"Action has been taken." The voice coming from the tank is eerie and ominous. A high pitched whirring noise fills the room. Something hits him square in the chest, knocking the air out of him. A shock wave. He barely registers the sounds of Thames House going into lockdown.
He falls down to the floor, expecting the sharp bite of pain as he hits the tiles, but instead finds himself in a warm embrace, the worse of the fall taken by the body underneath him. Jack. His brain seems to be shutting down. Images flash through his head. Is he dying? Strong arms close around him. He forces his eyes to open. Whispers the words he never thought he's say again.
"I love you." He can't keep his eyes focused. Can't keep them open. Can't think straight. Can't move. Can barely breath. Time freezes. It's dark. It's cold. It's empty. Where is he?
Steps clattering on the floor vibrate through his body. Why can't he hear them? A voice rings through the cotton wool that fills his mind. A woman's voice, calling out names he doesn't recognize.
"... Need you, Jack, I can't do this alone..."
Someone shakes him, feebly. Why can't he move?
"Who are you?" A different voice. A man's. Soft. Scared. Strong.
"Jack! … remember me?"
"Who are you?" Something else in the voice. Panic. "... you doing?"
"... I'm sorry..." A loud bang rings in the empty room. A gun shot. Silence. A painful gasp. The woman babbles away, nervous yet relieved. He barely registers snatches.
"... Didn't know what to do... Everybody in the building... Medical experts are on the way... Get out of here while we can..."
A hand on his cheek. Big, rough. A man's.
"... Take him with us..."
"... Needs medical attention..."
"... I need him..."
Lips press briefly against his, and it feels familiar, and right.
"Ianto." The voice, soft and deep and intimate, stirs something deep inside him. He wants to scream for them not to leave him alone, even if he doesn't know who they are. He's awake, he's in here somewhere.
"Jack, we've got to go!"
Darkness falls over him again.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
He is lying somewhere soft when he wakes up again. Rough fabric pillows his face. Voices nearby. He strains his ears, but only catches snatches.
"... If it's not, we'll find it." A woman, all authority and coldness.
"For what?" The man he heard earlier. Confused. Uncertain.
"... Wavelength, and that gotta be the key to fighting back..."
"... There's nothing you can do..." Another man, old broken voice. "Forty years, and never broke them."
Nothing makes sense. Fight back what, or who? What is he doing here, amidst people who are, apparently, caught in the middle of a battle for survival?
"... think, Captain?"
"Let's get to work ... Welcome back." He freezes for a moment. Those words, that voice, sound eerily familiar, even if he can't remember where, or when, he heard it before.
"... Torchwood years ago. There's nothing." Torchwood? His heart jumps. Images flash through his mind, too fast to capture any detail, or face, or voice.
Opening his eyes, he sits on the camp bed he's been lying on. His head spins as he looks around, trying to take in everything around him: a woman in black uniform, probably the owner of the first voice he heard when he came round; an older man, standing side by side with someone who can only be the Captain. Of what, he can't tell from the half uniform. Another woman, dark haired, and a striking resemblance to the Captain. A sister, maybe? Computer equipment everywhere, cables all over the floor of what looks like a disused warehouse. It looks like the set-up has been thrown together quickly and carelessly.
"You are awake!" A young woman, a nervous smile on her face, approaches him. He's seen her before. She sits on the bed beside him. "How are you feeling?" He ponders for a second, wondering. Who is she? What should he tell her?
"What's going on?"
"The usual, saving the world." Her smile tenses. "Not much for us to do; Agent Johnson seems to believe that the great Captain Harkness can sort it all out by himself."
"And you don't?" He regrets the question before the words have left his mouth; she looks hurt.
"Of course I do!" She looks away, regaining her hold on his emotions. Not a very strong one, it would seem. "Jack knows what he is doing. I hope." An image hits him. Offering her a cup of coffee. He lets out a breath he hasn't realized has been holding. If he's caught in the middle of a war, at least he's on the right side. Or is he?
Without another word, she stands up and makes her way towards the group of people gathered around one of the terminals. He watches her walk away, a hand tugging at the collar of his shirt. Shirt? What on Earth is he doing wearing a shirt and tie? He looks down, dreading what he'll find. A waistcoat? Pinstripes? Shoes? He rolls his eyes.
"... We have no way of transmitting." Captain Harkness seems to be the centre of all the activity in the warehouse, running from screen to screen, hitting a few keys here and there. There is a tension in the air. Life of death situation. Whose, he hasn't got the faintest idea; for all the knows, the fate of the whole planet could be at stake. And he is caught in the middle of it.
"Of course you have." The smile on the old man's face gives him the creeps. He stands up, still a bit light-headed, suddenly aware of his teeth worrying his bottom lip. Swallowing hard, he tries to keep a straight face.
"Shut up!" So much determination trapped in the Captain's voice... It can't be easy for him, having so many eyes on him while he tries to... well, as the young woman put it, save the world, as usual. Where do all this certainties come from? He can't remember any of this people, other than the brief flash he had of the brunette earlier, and he can't even put a name to her. Gwyneth? Wyn? No, not quite. "... Something else."
The woman in uniform must be an officer: the way she is demanding answers right now speaks of someone used to being in charge. Used to being listened to, not ignored. Captain Harkness – Jack... it feels... right, calling him Jack – argues with her. Voices raise. Then, silence.
