Authors Notes: I got the angelic lore from Wiki, and what I remembered from the Bible (not much), and this story is not meant to represent any religion, really, but since angels appear in Christianity, I got most of it from that. I don't mean to offend anyone, or be disrespectful, so please don't take it that way. I don't know if anyone has done this before, but here is my attempt!
A review would seriously help me get motivated to write the next chapter, so please leave one if you like it! (Or if you don't, anything's good)
Disclaimer: I do not own Torchwood or any of the characters.
Word Count: 4336
Warnings: Swearing, and the whole thing is very loosely based on biblical texts. Like, really loosely.
There was gold rushing past his head. Not a bit of gold, like the humming birds from the Fields of Eden, when they flitted past your ears, but a whole tunnel of it, swirling and glittering in his vision. He had seen a lot, some he wished to forget, but he had never seen this before. This didn't feel right. Not the way his wings felt like they were on fire, the way his vision was blurring and fading, or the way his legs were losing their rigidity and his arms were pin wheeling at his sides. This wasn't flying. This was falling.
Ianto Jones was falling.
In a final spurt of power, he beat his wings, managing to face back the way he had come. He was going to get out of here, he was sure of it. He beat his wings again. They flapped feebly against the force dragging Ianto down, sending a thrill of panic through him. Ianto just had time to cry out, before the darkness rushed up and claimed him.
….
"Jack! There's some weird ass rift activity right outside our door!" Owen Harper yelled, rather gruffly.
Jack bounded over and grinned toothily at him. "Yeah? I guess whatever fell through would be easier to transport, then. Tosh, could you get the CCTV up? I want to look at what we are dealing with before we go up."
Tosh, closing down a program she had been working on, and sighed, almost inaudibly, but Owen heard, and felt a smirk spread across his face. Jack didn't seem to notice, or if he did, he didn't acknowledge it.
The grainy image filled one of Tosh' computer screens. It showed the Plass, and a small section of air swirling with golden light, about five feet off the ground. Other than that, the Plass was empty. Disturbingly empty. Owen was put in mind of some crappy horror film he had watched at 2 am last night. It hadn't scared him at the time, but now he felt shivers run up his spine. The Plass was dark, deserted apart from the eerie yellow light pulsating in the inky blackness. The rift was about to close.
"There's nothing there. C'mon, let's get back to work." muttered Owen. He was slightly irritated. A bit of action wouldn't have gone amiss, with Gwen at Rhys', Tosh buried in her computer, and Jack being an insufferable bastard as usual.
So when Tosh murmured: "Wait, what's that?", you couldn't really blame Owen for getting a tad excited, could you? He pushed his chair over to Tosh' desk again, the wheels scraping on the ground and putting his teeth on edge.
"There's something in the corner of the screen. There, look!" Tosh continued, pointing to the shape in the corner that Owen had overlooked. It looked like … a foot?
"Shit, did a person fall through?" Owen exclaimed, a million different thoughts running through his head at once. The main one being: I hope it's an alien. Lot easier to deal with. People get so emotional.
Jacks jaw set, and his whole demeanour was one of steely determination, but his eyes looked like they had been ripped from a broken man's face and plastered over his own.
Jack swept his coat up from a nearby chair, and put his Webley in his holster. He gestured for Owen and Tosh to follow him, and they scrambled after him, Tosh gathering as much tech as she could hold, Owen fixing his earpiece.
Jack strode up to the invisible lift, and Owen tried to melt Jack's face off with his eyes, as Tosh had to be pressed up against Jack to make room for them all. Tosh didn't seem to notice, fiddling with a piece of equipment in the confined space, but Jack was staring at Owen with a shit-eating grin on his face.
"Jack? What do we do if the thing that fell through the roof is human? We can't send them back." asked Tosh, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth.
Jack pursed his lips. "We'll deal with that when we get to it." He slung his arm over her shoulders, eyes twinkling. "Don't worry, Tosh, I can be very inventive when I want to be."
Owen growled something very inventive and unintelligible under his breath, while Tosh went back to frowning at the device in her hands.
The lift was halfway up. Owen thought he was going to explode if he didn't bring Jack down a peg.
"You mean you don't have a plan."
