stranger's fault that he wasn't to be trusted.
"Harold Saxon." It wasn't a question, but the Doctor fixed the Master with a considering, penetrative gaze. What was he up to?
Jack blinked. "I knew I knew you from somewhere!"
"Jack?"
"Oh. Right, Doc. He's running for minister," Jack explained with a shrug. "I don't keep up that much with stuff outside of Torchwood – except for the best places to barhop, maybe pick up a one-night stand or two." He winked. "So I didn't recognize him. Now that Owen has said it, though, it does seem pretty obvious."
"Wait, so that's Harold Saxon?" Gwen was going all googly-eyed again. She need to start thinking more like special ops and less like a common police officer. Torchwood met important people all the time. A man running for mayor was nothing.
"While this is all quite flattering, why don't we all get moving?" The Master bowed elegantly, sweeping an arm ahead of him. "After you."
The Doctor snorted. "That only worked when you wore velvet."
"Fun, Doctor. Fun."
They made a clean getaway with the sky already darkening. Jack and the Doctor looked sheepish, the thought of transportation back to the Hub completely forgotten in their haste to rescue the team. The Master, of course, drove his limousine over and offered them all a ride, which they accepted (though Jack and the Doctor with suspicion).
"Not back to Headquarters," Jack said from the back seat. At his team's questioning look she raised his eyebrows and tilted his head ever-so-slightly in the Master's direction. Oh, said his teams' faces. Really? Not to be trusted?
Yes, said his own face back. Not to be trusted.
"How about pizza," Gwen suggested. "To celebrate, you know. Another victory against death."
"Pizza," the Master mused. "I never get tired of the names you humans come up with." He said it so casually that only Jack and the Doctor caught the implication of his own alien nature. "But no, that's just a bit out of my sort of company. I'll treat you to dinner," and he smiled at them in the rearview mirror, "if you allow me to introduce you to my darling Lucy."
"Lucy?"
"My wife."
"You have a wife?"
"Yes, Doctor. A very pretty woman. Jealous?"
"No!" The answer was immediate. "No," repeated softer, drier. "Just never expected you to settle down. You never were the type." Jack tried not to think about how the Doctor knew that. He was his, damnit.
"Careful now, Doctor," taunted the Master. "You almost sounded like an old friend there. Don't want to give the wrong impression."
"I'm sure I'm not," said the Doctor. "But I am a little worried. What have you done to the poor girl?"
"So you are jealous!" The Master brought gloved hands off the wheel to clap twice in delight. "Too concerned about your image, that's what you are." Jack rolled is eyes. Yeah right. More like the other way around. But before he could say anything, they rolled to a stop.
Jack saw the house door open and a lithe figure step into the glare of the headlight. Blond, he noted. What was it with Time Lords and blonds? (There was the familiar pang at the thought of Rose. He didn't mean to think of her in a bad way, though. A silent apology was sent.)
"Harry?' she said.
"Hello, darling." The Master purred as he slid out of the car. "How do you feel about going out to dinner?"
"Of course," she agreed. "What's the occasion?"
"A few old friends of mine dropped by. They're already in the car. You know how it is, happy reunion, how have you been, you look lovely."
"Just let me grab my purse," the wife (that was already what Jack was calling her in his head – she seemed more like decoration than any real, living, breathing, feeling human being) told her husband and ran in that dainty way some women had, toes hitting the ground first, back to the house.
"Well she's pretty at least," the Doctor sounded doubtful. Jack buried a stab of jealousy. Softer, the alien added, "something seems off..."
Jack glanced over. The Doctor's face was half-hidden in shadows, the line between his brows clear even as his eyes and mouth were lost in darkness. In the back, Owen was muttering something to the effect that "they always look better on the telly than in real life."
The Master sauntered back to the open car door.
"If you don't mind my asking, sir," Ianto said in between bites of his pasta, "how do you know so much about the existence of aliens?"
The Torchwood team leaned in, studiously not looking too eager.
"Oh, I've met a few. The good Doctor was one, of course."
"Really? What do you know about him?" Gwen was in police mode again. The other's cast a surreptitious glance around to make sure the Time Lord wasn't coming back right then. He had gone to a diner across the street for fish and chips. Tosh wondered why anybody would want that stuff more than real food, but... well, maybe his physiology was different or something. Jack had gone along to make sure the doctor wouldn't get distracted and run off.
