Author's Note: Story originally published August 10, 2009. Chapter 2 (parts 4-6) rewritten and posted December 30, 2015.
Twenty minutes.
From previous experience she knew it never took any member of the team that long to get to Splott. They had frequently been dumped there, or had any number of things happen in that particular area of Cardiff often enough to know down to the second how long each particular driver took to reach Splott. For her personally the record was fifteen minutes in bad traffic. For Eddie and Jack, it was almost as if the two were trying to break one another's record for some imaginary special badge of honor.
Certainly, this was the longest it had ever taken Quin to reach them. After all he knew the city better than anyone else, save for her partner of course. That man's brain, she had assumed, must literally be a sponge for all of the information it soaked up.
They heard the roar or an engine before seeing the white van barreling down the road towards them. It came to a stop with a screech and the fresh smell of burned rubber. She and her partner lugged the body between them towards the back end of the van just as the doors were flung open.
"Leave it for me," came that same American voice that had buzzed in their ears earlier in the evening. Matilda didn't bother to argue with or look at the man pulling on gloves to do the work for them. Instead, she went to the front passenger door, pulling it open before Eddie tapped her on the shoulder.
"You're jumper," he said when she turned to look tiredly at him. "I'll crack it open on the way. Try to fix it."
"With field kit?"
He shrugged. "It's better than nothing," he said as she pulled off one of the sleeves of her coat, revealing a mostly bare arm. Just below the short sleeve of her shirt rested a plain looking device with a brown leather strap. She unlatched it and it fell off her arm into Eddie's open and waiting hand. His fingers wrapped around it greedily before he opened the side door of the can and climbed in.
"Are the sedatives really necessary?!" she heard her partner shout as she pulled her coat back over her exposed arm, then climbed into the front passenger seat of the can. "The guy's already knocked out, probably had his brain fried, too! Not like he's gonna do any harm now," Eddie protested from behind her.
She was too tired to even look back, pulling the door closed and pressing her cheek against the cold glass of the window. At least she was out of the rain for the rest of the night.
"Following protocol," Quin said from the far back end of the van, just before slamming the back doors shut.
Her breathing had slowed and the voices of the two men were now little more than background murmurs as began to doze. Once the engine was turned, the familiar growl of the machinery lulled her into a deeper sleep.
o0o
The sharp slam of the driver door woke her with a start. Instinctively she put her hand to where she usually kept her sidearm, only to remember it was lost in the abandoned mall complex. It took a few moments for her to regain her bearings. "What's going on?"
"Tosser," Eddie snapped angrily as he clambered out the side of the van, mumbling to himself.
She couldn't help but smile sleepily at his reflection in the side view mirror before climbing out of the van to join him. "I'll give you a hand."
He frowned at her. "You're worn out. Besides," he said, rounding the back of the van to open the doors. "This is man's work."
She followed him, glaring playfully at him but she couldn't hold it for long. "I've been doing this three years longer than you, sunshine. I've dragged around my fair share of bodies, thank you."
"Fine..." he muttered, peeling off his jacket and rolling up his sleeves. It was the first she had been able to see of his injuries, and their true extent. Bruises... Ha! Bruises didn't bleed out. She stopped him when he reached into the van for the sedated body.
"You go and get that patched up. I'll take this."
"But-"
"I've caught a few winks. Hit my second wind." She reached into the van and took hold of one arm, pulling the nude, sleeping man part way out of the back. "I'll lock up this bloke and pop 'round to see you properly.
"Bring me grapes?"
"I don't like you that much. Now go on."
She hefted the body out with a grunt, turning around to bend at the knees and hoist him up on her shoulders to carry. He was much heavier than he looked. But she only needed to carry him as far as the freight lift. After that, it was a matter of laying him down and fetching a cart when they got to the right floor.
"Don't put your back out," he called to her as she hurried her way to the freight lift. He went in the opposite direction, taking the staff entrance to the basement floors below.
o0o
Eddie bit his lip as he poured the alcohol solution down his side. He'd managed to conceal the wound well enough while they were under siege, and even held his tongue during the wait in Splott. Hell, he may have even managed to slip down to the infirmary undetected later on had he not been so hot and needed to remove his coat.
"Need a hand?"
He looked up to see Quin watching him from the doorway. The man held a metal tray with a white mug, steaming with the promise of liquid invigoration. Beside it a tube of ointment and a small first aid kit.
"No," Eddie muttered under his breath as he wiped his side. His wound bubbled before he applied the first bandage he'd found in the stores. "Not like you'd follow through anyway," he grumbled.
"What's your deal?" Quin snapped back. "You're injured. Let me help."