"Nope." Jack popped the "p". "But I do know what it's like to be trapped in a different time. Not great. But I will try and help whoever it is through it." His eyes took on a distant, unreachable look. Owen was trying hard not to scoff, but Tosh was gazing up at Jack with a sympathetic expression on her face. It made Owen want to light Jack on fire.
Bloody women; always go for the sensitive type. Owen knew this wasn't quite true, otherwise he would never get laid, but he was feeling pissed.
Owen was distracted from his thoughts by the lift passing the roof of the hub, and rising onto the Plass. Thankfully, it was deserted, so they didn't have to wait to get off.
Jack hopped down and extended a hand to Tosh. She stepped down gracefully, smiling at Jack. Owen stomped away, grumbling that the camera showed the back of the water tower, and could they hurry up because it was starting to rain. The drops of water were small at first, just barely tangible, but by the time the three of them reached the location the camera had shown, it was torrential, the rain making streams of water on the ground, bouncing off the pavement and plastering their hair to their heads. But when they rounded the corner, Owen wasn't thinking about the rain.
"What. The. Fuck."
…
There was an angel spread over the pavement.
His pure white wings stretched out over the cobbles, feathers catching the rain in stunning patterns. Rain soaked his dark hair, making it look like ink against his pale, alabaster skin. A white loincloth was hazardously wrapped around his waist, gold hemming glinting in the moonlight. The dying golden light from the rift opening was illuminating his body, reflecting off the water on the ground. His paper-thin eyelids were flickering slightly, and his face spasmed in pain, just as Jack noticed the sprawling pattern of purpling bruises on his ribs, marring his bare chest, which rose and fell minutely in time with the short, gasping breaths the creature took.
Jack thought he was quite beautiful.
"Right. Well." he said, clapping his hands together. He guessed he was the first to recover from the shock, and he was right, as Tosh was looking from the scanner in her hands to the body sprawled on the ground, her mouth working in confusion, and Owen was just standing there, slack mouthed, eyes wide in his face. Jack was pretty sure his lower jaw was making a bid for freedom, but decided to keep that piece of information to himself.
"Owen, I want him sedated and brought down to the hub on a stretcher, then bandaged before we put him in a cell. We don't want him getting violent. Or running off. That would take a bit of explaining." said Jack, thinking of the countless people he would have to retcon if the angel escaped.
Owen's doctor instincts finally set it, and his nodded, opening the suitcase of equipment he had remembered to bring, and drawing out a folded stretcher, unfolding it and putting it together so the body could be lifted. He didn't do this often, and was struggling to put the right parts in the right places, before Tosh took over, pushing him out of the way. He grunted, and picked up a syringe, filling it with a large dose of sedative. Moving towards the casualty, he was surprised when Jack put an arm out to stop him.
"Just, be careful, yeah?"
Owen, slightly insulted that Jack doubted his ability to look after himself, shrugged him off, and stomped over to the body, and jabbed him with the needle, pumping him full of sedative. His eyes flickered open in pain, and in one startling moment of coherence, which Owen was not prepared for, fixed onto his face, before glazing over and sliding shut.
"Owen? Stretcher's ready." called Tosh.
He motioned for her to wheel it over, and she complied, struggling to push the wheels over the cobbles. Jack moved to help them get the body onto the stretcher. They lifted him with some difficulty; nobody seemed to want to touch the wings, or his damaged ribs. Owen could bet that if the casualty was conscious, it would be screaming in pain, but it was so heavily sedated it probably couldn't feel anything. Hopefully.
The loin-cloth may have slipped a bit in the struggle to get him on, and Owen caught Jack peeking at the patch of skin it revealed. Disgusted, he frowned fiercely. He wasn't even conscious, for God's sake.
When the casualty was strapped in best they could with the feathery intrusions in the way, they began to wheel him to the lift. There was only room for one with the stretcher, and it was a tight enough squeeze as it was, so Tosh and Jack had to go in through the tourist office. Jack grumbled something about doctor's privilege, but Owen decided to block him out.
As the lift started to descend, coupled with a jolt, Owen checked his vitals, trying to see if he was in anyway similar to humans. He was humanoid in shape, but that could always be deceiving. The only things that seemed to be wrong were a few bruised or fractured ribs, and a mild concussion.
The alarm blared for a few seconds, as Tosh and Jack dashed in, still sopping wet. Owen looked down at his dripping jacket and sighed.
The lift reached the floor, and Owen stepped off it, lifting the stretcher with Jack. They all stood around him, and stared down contemplatively.