One had to wonder how that man could ever be Torchwood's Number One priority. He seemed rather all right to her.
"We go way back, the Doctor and me." The Master smirked. "He's always had a hero complex. Swoop in, save the day and all that. We had a wonderful rivalry going."
"Rivalry? For what?"
"This and that," the Master waved his fork around. "I was always the better engineer, of course."
"And you, Mrs. Saxon?" Ianto was always polite. "Do you--"
Crashbangthud! went the doorway and half the restaurant. Glass and food flew. The Torchwood team automatically took cover; Ianto pulled down Lucy with him. He didn't see the Master.
"Mr. Saxon!" He yelled. "Are you all right?"
Something hit him over the head.
"Oh, Ianto groaned. "My head." He paused. This seemed familiar.
"Awake now, sleepyhead?" Jack teased gently. Ianto's cheeks warmed; whether in embarrassment or pleasure he didn't know.
"Yes sir," he confirmed, carefully sitting up. "I'm awake. How is everybody?"
The immortal's eyes hardened, though the expression on his face didn't change. "Kidnapped," he said. "Gone from the restaurant." Ianto opened his mouth. "There's no sign of them," Jack cut him off before he could ask. "We're still looking."
"The Doctor?" Ianto said. He couldn't help but feel slightly betrayed at the flicker of affection that flashed through Jack's eyes when he said the alien's name.
"Yeah," Jack confirmed. "And the Master." Now he made a face, a quick scrunch of the nose and flash of the tongue. "Not that we trust him."
"The Master?"
"Oh." Blink. Sheepish look. "Yeah. Saxon. He's pretending to be human, which of course the Doctor believes is all for some big evil plan. Not that he's wrong, mind you."
"Our mayor candidate is an alien." Ianto's tone was flat. "Thing always have to happen to us, don't they sir?"
"One of the perks of the job."
"Should we bring him in?"
"Perhaps you should be discussing this somewhere else, hm?" The Master leaned casually in the doorway. Ianto jumped. He'd been so disoriented when he woke up that he focused on Jack (of course that was the reason, a traitorous part of his mind whispered) instead of scanning his surroundings like he should have. Stupid mistake.
A mistake Jack apparently made too.
"Hoe long have you been there?" He demanded.
"Not too long." The Doctor stepped up to the door as well. "We've just finished calibrating the sensors. Thought you might want to see if we could find anything. Jack?" He raised an eyebrow.
"Coming." Jack helped Ianto up onto his feet. "Careful there."
"I'm fine, sir."
"Well come on then." The Doctor jerked his head. "Let's go."
The followed him into another room, one with plush chair and a large-screen TV.
"Nice place," Ianto admired.
"That's what I said!" Jack grinned at him. Ianto smiled back and ducked his head.
The Doctor ignored them and turned on the television. The humans stared. "What are we looking at, exactly?" Squiggles, apparently. Blue squiggles. They moved, too.
"That's just the loading page," said the Doctor, distractedly pushing buttons. "It'll get there."
"The best I could do with such primitive technology," sniffed the Master.
Before any of the other could retort with a scathing comment, the screen blinked to life. Dink, dink, it bleeped softly. Dink, dink.
"That's a lot of red dots," said Jack. "Sure you calibrated it right?"
"I'm sure." The Master snatched the remote from the Doctor's hand. The other Time Lord sniffed. Koschei never had any manners.
"Well that's not my team."
Four blue dots appeared amongst the red. They flashed gently.
"Those are human. They are your team."
"In case you haven't noticed, Ianto is right here."
So? said the two eyebrows raised in his direction.
"It leaves three humans." God, Time Lords could be dense sometimes.
They all looked at each other.
"So who's the fourth?" Ianto asked softly.
"And more importantly, what are all those red dots?"
Dim light reflected off the puddle on the floor. A bead of moisture collecting at the tip of a dirt metal pip gleamed, wobbled – fell, fell and was swallowed whole by the pool on the floor. Ripples rode across its surface.
"The hell is that?" Owen hissed from the inside of his cell. A low moaning echoed eerily through the hallways of the Hub, rising and falling in no discernable pattern that he could hear.
"The Weevils, of course." Hissed back from across the hall. Tosh was such a smartass.
"I knew that. I mean why?"
She shrugged. "Communication? What do you think, Gwen?"