"Oh I don't know. Maybe the king of punctuality was late. Fried the power cells in my ingenious creations-"
"Which are knock-offs of an original design," Quin said, forcing calmness back into his voice. And it was always this calmness that had never failed to infuriate the techno-whiz further.
Eddie reached out and snatched up a wad of gauze from the first aid kit. "There, happy? You helped. Now go do whatever it is you do around here."
A slight shake of his head preceded Quin setting the tray down. Then, as if given some subconscious cue each hand went to the bottom of his suit jacket and gave it a gentle tug. While for the man it was a force of habit and nothing more, Eddie always saw it as proof that the other man was a pretentious git. "Get cleaned up," the American said. "Jack wants everyone in the board room for a full report."
"In person?"
"In person."
Eddie groaned again, but this time it was not induced by his injury. "This doesn't bode well..." he said to Quin's retreating back.
He fumbled with the rest of his wound dressing until Matilda came to check on him. She'd changed into something clean and dry, he noticed. Briefly, he relayed the minor altercation with their driver to her as she took over properly dressing his wound. She accompanied him back up to the main level of the base, one level below the warehouse where they had arrived. On their way to the board room, they passed by a little used office marked "Private" on the open door. Quin was standing at a desk, using an antiquated communication system called a land-line. He waved them on when he saw them, giving a small smile as he adjusted his mauve colored tie, holding the receiver of the old telephone between his shoulder and his cheek.
o0o
He'd never been one to stay down for long. Not intentionally.
The last thing he remembered clearly was laying out beneath the triple suns on the nude beaches of Tellios 7. The next thing he knew he was falling through the vortex in his birthday suit. A crash landing had knocked him out, or killed him. He couldn't have been entirely sure. Coming to, he was in darkness. Creatures tearing at his legs as he scrambled to get away, naked and defenseless. Not even a micro blaster tucked away in a bodily crevice. Recalling the events that had led him here, he couldn't help but smile remembering the time he DID hide one on his body... One of the few amusing memories of that first time he died...
He willed the happy memory to fade, focusing in on more recent events. The creatures were tearing at him as he struggled to get away. The smell of the air an all too familiar scent from the old days at Torchwood. A weevil den. But what tried to kill him weren't weevils. Something worse, something quicker- stronger. What had picked him up by the throat was, however, the familiar clawed hands of the shit eating sewer dwellers. Thrown like a rag doll into a hive of them. But they weren't trying to kill him. They fought something else. Something stronger. Then the familiar shadow of death fell upon him. Brought on by a broken neck and back as he'd been roughly manhandled. Just as he had begun to come back around, a lightness had overtaken him. Floating gently then... nothing.
Groaning he rolled onto his side. A dull ache pervaded his senses, emanating from the back of his neck and at the base of his skull. Where ever he was, he knew he hadn't gotten there on his own. Goosebumps rose on his skin as the chill from the hard stone floor caught him by surprise. How long had he lain on his back in this hovel? Slowly opening his eyes, he could see by a dim light shining down from the ceiling that his body aced a wall made of the same stone as the floor.
"You're awake."
His ear pricked up as he listened for the source of the voice. Then, he slowly turned his head and the rest of his body followed to lay him on his back once more. His vision was blurry, but clearing well enough to make out the organic patterns on the ceiling, marking it again, the same as the stone beneath him. This room, he realized, had been cut out of solid rock. Blue eyes searched for the source of the unfamiliar, sexless, unaccented voice. The lack of clear accent or dialect giving him no clue as to where or even when he might be in the universe.
"There are clothes and a food packet in the corner."
He stopped his search for the source of the sound when he found the black speaker in the center of the ceiling, blending in almost seamlessly with the stone. Mentally he ran through a list of all possible places he could be. After a few long moments he pushed the thought aside to run in the back of his thoughts. There were far too many to list, and it was a rather large universe he existed in. However, he also knew that given time he would find out soon enough the answer he sought. After all, that was the only thing he had an abundance of. Time.
"Remind me to tip the porter when he brings my next meal," he quipped, sitting up. He rubbed the back of his neck, the ache starting to fade and bring a sense of pleasant relief in it's wake. Whatever had happened to him, at some point he knew his neck had been broken more than just the once.
"Water will be brought for you to wash with shortly. We are waiting for results."
He looked around again, trying to scry any information he could from his surroundings. Trying to work out a plan of escape. But it was a hard thing to do when he couldn't even find indications of a door to this prison cells. "Results of what?" he asked, sprinkling a note of curiosity into his voice. He may have thrown the bait too thick, as there was no answer. Not that he expected one. But sometimes depending on how overconfident a captor became, they might spill their entire plan if asked the correct leading questions.