Owen decided to break the silence. "The only thing I can do about the ribs is give him some painkillers. He may have concussion, so we shouldn't keep him sedated too long."
"Right." Jack muttered, still staring down at the body lying prone on the stretcher. Owen narrowed his eyes. If Jack got a little crush, that was it, they were all screwed. Promptly, Jack snapped out of it, shaking his head as if to clear the air. "Owen, do whatever to get him well again. Tosh, scan him, try and find out as much as we can. Then, we'll take him to the cells. Tosh, after that, can you do some research, try and see if this has happened before? You might have to dig around in the archives."
Tosh groaned loudly. The archives were a mess.
Owen grinned, and sauntered off to find the painkillers, while Tosh waved various pieces of techno-junk at the "angel". By the time Owen got back, carrying high-strength paracetamol, which he really hoped wasn't poisonous to this thing (it wouldn't be the first time), Tosh was done with her scans.
"It would seem he is very closely related to us, the main difference being the whole wing thing. Normal bone structure, brain activity, not giving off radioactive energy, it's not dangerous in any way. As far as I can see. The wings seem to be made up of a cartilage frame, with feathers similar to that of birds on top. They should be able to support his weight, if he chooses to use them."
"Woah, he can fly?!" interrupted Owen.
"Sure. That's usually what wings are for." Jack muttered, and Owen scowled at him.
"Could you take a blood sample for testing? I want to see if it's got certain properties." asked Tosh.
Owen nodded, still scowling, and went to grab a needle.
…..
Ianto woke up. Groggy at first, he only got snatches of images, impressions.
Cold. Hard floor. Dirt under his finger tips. Blurry brown walls, swimming in front of his eyes. Pain. Sharp, blooming pain on his side.
He groaned, hands flying to his sides, but that only made it worse, so he relieved the pressure, fluttering them nearby, frustrated at his lack of ability to do anything. Probably a fractured rib, he thought, doing a quick physical inventory. His head hurt. It felt like someone had grabbed it and smashed it against a wall a couple of times, which for all he knew, was what had happened. That was coupled with a dizzy feeling he could feel lying down, and a general feeling of light-headedness.
Slowly, he opened his eyes. He was arranged carefully on the floor of a small holding cell, which sported a small bench on one wall. Three walls were a dirty brown colour, splattered with odious stains in noxious colours, while the fourth was a glass panel with holes in for ventilation. Or interrogation. His heart rate started to increase. Where was he? The last thing he remembered was falling, but now he was in a place he didn't recognize, and he had been just over the Plains of Uriel, which was familiar territory. Clearly, he wasn't there anymore.
Ianto sat up, wincing. Staying still for a moment to recover from the wave of dizziness that engulfed him, he got a better look around. The cell was completely empty apart from him, but there was a snuffling sound coming from his right, and the odd snarl. He really hoped he wouldn't get eaten. He struggled to his feet, trying to see if his wings were working. Bad idea. He slumped against the wall, breathing deeply despite his ribs, trying to quell the nausea rolling in his stomach. Feeling a little better, he pushed off the wall. He tried to spread his wings, but the cell wasn't wide enough. He folded them, so they were tucked behind his back. They didn't seem to be injured, but he would have to give them a test run, just to make sure. If his stomach could handle it.
"Does it hurt?"
Ianto whirled around, startled, and then stumbled, his dizziness overcoming him slightly. The man on the other side of the glass reached out as if to help, but dropped his hands when Ianto righted himself. The man didn't say anything else, and Ianto couldn't even remember the question, so he just stared at him. Eventually, after Ianto had had enough of the man dragging his eyes across his body as if he were an interesting specimen, he spoke up.
"Who are you?" He was pleased to note that his voice didn't waver. Years of hiding his emotions had payed off.
"I'm Captain Jack Harkness, and you are?" He winked.
Ianto would have raised an eyebrow at the flirting if he wasn't quite so petrified.
"Jones. Ianto Jones."
"Well, Jones, Ianto Jones, where are you from?" Captain Harkness looked pensive, almost reluctant now.
"It's just Ianto. And why should I tell you? No offence, but all I know is your name. I wake up in a strange place with multiple injuries? It doesn't exactly inspire instant trust."
Harkness looked surprised, just for a split second, and then chuckled, low in his throat.