"It could be communication," the former policewoman answered dubiously. "I don't know."
The moan rose again – and kept rising, louder and louder, echoing and roaring in their ears and it hurt, it hurt, make it stop makeitstop! – and it did. Owen removed his palms from where they were grinding into his ears.
"Ow," he whispered, and winced when the word became (too) loud in his head.
"No kidding," breathed Gwen and Tosh. They lowered their arms as well. "I'm pretty sure that wasn't all physical either."
"Telepathy?"
"Right."
Owen glanced uneasily around the cramped stone room. Something was wrong besides the obvious fact that they were being held hostage in their own base, God how stupid could one be to let that happen, godammitfuckingtakingovertheworldaliens–
"Owen!" Dirty white cloth flapped about his legs and he actually stumbled backwards. That was one hell of a slap to give a teammate, he thought dazedly. Frigid bitch, that Tosh was. He never got any sympathy.
"That's mostly because you don't deserve it," Gwen supplied helpfully.
Yeah right, like he wasn't saying what they all thought anyway, he was the only one with enough guts to actually tell Jack to his face–
Owen stumbled back again from what felt like a physical impact to his face. Key word there being: felt. He was alone in the cell.
"What the fuck?"
"What?"
What?
"You just slapped me from ten feet away! Through a fucking cell door! I think that's swear-worthy, don't you? I am going to fucking swear!" And true to his word, Owen began systematically going through all the bad language that he knew.
Do we have telekinesis now? Gwen wondered.
I hope not, sighed Tosh. That would make things so awkward.
"... son of a rust-bucket cross-breed! Why don't you try to rip the door off your cell, then?" said Owen.
Gwen tried. Nothing happened. "Maybe if we all concentrate?" she said.
They all tried. Well, Gwen and Tosh did. Owen sort of just pretended and grumbled silently.
Nothing still happened.
I wish Jack were here, sighed Gwen.
You and me both, thought Tosh back. You and me both.
"...fucking slapped me," muttered Owen.
"Oh, this is great!" Chris clapped his hands, delighted. He was sitting in an office chair, feet propped up on the table, arms and head relaxed in a comfortable slouch. "Who knew that Torchwood would be so amusing? I should have done this ages ago." One leg pushed off the tabletop and the other stuck straight out in front to look almost like a helicopter blade, spinning and spinning. He stopped abruptly. "What do you think?"
The Weevil next to him growled, soft and low.
"Good point," Chris acknowledged. "Good point. Did He contact you yet?"
Growl.
"You know I'm no good with Vortex stuff. I leave that to you. It's what specialists are for, you know." And minions, he added in his mind. Got to keep them busy somehow.
Speaking of which... "Hey, how's the Device coming along?"
Snort. Growl.
"That bad, huh? I suppose I'd better take a look. We only have a few hours before the Immortal gets to us. And then the party will really get started." He grinned. "I can't wait."
"...By the way, do you know what happened to that dinosaur?"
... given you all
I have, to give...
"...can live. So if could give the world to you, love is all I have to give, oh yeah," sang Jack. They were driving through a dark part of the city, yellow street-lights spaced far apart. It was quiet. The only sounds were Jack's singing and the soft purr of the engine.
The Doctor didn't like it. He knew that explosions were good, seeing what was causing them was better, and stopping it without anybody getting hurt was best. When things got quiet, that was when you had to start worrying. And although Jack had a nice voice (almost professional, he noted down in the "Jack Harkness" file of his mind) he didn't much like this song.
That was a "be quiet", Jack.
The immortal trailed off, humming a bit before going completely silent.
Huh. The Doctor usually couldn't influence people just by thinking at them – he had to be in physical contact. Skin on skin, actually. Perhaps Jack was more receptive because of the Vortex energy hovering around him? It was something to think about.
And that was another thing. How did he get the Vortex in him? It had something to do with the Doctor himself, that was obvious, but what, exactly? Was it the–
- firedeathscreaming and the planet burned –
- thing that he was better off not thinking about?
Maybe. Probably. Best not to dwell on it. It was in the (his) future, and the one thing you never messed with was your own timeline.
"...It's too quiet," he muttered broodingly.
"I don't like it," Jack agreed. "There's usually mass chaos, screaming in the streets type stuff by now. Especially–" Here he broke off, shooting a sheepish look at the Doctor "- um, especially when you're involved, Doctor."