He climbed to his feet and stretched his stiff, reanimated limbs. He inspected them closely. What for, he didn't stop to guess. He knew nothing had changed. Nothing ever did unless it was a result of mere age and average wear that the many years could do to him. He glanced at the corner where the silver plastic of the food packet say atop a smartly folded pile of cloth.
He took his time getting dressed, examining the clothes left for him. Searching for just s small scrap of information. "At least it's not orange," he said, knowing that his every word was likely being recorded. He thought of her whenever he came into situations like this. He remembered the filthy, orange jumpsuits prisoners of UNIT were forced to wear. He shook his head as he pulled on the gray sweatpants, pushing memories of Toshiko from his thoughts.
The clothes themselves were a plain, somber gray. A matching sweatshirt. The tags inside his clothes, he noted, were written in Arabic. Not that he cared all that much as to the washing instructions of the garments. It told him that at least he was dealing with Earthlings. Whether he was on Earth itself, or elsewhere with that particular species was still to be determined. Though it had narrowed down his choices considerably. Not much, but enough.
Once dressed he sat with his back against the wall, opposite of where he had found the clothes and food. Logic told him the exit must be close to that point in the cell. The meal pack was on the floor beside him, uneaten for the moment, but thoroughly picked through and examined.
o0o
It was over forty-eight since the events in the abandoned mall. They'd given a report in the board room to their boss, who had remained silent the entire time. Then, he told them to head home and get some sleep. Now, two days later, it was business as usual.
"You look like-" Eddie began when his partner stormed into the main offices.
"I'm covered in Raxillian afterbirth. Do not speak to me," she said angrily as she crossed the floor, heading towards the lift to the lower levels. "Don't," she repeated firmly when she had passed him, his mouth open to comment. "I'll be in the shower. I hate this job."
Eddie rolled his eyes, swiveling his chair back to face the bay of monitors that consumed his desk. "I've finally got the results from those scans in!" he called after her, only to hear the lift doors grind shut in reply.
He sighed, and coupled it with a shake of the head before pulling his headphones on, the plastic band resting behind his neck as he worked. Aside from the numerous scans he'd been ordered to run on their guest, Torchwood had come into possession of a tablet. A tablet written in a language unknown to Earth. Though it was not a pressing matter, he chose to work on translating it in his spare time. So far he'd discovered it was a list of ingredients. He hoped that the rest of it may be instructions on how to use them, or what they were for.
He hoped against all hope that they might turn out to be a recipe, one he could adapt in the kitchens. He did always like to subject his team to his experiments.
He toiled away for what felt like hours, his fingers hitting the keys in rhythm to the music blasting into his ears. The translator programs running at full tilt while he cataloged results from the most recent scans, placing them into an order that even their oh-so-fearless leader would be able to comprehend.
"Well look who's a busy bee today."
The twenty-one year old nearly jumped in his skin as his headphones were yanked off his neck, abruptly cutting off the steady supply of classic industrial grunge from his environment. His chair spun around as he readied himself to furiously snap at Quin, who seemed to exist only to scare and torment the poor boy. Only... it wasn't Quin and the angry words that had been about to fly and color the air blue halted in his throat when he looked upon the dark, smiling face staring back at him with a kind twinkle in her eye.
"M...M... Madame Milligan!" he exclaimed as he began to recover. "Wh-"
She laughed lightly, brushing a tuft of graying black hair from her face. "He didn't say I was coming, did he?"
Eddie shook his head, pushing his chair back against the edge of his workstation. "W... What brings you down here? It's not yet Christmas holiday. And I thought Luke was supposed to-"
"Jack asked me to come," she said, reaching out and patting his shoulder. "You're so cute when you're flustered."
He turned his head to look from her shoulder, down her arm to the hand on his own shoulder and shrugged it off. "Jack's not here. He's gone out to Ground Zero following a lead on a Karvakian glider," he said. "He thinks that if there's enough of the ship left, I may be able to augment the computer systems and use them in scanning for inorganic life forms. The Karvakians were at one time vicious and bitter enemies of the Cybermen, and had developed technology capable of-"
"Alright alright," the older woman said. "I'll just wait for him in his office."
"Ma'am, can I- I mean, if it's not-"
"Go ahead," she said patiently.
"Well Madame-"
"How many times do I have to tell you. Call me Martha. Madame makes me sound so old."
He smiled nervously and gave a small nod. "Well, M.. Martha. Why are you here, if it's not much trouble."