"Okay. Let me explain. I'm part of an organisation called Torchwood. We work to fight hostile aliens that come through the rift, which is a rip in space and time, so we get stuff, mostly junk, but sometimes, well, things like you, come through it and it's our job to deal with that."
Ianto had come through the rift. Okay. He could deal with that, it wasn't so impossible, right? He knew, vaguely, what the rift did, but hardly anything came through on his side. Things just got took, went missing in the blink of an eye. Like him. He rubbed his face, wondering what the people he had left behind would think.
"Are you okay? Usually they start shouting and screaming by now."
"I'm fine. And I know what a rift is, so you don't need to tell me all that. Skip to the part where you tell me why I am in a cell."
Harkness' eyebrows rose, just a fraction.
"We didn't know. That you'd be so reasonable, I mean. Sometimes they get hostile, or hysterical. It's easier to keep them confined until we know they are safe."
"So, have you decided?" Ianto asked, sounding short to his own ears. The emotions were starting to catch up with him, and he didn't want to break down, not here, in front of this man.
"Decided what?"
"If I'm safe." clarified Ianto.
"Oh." Harkness sounded contemplative, and Ianto decided to just stay silent. He physically had to bite back a smart remark, as he had a (strong) feeling that it really wouldn't help his situation.
He took the opportunity to take Harkness in properly, noticing the twinkle in his blue eyes, and the sandy brown hair. Not half as much as he noticed the broad shoulders and strong looking arms. Ianto was trained in combat, but injured and nauseous? Not a chance. Harkness was wearing a long, war time style coat, which Ianto found highly impractical, especially if, as he claimed, he fought aliens. Imagine the dry cleaning bills.
Harkness grinned. "Yeah, sure, come on out."
Ianto resisted the urge to roll his eyes, as a door behind him opened up onto a large, grimy corridor. He poked his head out, wary. He wasn't kidding when he said he had no reason to trust Harkness.
The man in question was just strolling round to meet him, his coat billowing dramatically. Ianto stepped out of the cell, but not without caution.
"This way. So, there are three members of the team apart from myself. Tosh'll get you up to speed on the history of this planet, and its basic geography. Basically all you need to know." Harkness chattered beside him. Ianto was only half listening, distracted by the growling noises emitting from the cells.
"Owen is our resident doctor, so he will keep tabs on your ribs." He gestured to Ianto's bruises, his gaze lingering just a little bit too long. Ianto shifted uncomfortably. He suddenly became hyper aware of how little clothing her was wearing compared to Harkness. Whatever planet this was, it was either cold, or they were strict on clothing.
"And Gwen and I will help sort you a house out, a new identity, help you settle down."
Ianto stopped dead. "Why would I need a new identity? You can just send me back, right?"
Harkness looked grave. Ianto felt like he was going to throw up.
"I'm so sorry, Ianto. There's no way back."
Ianto was in a bubble, foam in his ears. He noticed the film of tears glistening in Harkness' eyes. Then the bubble popped, and Ianto's legs gave way.
Harkness caught him just in time, murmuring comforting nothings. He sat Ianto down on the floor, who just stared blankly ahead, seeing nothing.
Harkness sat beside him, grasping his limp hand in his own. Ianto had cold fingers.
"I'll never see them again." Ianto had to force the words past a constriction in his throat, his body rebelling against him, saying "no, don't say that". Ianto had never truly understood the concept of a "lump in the throat" till now. He didn't want this new understanding, just wanted to make it all go away. "None of them. They'll think I'm dead."
Harkness didn't have to ask who, he just squeezed Ianto's hand tighter, and said: "I know. It sucks, doesn't it?"
For some reason, that broke Ianto. The barrier of shock that had been holding his emotions back crumbled, and Ianto started to cry. No, more than crying, howling. His breath came out in great gulping sobs, and his eyes instantly filled with tears that welled over his eyelids, running down his cheeks in streams. He screamed, clenching his fists, curling into himself, trying to make himself as small as possible. He was dimly aware of Harkness gathering him to his shoulder, letting him cry into his coat, tears soaking into the material, staining it. Ianto breathed deep in Jack's scent, finding comfort in the strange, but pleasant smell.
Ianto felt lost. So empty. He wanted to rip his way out of this world, carve a hole in the fabric of reality. Scream so loud the walls around him would shatter, and he could fly, leaving only dust behind him.