The Time Lord pointedly ignored this statement. "Master?"
"Patience, Theta," the Master chided. "I need to find a good parking space. This limousine is expensive, you know."
"You're rich," Jack pointed out.
"I hate waste."
"I hate–"
"-you." Chris pointed at one of his leathery-skinned minions. "Take someone and get our guests, would you? He's coming. And so are the others. And the Device is done, and ooh I just can't wait for the party to start!" He rubbed his hands together. "So awesome!"
Blink.
"Did I just say that?"
Growl.
A wave of the hand. "Never mind that. Small side effect. Plenty worth it. And now all we have to do is wait." Chris leaned smugly against a wall. "I love being a bad guy."
"...And go find that dinosaur so it doesn't make any more trouble, will you?"
"This way," Jack beckoned. "They'll be set up in the basement, where there's the most room. I'll take point with the Doctor. Ianto, you take rear guard and keep an eye on the Master."
"You don't trust me?" The Master acted wounded.
"No," snapped the Doctor and Jack in union. "Let's go."
They started off down the corridor, Jack with his gun out (though it was pointed at the floor) with the Doctor next to him and slightly behind. A hand was fisted lightly in the Doctor's jacket pocket around his sonic screwdriver. Four paces back were Ianto and the Master, the former one high alert, the latter strolling along without a care in the world. Ianto shot him a subtle glare. He could at least try to be helpful.
Doorways passed by. So did other hallway openings, and overhead lamps. It seemed to Ianto that they had been walking forever.
He checked his watch. Two minutes.
Where was all the noise? If aliens had taken over the Hub, you'd think that they would be able to notice. But everything was silent, empty. It was just like when everybody went home for the night, leaving Ianto to close up behind. The rooms always seemed abandoned then, lonely and waiting for someone to come in and fill them with life. Or maybe he was just projecting.
Five minutes.
The quiet was really getting to him. He narrowed his eyes and breathed deeply, calming down some. Getting irritable and distracted wouldn't do anyone any good. It might just get them all killed. That would be a Very Bad thing.
In one particular intersection, Jack stopped and held up a fist. All of them pressed up against the wall, watching as the immortal leaned forward and took a cautious look around the corner. Clear, he mouthed, and stepped forward.
The next moment he was dead.
Poof! Gone. (I think I'm beginning to hate that man...)
"Shit," said Owen as he saw Jack being carried through the doorway. "They got him." He squinted a little. "I think he's dead."
"Oh, wonderful," Tosh and Gwen rolled their eyes. "Great rescue that is. Not."
"Careful now, ladies, you're starting to sound like me." Owen's tone was exuding smugness. "You wouldn't want that, would you?"
Whack!
"This telekenipathy is pretty handy," mused Gwen. "I don't even have to move to hit you anymore." Owen just glared, bringing cuffed hands up to rub the top of his smarting head.
"Ow," he muttered sullenly.
"Shh!"
The two hushed and looked to where Tosh had been standing. She wasn't there.
"Come on!" They whirled around to find the small woman a few feet behind them.
"How did you do that?" asked Gwen.
"I was quiet," Tosh replied drolly. "And you two wouldn't have noticed if Jack had woken up again, which I know for a fact is true because he just did. Now come on, let's see if we can figure out what's happening."
They sidled along the boxes and shelves littered across the floor, trying to get a closer look to what Chris was doing to Jack. Or what Jack was doing to Chris.
"...to my Device here." The ordinary-looking man stroked the sides of his clunky machine lovingly. "Isn't she beautiful? I built her out of heap metal and junk, but she works perfectly. All I need is a power source strong enough to keep her going."
There was a short silence. "And?" Jack prodded to keep the man talking, keep the man distracted so that he could figure a way to get out of here (no leverage, his mind whispered, strapped down on the table) or give the Doctor and Ianto some time to find him and the rest of his team. The Master didn't count as a good guy rescuer. He just didn't.
"And surely you've guessed," replied Chris Mendel mockingly, "that you are the power source. I all but told you outright, after all." He crossed his arms. "Come on now, be truthful. We're all friends – well, no we aren't, never mind. But you did guess, yes?" Up went an eyebrow.
"Well, yeah," said Jack. How stupid did this guy think he was? "But what's your Device do? You have to tell me this, it's practically written into the megalomaniac's guide for dummies: 'One must gloat offensively once the Hero is caught and ready to be defeated." Oooh, his team winced behind their stack of boxes. Jack sarcasm right in the face.