She ran her tongue along the front of her teeth, behind her lip. He watched her closely, trying to divine a deeper meaning behind such an unimportant action. If Eddie didn't know any better, and he knew everything there was to know, he'd guess he was about to be fed a line. A line that wouldn't quite add up to the evidence he would soon dig out based on what he would hear later.
"You're a smart man, Eddie," she said at last while she put her hands in her pockets. "You'll puzzle it out. Now, if you would be so kind as to send Quin in with a cup of tea, that'd be brilliant."
"Sorry Mad- I mean, Martha. He's gone with Jack. You know what those two are like out in the field. Probably won't be back for a few hours yet so long as things go smoothly. I could fetch Mattie if you like. She popped down for a show a bit ago. Probably hopped over to the firing range for a bit."
She gave a small shake of her head. "That won't be necessary. A glass of water will be fine. I need to cut back on the caffeine anyway."
He nodded. "Yes ma'am." He watched her go in the direction of the board room before veering off into one of the side rooms. When she was out of sight he sighed in relief and turned his attention to the surveillance feed. Their guest was laying on his back, staring up at the ceiling and twiddling his thumbs. For a moment Eddie could swear the man was staring straight at him.
He checked the time then turned his attention back to his tasks. His concentration was broken, his play-list was on shuffle, and the head director had just made an impromptu visit to Cardiff all the way from Glasgow. This couldn't possibly have a happy ending. Not even a moderately happy and somewhat content ending. A long finger tapped a button on his keyboard. "Jack, it's Eddie. Might want to try and wrap that up quick as you can, yeah. Milligan just came in and scared the beejeebus out of me."
o0o
"Get that thing to the cells!" came that untraceable American accent. The voice was strong, booming through the main office chamber as its owner raced through in a blur. Eddie jumped from his chair with a grimace, pain shooting through his side, to run and aid Quin with the latest acquisition.
"And for the love of Darwin!" the voice snapped. "Don't get near the mouth!"
A door down the hall leading to the board room slammed closed with enough force to rattle nearby equipment, had anyone been bothering to notice. Quin groaned under the weight of the creature he was left to carry alone. Eddie grabbed what he assumed to be an arm, or at least an arm-like limb and hoisted it over his shoulder. "Where'd you find this one?"
He caught the green glare from the other side of the creature's oversized head. "The Karvakian crash site at Ground Zero," he replied in a hurried, clipped manner.
"This is a Karvakian?"
"No," Quin snapped as they managed to drag the body through the office to a larger cargo lift that bypassed the infirmary and recreation levels. "Where the hell is Matilda?"
Eddie winched as he shifted the weight he carried long enough to squeeze into the lift with the other man and the creature. "This thing really stinks, don't it?" He received no response as they rode in awkward silence further down into the earth.
o0o
She looked up when the door was flung open with such force she believed it may bounce back and strike the man that came through it in the face. Instead as he moved out of the way it slammed closed behind him. Said man had quickly unbuttoned his shirt and was pulling it off as he went straight for a filing cabinet to the side of the room.
"What's wrong?" she older woman asked in concern as he tried to both undress and rummage through a drawer.
"Need to change," he said, flinging the shirt into a trash can beside the desk. She rose quickly from the seat, backing away from both the trash can and the man when the tell tale sizzle of acid corrosion came from the can and the contents inside. "Gorlack vomit. Acid."
He glanced at her, giving a smirk. "It'll be fine," he said. "Just... don't touch the fabric." He managed to find another shirt in the drawer as the bottom burned out of the trash can, and at last the sizzle seemed to burn out when it hit the stonework of the floor. The replacement shirt was thrust towards her. A soft, pastel blue. Slightly wrinkled. "Does this smell foul to you? I don't remember if it ever got washed after an incident with the-"
"Jesus Christ just put your shirt on and get rid of- whatever it is that – that-"
His eyes widened in excitement. "Oh! Water! PERFECT!" He snatched the glass of water Martha had been previously drinking and leaned forward, rather awkwardly, to pout the water down his back. "Oh God yes... That hit the spot." He stood up straight and beamed at her proudly before peering down into the trash bin. "Oh... Just in time, too. Look at it. Blue cotton soup."
She sighed, nervously moving back to her previous position at the desk. She stole a few seconds to peer into the bin herself and wrinkled her nose with a shake of her head. "We'll need to get Quincy in here to deal with that properly before it eats a hole through the floor."
"Nah. It doesn't eat through stone." He sniffed the shirt himself, then offered it to her again. "Seriously, does this smell foul? All I can smell right now is burning flesh."
"No need for details, Jack," she said, holding up her hand. The younger man shrugged and undid the buttons on the shirt, sliding it on. He left it open for the time being more out of laziness than habit. He wasn't particularly stunning, but decently toned. Mostly average, but nothing of real note.