"We need a child." The old man is smiling, as if he found all of this an entertaining show. "Centre of resonance. That child is gonna fry."
"No. Dad. No. Tell them no!" Dad? He doesn't look old enough to be her father... There's an air of panic about her when she looks at Jack, who is staring at him now, desperate, trapped between a rock and a hard place.
"One child or millions." The officer again. Time seems to slow as he watches in horror the dilemma closing around Captain Harkness. On one side of him, the old man and the officer, struggling to justify the unjustifiable, all for the greater good. Collateral damage. Acceptable losses. On the other, his daughter, and the young woman who talked to him earlier, pleading with him, tears in their eyes and their voices.
And in the middle of that chaos, the man who is expected to make the decision. The man who is expected to sacrifice the life of a child to save millions. And where they are going to find a child, in a military installation like this, which seems to be in the middle of nowhere, is beyond him. Blue eyes on him. Pleading for something. Help? What can he do, not even knowing what is going on? He couldn't look away even if he tried. Something stirs deep inside him, like a memory at the back of his head struggling to come forward but not quite making it.
Jack's daughter holds on to him, almost begging for mercy. The young woman raises her voice, demanding answers even he knows Jack doesn't have right now.
"... Running out of time... Captain. " How can anybody put a man in a position to make such a choice? He can see something breaking as Jack nods. His daughter runs away, shouting. Realization hits him: 'a child', in this facility, probably means her child, although he's got no idea how they both came to be here.
"Alice!" The young woman calls after her.
Chaos ensues. A young boy, ten or eleven, is brought in and put on the platform in the centre of the room. The door is locked, keeping his mother outside. The old man takes a few steps away, eyes darting from the child to the Captain and back. The officer seems nervous, as if, despite everything, she didn't like the idea any more than Alice. The young woman is now shouting, trying her best to control the tremor in her voice, the nausea that seems to be rising from her stomach with every word.
"You can't do this, Jack!" Of course he can't. It's his own flesh and blood he's about to use as a tool to save the world. But he'll have to. The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few, or the one, and all that philosophy bollocks that sounds so good in theory but hits you square over the head when it needs to be put in practice. Slowly, he takes a few steps towards the computer bank. Jack's eyes follow him, then return to the boy.
Taking a deep breath, Jack starts pressing keys. The child – Steven, Alice is shouting from outside the room, as she hits the dirty glass on the door – starts screaming, a high-pitched noise that sets his hair on ends. The young woman gapes at Jack, disbelief so obvious in her face he feels the urge to explain to her that sometimes decisions are not easy.
"Take her out." The coldness in his own voice doesn't surprise him as much as the fact that two of the soldiers approach her, their intent clear. She looks at him, eyes wide in disbelief.
"Ianto, you can't let him do it!" She's desperate now, as she's being escorted out. "Talk to him, Ianto, he will listen to you!" Why would he? What makes him so different that Captain Jack Harkness, who just proved capable of harsh decisions when needed, would listen to him? "Don't let him..." As the door closes behind her, she and Alice hold on to each other.
Jack keeps his eyes on Steven. As if he were forcing himself to watch the consequences of the choice he really couldn't avoid. The old man is the first one to look away, as if he couldn't bear to see what he so adamantly advocated as the only option. The officer even sheds a tear or two at the tragedy. He looks from the child to the Captain; somehow, deep inside, he knows this is what needs to be done, but it still goes against everything he holds dear. Or, at least, against everything he remembers holding dear.
When Jack catches his eye, he can't look away again. He watches, examining the emotions playing in his face. Resignation. Self-loathing. Pain. Sadness. Loss. Loneliness. So much he recognizes, he understands. A silent tear rolls down Jack's cheek. Before he knows it, he's patting Jack's shoulder, a silent gesture in the pandemonium surrounding them. The familiarity with which one of Jack's hands traps his nearly knocks the air out him.
He's barely had time to register that when the boy collapses on the platform. The questions – why it all feels so familiar, so right; what exactly is going on; why his heart is jumping around like that right now; why everybody seems to think Jack Harkness can save the world on his own; what the hell the world needs saving from – are filed away neatly, and will be dealt with when possible. The door slams open and Alice runs to the boy. The young woman walks in behind her, a murderous look on her face as she approaches Jack.
"How could you? Your own grandson, how could you?" She's barely holding back the tears.
"Gwen..." The name! Of course! Gwen. Coffee, cream, two sugars. He shakes his head. "What else could I do? Tell me!" Jack's voice is so full of pain he can't understand how anybody could question him like that right now.
"There must be something else you could have done!" On the platform, Alice wails, cradling the lifeless body of her son. When she looks at him, he can barely hold her gaze.
"What, Gwen?" She falls silent. Then, quick as lightning, slaps Jack, turns around and leaves the room. Jack brings a hand to his cheek and looks at him, eyes so empty of anything but pain that it hurts to watch. But there's nothing he can do, nothing he can offer to make it easier. No amount of tea would help now, despite his mother's old saying about a cuppa always being the answer to all problems. "Are you going to walk out on me as well?" He shakes his head. When Jack lets go of his hand, it feels suddenly too cold.
Page 4 of 4