But Chris gave back as good as he got. "You'll notice," he said, "that those villains always fail. I won't precisely because I don't follow the handbook. It's all so cliché anyways."
"There's an actual handbook?" Jack asked, astounded. "Hell! Do you know where I could get one?" He was completely off track now. "How come I never knew about this, huh?" He demanded of the world in general. "No one ever tells me these things."
It looked like Jack was about to segue into a full blown rant when Chris spoke up again. "There isn't a handbook," he sniffed. "That stuff is for amateurs. Megalomaniacs don't need handbooks. We do just fine on our own, thank you very much. Speaking of – power. Don't think I don't know what you're trying to do." He waggled an admonishing finger in Jack's face. "Trying to distract me, not going to work. Hey, Grraaghalarsh!" he called to a Weevil in the corner. "Would you get the Device ready? I'll hook him up directly."
The Weevil nodded and loped forward to fiddle with some levers. They stuck out of the sides, different sizes and lengths, all around the sides. Grey metal rose in a – dare he think it – sort of dalek-like shape, except not nearly as smooth and much, much bigger. Twice the size of a man and nearly as wide, it looked more like a large boiler than anything else. Jack hoped it wasn't going to suck the life out of him.
He eyed the comically small plunger and the oversized needle Chris held. It was probably too much to ask for.
Chris noticed where Jack was looking. "It won't hurt," he told the other man. "Not nearly as much as what comes after."
"That's reassuring," Jack muttered, sotto voce. Where were the Doctor and Ianto? He did not want to relive Abbadon. Getting the life sucked out of you and waking up after three days dead in a morgue freezer was not his idea of fun.
Where the hell are you! he thought furiously, jerking hard at his restraints. Chris placed a hand on his bicep, pushed down and held Jack's arm still through flexing muscles. The needle hovered in the air.
"Ow! Fuck!" A dark well of blood was emerging from the puncture wound around the metal of the needle. Looking at it, Jack thought back to the Doctor's mind and Gallifrey, the red, red planet with silver blood shooting, spraying out and hoarse, desperate screams of the dying. One last moment.
Another needle in his other arm, and Jack was drifting now. Damnit, he thought fuzzily, must've drugged 'em. The bad guys never play fair...
A little plunger descending towards his face was the last thing Jack saw before thick darkness overtook his vision.
"Oh, ow," a voice croaked. It took a while before Jack realized it was his. He sounded horrible. "What happened?"
"You've been out for three days," said Owen from somewhere off to his right. "Everyone's okay, but that Doctor bloke took off after all the action was over. He said to say goodbye to you, though." Jack cracked an eye open.
"He left?"
"Yeah. Tinkered with our computer system, too. Tosh is still hopping mad." Owen shuddered. "I suggest not going near her right now; she's a fuckin' scary woman sometimes."
"He just left?"
Owen started edging towards the door when razor-sharp anger crept into Jack's tone. "I'll just go get Gwen, shall I?" He was never very good at the whole comforting, explaining thing. He left that to the more sensitive ones.
Jack closed his eye and tried to swallow with a paper-dry throat. It felt dusty. What he wouldn't do for some water...
"Oh, Jack, you're awake!" The immortal opened his eye again to squint at a very happy looking Gwen. He opened his mouth to speak.
"I'll get you some water," said Gwen. Jack couldn't make a sound. "Here." She propped Jack up, supporting him with her arm and held a cup to his lips. Jack sipped slowly, although all he wanted to do was gulp down the life-giving liquid like a fish.
A fish, Jack sighed to himself. He must've been deader than he thought to think up of a lousy comparison like that. Gwen took away the cup before Jack could drink himself sick.
"Are you all right now? Can you talk?"
"Yeah." Jack cleared his throat. "So what happened? I died for another three days?"
"You don't remember?" Gwen frowned, worried. "You were awake for it. Here, let's go to the others and we can give you our reports."
She hauled him up, his arm over her shoulders. Good thing, too, because his knees buckled as soon as his feet hit the floor. Man, this death really sucked.
"Ow," Jack muttered as he took a step. "Ow, ow, ow." Muscles, weak and cramped from misuse, protested his every movement. "Ow."