Martha shook her head and sat down, reaching to turn the computer monitor she had previously been watching. It showed a gray-scale video feed of the man they kept locked in the basement cell below.
The half-dressed man's face pulled into a hesitant smile. He scratched at sweaty, matted shaggy brown hair before abandoning it thoughtlessly. The grime and dirt from his foray into the field not long before kept it stuck at odd angles and unkempt. "Yeah... I knew I forgot about something..."
Deep brown eyes glared, boring into him. Her expression, having been annoyed and disgruntled had now fallen to solid steel. He had seen that expression on the 50-something woman's face more than enough times to know what it meant. "Cut the surveillance feed," she said sternly.
He swallowed hard, giving a nod before turning and doing what he was told.
There weren't many things in the world, nay, the universe that Jack Harborne, director of Torchwood Cardiff was afraid of. But a very disgruntled and angry Martha Jones Milligan was one of the very few that struck fear into his very veins.
o0o
Eddie was standing doubled over after they'd gotten the prisoner secured. The pain had slammed into him so suddenly he choked on the air. The air in the cell block wasn't particularly fresh, but it was a slice of heaven compared to breathing near that monster.
Quin punched in the final security codes to lock the cell. The last stretch down the corridor of cell block 41 had been rough work. The sedatives had worn off and the creature was trying to constantly vomit on them. Though it was having trouble since Eddie had mistakenly taken the thing's proboscis snout to be an arm. Needless to say the young man had been more than surprised to find that there was a very foul, very dangerous substance spraying out from the appendage draped over his shoulder.
"Are you injured?" Quin asked, examining his suit jacket for any stray droplets of the deadly bodily fluid.
Eddie checked himself over, shaking his head and standing as best as he could upright. He did his best to school his features to hide the pain in his side from the injury received during the mall incident just days before. "No, I think I'm good." After the spray had begun, he'd stopped long enough to rip his shirt off. Thankfully he'd remembered to wear something underneath, just in case he'd get too hot working around all of the equipment.
"You've got a bit of red on you."
He looked down at his shirt, then squirreled his head around to try and get a look at his back. The white undershirt seemed fine, if only slightly dirty now. Until he noticed the spreading red patch on his side... "Fuck. It's reopened."
"We'll go up and I'll properly dress that for you. It's likely infected by now."
"No, I'm fine."
"Look, you just helped me carry that thing down here. Let me make sure you don't die of infection because you were careless. Unfortunately for us it would be hard to replace you."
The younger man smirked, but narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "Was that a compliment? Really? Coming from you... well..."
Quin narrowed his eyes to look equally suspiciously back at him. "If it's any consolation, a little of me died inside when I said that. Now come on." He turned on his heel rather quickly, almost robotic-like, and headed for the nearest passenger lift. Eddie was thankful it wasn't the cargo lift again. He was sure it would take the office manager a week or more to get the stench out of that small space.
o0o
After cleaning herself up numerous times in the guest suite showers, Mattie had indeed gone to the firing range. It was her recreational relaxation. The only constant in her life she could count on to help get her thoughts in order after a disturbing mission. She managed to put the sight of an alien giving birth out of her mind, but it caused other things to bubble forth from the recesses.
Namely, the bloke they locked up in the cells. She'd been too tired that night when she and Eddie made their report. Too tired and worn out to question both Quin's behavior after their return to base, and Jack's... Well, he was always a strange one. That was usually a good thing. But he was also usually much more informative about the creatures, be they humanoid or otherwise, that were hauled in for holding.
This time though something struck the young inspector as odd. She might have been horrid with names and remembering birthdays, and she may have been shite at remembering her father's special dressing recipe that he only used during Christmas holiday. But if there was one thing she was good at, and had come in quite handy over the years, it was remembering faces. She not only had a knack for them, she remembered every face she had ever seen in her lifetime.
Up until the shopping mall incident, she believed this talent foolproof. She thought it was her greatest asset aside from her stubbornness. But now she questioned it's reliability.
As she fired off half a clip at the target across the shooting range she came to the realization of why the man in the basement presented such a headache for her. Though she'd never met this man before, had never seen him before, she knew his face. Where from, she could only guess. But she had seen it somewhere, some-when. The thought of it nagged at her.
And then, as she slammed the side of her fist against the button to retract the line from which the weevil target had been attached it struck her. On her second day in Cardiff as part of the team, she had been handed a thick volume stuffed with handwritten notes, photographs, and old typed manuscripts. She had thumbed through it on the way to the archives to store it.
That volume, she knew, was somewhere in the vaults. And inside it she knew she would find the answer to the man's identity.