He did none of these things. When he had cried himself out, he pulled away from Jack, took a few deep breaths, and wiped his face on the back of his hand.
"Jack? Thank you." Feeling intensely embarrassed at his hysterics, even if he did feel they were warranted, Ianto ducked his head, cheeks burning.
"It's alright." Jacks voice was soft, as if he were trying not to scare a cornered animal. Ianto hiccupped. "Let's get you upstairs, you can sleep in my bed tonight."
Jack guided Ianto up, and led the way through the corridor and into a small bunker. Ianto followed numbly, not really processing his surroundings. All he was aware of on the way was a silence that sounded forced, tense, stretched, a breath away from breaking, and eyes on him as he descended the ladder into the small, dark hole.
It was basic, only a small cot and a rail with some hangers on. Ianto felt shut in, the walls pushing him into himself.
"I'll get you some clothes, okay? Wait here."
Ianto wondered where else he would go. He sensed Jack hesitating, and then, finally, he sighed, and left. Jack seemed to think he was a skittish horse, liable to run off and kick someone in the head at any given moment. Ianto wondered if he was right.
"Here you go." Jack handed him some striped pyjama pants, and Ianto took them without protest. Jack carried on staring at him, looking concerned. Tired of being looked at like he was going to break apart, Ianto coughed pointedly.
"Something you don't want me to see?" Jack winked, grinning seductively, before facing the other way.
Despite himself, Ianto felt a smile bubble up from somewhere deep inside him. It felt like a shard of glass when he swallowed it back down.
Quickly, he slipped off his loincloth, and pulled on the trousers. They were a bit too long, material pooling at his feet. He tapped Jack on the shoulder, who turned around, grinning.
"Sorry, I couldn't find you a shirt. We'd have had to rip holes in it anyway." he said, glancing at Ianto's wings. He clapped his hands, rubbing them together.
"First night on Earth, hope it's comfortable. See you in the morning." Jack turned to go. Ianto caught his wrist just in time, holding it just a bit too tightly, but he was past the point of caring.
"This is Earth? My people have been here before. You must have some records. Maybe they can tell me how to get back!" Ianto felt hope burst in his chest, an almost painful flood of emotion, which he quickly tried to suppress. He couldn't stand to get his hopes up only to have them crushed.
Jack didn't seem to share his excitement. "Maybe. We will look in the morning. Go to sleep, Ianto." he smiled, sadly.
Sobered by Jacks apathy, Ianto sighed, and dragged his feet, which suddenly felt like great weights had been attached to them, over to the cot, and lay down on it, closing his eyes. He lay like that until Jack left.
…
Jack sat at his desk, weary, as if he carried the whole world on his shoulders. Sometimes he did.
Another life destroyed by the rift. How could a man with wings pass for normal in a time that didn't even fully accept humans that were a little different? They would have to find a way to send him back, or shut him away from the world. It broke Jacks heart. Ianto struck him as pure, despite his grief today. His eyes had been so wide in his face, putting Jack in mind of two broad, deep lakes, full of secrets. Yet his wings had reminded Jack of a flower, blooming outward from the centre of his back, yet not fully open, cramped as they were by the cell.
Jack had to let him out, didn't he? Those wings spoke of freedom and life, and who was Jack to deny him a little more freedom, when he would have to put up with so much secrecy and seclusion?
Jack had offered him a bed, his bed, and the sight of Ianto curled up on his cot in nothing but pyjama pants, his wings folded behind him, had sent a rush of feeling through Jack. One part awe, one part lust, two parts melancholy. He didn't want to feel lust for Ianto. He was lost, scared, and had just received an emotional blow that probably wouldn't heal for years, and Jack wanted to screw him? It wasn't appropriate, not to mention right. His mood was so dire that he hadn't even found the effort to be cordial to his staff, snapping at Owen when he asked if he had "finished feeling up the crying angel".
Jack poured a glass of scotch and drank it.
…..
Ianto feigned sleep until Jack left, and then he opened his eyes with a snap, probing the darkness. He knew he wasn't going to get to sleep for a while. His ribs hurt almost as much as his heart. He was never going to see Eden again, or the Tower Of Babylon, which scraped at the surface of the sky, or Rhiannon and the kids, or Lisa.
Ianto knew one thing, in all this mess. He had to get back.
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