When they finally got to the main room of the Hub Jack dropped gratefully into an office chair. Gwen shook out her shoulders. Who knew Jack was so heavy? He didn't really look it...
"So, kids," said Jack brightly. "Want to tell me what happened? No written reports," he added hastily as he saw Tosh reach for a folder sitting by her arm. "I've got a headache. Just tell me."
"Well after Chris Mendel hooked you up to his machine–"
- a plunger descending toward his face, and everything went dark, just for a moment –
"- and all this lighting started to just sort of crackle around you. And then it jumped –"
- away from him, one long finger of hissing, spitting blue, a bridge connecting him to the Device next to him–
"- and that's when things got really weird."
"Yes?" Jack prompted.
"Um." The Torchwood team looked at each other awkwardly. They shuffled their feet. "None of us are... exactly sure what happened after that. I mean, we mean, well, we've got – impressions? Sort of?"
"Ianto?" said Jack.
"Sorry, sir. I remember what happened before we went into the room, but not much after. There was blue light though, so I'm sure what the other's saw was fairly accurate."
"Anything?" asked Jack wearily. He didn't want this to be another unexplained, vaguely threatening things that weighed on the back of his mind. There were enough of those already.
"There was this feeling of – swirlyness," Gwen volunteered. "Is swirlyness even a word?"
"I don't think so," said Tosh.
"What about the Master?" Jack was getting desperate now. "Anybody know where he is? Maybe he remembers something."
His team blinked at each other. "Master?" they chorused.
Oh no, thought Jack. Now there was memory-altering involved. That was always messy. Hell, he didn't like ret-coning, even if he did use it more than was strictly necessary. Safety was more important than personal. (What was that saying? Personal isn't the same as important?)
Maybe he could trigger a response in his team, though. He still remembered, after all.
"Yeah, the Master. He was the other Time Lord, about this tall," Jack waved a hand, "brown hair, brown eyes, fancy dresser. He was pretending to be human though, went by–"
Pause. The team looked at Jack expectantly.
"He went by..."
By something, Jack was sure of it. He recalled Owen being accusing, and then thinking something about Gwen. But the name eluded him. And he was certain that a few minutes ago he could have at least sketched the Master's face, but now that was blurring, fading in his memory. Jack tried to hold on to the picture in his mind, focused on the face. A round face, middle-aged, felt like brown. Felt like brown. He couldn't remember. It was all trickling away, away until vague impressions were all that were left.
He remembered the Doctor, though. That was loud and clear.
Not that it helped much. He was gone. Again.
Well, the hell with that. Jack wasn't just going to sink into depression, not when there were evil aliens around changing people's memories. Now he was good and mad, they'd better pity the being(s) that got in his way. He was going to find out what was going on, and then he was going to fix it.
"I don't remember, but I'm going to find out," said Jack grimly. He stood up, anger giving him a boost of energy. "Come on."
Time to save the world again.
The Missing Repot (Forgotten in the depths of the Torchwood filing system)
Subject: The Doctor/Weevil Mess
From: Ianto Jones, Archivist; Toshiko Sato, Technology; Owen Harper, Medical; Gwen Cooper, Relations
Date: 05/28/08
I'm afraid that this report may be rushed and informal, and sincerely apologize to any superior officers reading. Our memories are fading fast and it is imperative that we get down all we can in the shortest amount of time. To that end, we are using a voice converter so that we may speak and our words will appear in the document you see below.
Oh, just shut up and give me that. I'll do it faster.
Excuse me.
Hurry up and say the stuff already before we forget!
Oh. Yes. May twenty-eighth –
Already did that, just skip it.
Day started with unusual Rift activity. We woke up Jack -- hey don't we call him Boss in these? -- Shh! -- To see that an unusual man was standing outside a large blue Police Call Box. Jack (Boss!) dropped his coffee and ran outside to confront the man.
He decked him.
Yes, thank you Owen. The mystery man, who was in actuality the Doctor, was brought back along with his time travel device unconscious to the Hub.
It was called a TARDIS.
Yes, thank you, Gwen.
We've figured out what species the Weevils are too.
No, the Doctor told us, remember?
We can't pronounce the name anyway.
Yes I do remember, but if we could get on with it before I forget?
Right.
Sorry.
Ahem. Anyway, the Doctor demanded entry to the cells and engaged in a telepathic link with the Weevil (Jane) inside. He was knocked unconscious and so we (you mean Jack) took him to the TARDIS to recover. It was around this time that we received notice of Rift activity and left to scout out what was happening.
You mean we did. You were unconscious.
Have you noticed we've been using the word unconscious a lot?
Maybe it's just a thing.
It does seem to happen very often with us, doesn't it?
And then the next time we saw Jack or the Doctor was when they came to rescue us.
Sorry, Ianto.
Yeah. Sorry.
I didn't need rescuing. I was just temporarily stuck.
Owen!
Jack was accompanied by the Doctor and a man called the Master. I no longer recall exactly what he looked like or who he was posing to be (he was also a Time Lord, hiding out as a human) but he was in a position of some importance. He also owned a limousine.
And then we went out to dinner and got kidnapped again. And help captive. Again.
Except for me. (He's Ianto.) I, along with Jack, the Doctor, and the Master, went to the Hub to free our compatriots and to stop Chris Mendel (who was the one who held us captive before, by the way) from doing... whatever it was that he was doing. It was nothing good, to be sure.
Hey, we never did find out what that device of his was for. What kind of megalomaniac doesn't even tell his world-domination plan before he blows you all to hell? It's got to be against the rules or something.
Like there are any rules for this kind of thing. Half the time we make up whatever it is we're doing on the spot. And we were cuffed up. Not much we could've done this time.
Jack had it worse. He had those needles and plunger things stuck to him. Life force suckers to power Mendel's thing.
Ianto didn't show up until the device actually activated, right?
Right. I think.
Yeah, I remember. I think it was a kind of Rift Manipulator. Once it started up there was this enormously loud noise. I can't really explain it. It was sort of like water going down a drain, mixed in with the sound of a roaring fire. All really, really, loud. And then came the spatial distortions.
Spatial distortions? You sound as bad as Tosh.
Hey!
Well, you do use a lot of jargon. Sometimes.
I am perfectly understandable!
Right. When you aren't going on about microchips and welding dangles, whatever they are, together.
...Shut up.
No comeback? I'm disappointed, Tosh.
I don't need to respond to your childishness.
Riiight. And who was the one who resorted to physical violence in those cells?
That was entirely unconscious. I may have wanted to hit you, but I never actually would have.
Sure felt like you did to me.
Oh yes, and both Tosh and Owen (and Gwen!) seemed to develop telekinetic and telepathic powers for a short amount of time. However, they could only use them on each other.
Yeah. That fucking hurt.
Oh, don't be such a baby.
Excuse me, but perhaps we could get back to the spatial distortions?
Spatial distortions?
What spatial distortions?
Didn't Gwen mention some sort of spatial distortion? Or something?
Maybe she said space for coercion.
Or spate the fortune.
That doesn't even make sense. Ianto, that doesn't make sense, does it?
The report, if you please.
Oh, right. The report. Um, what were we reporting?
The Doctor Rift incident thing.
Right. So Jack was caught, stuck full of needles, and the machine he was hooked up to started, started...
It started to glow.
Glow? You're sure?
Yeah. It started to glow, just like when Abbadon was sucking the life out of Jack. You remember that? Golden light, the very essence of life...
And it glowed that much?
Well, for a little bit. Then it went blue. You know, Rift-colored.
The Rift isn't blue. It's more a swirly blue-purple.
Which is blue.
No, the important bit in there was the purple. Purple isn't blue.
Really, if we could just finish this report...
Hey, why are you so keen on finishing this anyway? And why are we using a speaker instead of just typing up separate reports like normal people?
You mean all that we've said has been recorded?
Don't sound so horrified. No one is going to read it but Jack, anyways.
And you know he doesn't care about the whole formality thing.
Yeah.
The report?
Oh. And then the Doctor burst in. I think. And he did something with his fancy sonic screwdriver.
I want something like that.
Shut up, Owen.
And you know, I think I've forgotten the rest.
Forgotten?
So have I.
Holy shit! Someone's been messing with our memory! Quick, write a note to yourself or something!
(Crap, where's my pen – ow!)
(Crack!)
(Shit!)
Wait, we have to file this!
Ianto!
Do it fast!
I'm going! What did we call it?
Scroll up!
Oh!
Damnit, did you find that pen yet?
What pen? I wasn't looking for a pen!
I got it! Filing now.
Wait did you turn off the mike, turn off the mi—
End Report