The Only One That I Have Ever Known - 2

Lucy Cole stared out at Jack from the computer screen. Her meteoric rise in the echelons of power had been swift, too swift for the captain's liking. Jack had taken his eye off the ball, not noticing the creep of political factions that were vying for a stake in the institute after Kate Talbot's untimely exit from the Ministry. He was now suspicious of the allegations that had been levelled against her husband; it seemed too coincidental, especially with the ex-Mrs Harold Saxon waiting eagerly in the wings to take up the vacated position.

Lucy's father had pushed for the re-opening of Torchwood One, believing that London should be the ultimate location for all things alien and had insisted on the re-build and expansion of the labs under the H. C. Clements building after they had been destroyed by a fire. He had put his own daughter in charge of the project and she had made herself indispensable to the government and had subsequently landed herself the key role overseeing 'Alien Affairs'.

Jack picked up the dossier that lay on his desk, leafing through the employee records of the team she had handpicked to help her run the department; he shook his head, they were all weak individuals, good in their fields but not outstanding and as for Neil Down…

The cog door sounded, shattering the soft hum of the Hub. Jack closed the file and stood, leaning on his doorframe as Ianto approached his office. "You've heard from your contact?" The captain folded his arms.

"Best clear your safe," Ianto answered in acknowledgement.

Jack cocked an eyebrow. "Operation Spitfire," he said with a soft smile.

The young man rolled his eyes at the code word. "I'm heading to the archives; I believe I may have misrepresented some of the technology and incorrectly categorized its potential."

Jack threw him some keys. "You remember the code?" Ianto gave him a pointed look; Jack held up his hands in mock surrender. "Silly question."

He snatched his mobile off his desk. "I'll give Tosh a ring…"

Ianto stepped forward. "We're being monitored, Jack."

The captain disconnected the call with a flick of his thumb. "You sure?" The young man nodded.

"Oh, they're good," Jack continued, glancing toward the folder on his desk, he frowned. "Too good."

He hit redial and smiled at the other man. "Don't worry I'll make up a convincing cover story, years of practice."

"That I can believe," Ianto replied, heading toward the archives.

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Martha had been coasting in an uneasy sleep, her mind lingering in anxious thoughts which awake she may have dismissed. She kicked off the sheet and went to open the window further, hoping the night could offer some kind of breeze.

The street below presented no chocolate box painting under the glow of the uniform lampposts, just discarded takeout boxes and rows of parallel parking, that snaked as far are the eye could see. The net curtain twitched in the whispered promise of cool air and Martha went to turn away when she caught movement in one of the cars below. She jerked back from the window - she was being watched.

She quickly put on her dressing gown, suddenly feeling very vulnerable and went to pick up her mobile, but as her finger hit speed dial the room shook with noise as the fire alarm sounded.

Martha rushed into the hallway, following the other sleepy residents of the converted church down the fire escape into the street below. The alarm echoed in the silence of the early morning, waking the other inhabitants of the terraced avenue who came to their windows to look out on the assembled people.

Martha kept to the crowd, her vigilant gaze roaming her neighbours for signs of any strangers. "What happened?" Voices spun around her. "Is there a fire?" Children cried, people panic as they watched for flames or smoke from the old bricked building.

Someone moved beside her, catching her elbow with their hand. "Well at least it's not raining, I'll give him that. Would you walk with me, my dear? Standing around is not good for this ancient hip of mine." The old woman's engaging brown eyes appealed to Martha through the magnified lenses of her glasses.

The doctor smiled fondly at her and the large tortoiseshell cat lounging in her spindly embrace. She bent over and scratched behind the animal's ear; the cat purred softy. "Of course, it'll beat standing here waiting for the fire brigade. How about to the corner and back?" It was a well-lit route; she could be comfortable with that. Martha looked down at the other woman's footwear, surprised at the height of her court shoes.

The old woman quickly scanned the street and nodded; Martha frowned. "You okay, Mrs Robson?" She seemed anxious.

"We had worse in the war, my dear," she replied, her gaze resting in the doctor's own.

Martha narrowed her eyes, trying to decipher the old lady's expression. She gave her a nervous smile. "Of course you did. And what about Pepper Tiltman, he hanging in there?" The cat cocked its head at the sound of his name.

"You remember his name, not many people do," Mrs Robson remarked with a kind smile against her wrinkle face. "You're a good girl, Martha Jones."

"I remember all their names. "Gustav, Lorenz, Mr Heath Robinson and Flowers Newman." Martha looked around. "They're not in the building are they?"

"No, only me and Tiltman, we're both too old for a night on the tiles." She kissed the top of the cat's head; the animal seemed to roll its eyes.

Martha gave a small laugh and stopped stroking the soft fur of its body. "Well, more like early morning, it's three am." The animal protested against the lack of attention with a bad tempered meow and jumped from the arms of its owner to weave around the legs of strangers.

"Such a shame to wake the children, but I guess it was important." The old lady clutched at Martha's arm and guided her away from the throng of residents with a click of heels.

"Mrs Robson…"

She gave her a silencing hush, looking around them for good measure and indicated for the doctor to come nearer. Martha stooped so she could catch what the petite woman was saying. "I had a visitor today, a man; he told me you were being watched…"

The doctor pulled back. "Who was this man, what did he look like?"

Mrs Robson smile. "It was all a bit hush-hush, my dear, no names were exchanged but I can tell you he was a real gentleman, almost like an older Hugh Grant but with a military bearing, officer I'd say, retired now, of course." She crinkled up her face in thought, splitting its many furrows. "He came to me because of my work in the war…"

Martha looked at her. "Cryptographer, Bletchley Park," Mrs Robson explained with a sense of pride.

"The Enigma code," the younger woman offered in slow comprehension.

The old lady gave her a long-suffering smile. "Yes, well done, my dear. Anyhow, this military gentleman gave me an envelope to pass onto you and I was to say that you have a mutual acquaintance: a Mr John Smith."

Martha looked around to see if anyone else had caught the name before turning her attention to the old lady once more. "He told me that an opportunity would present itself so I could deliver the letter safely, without being observed." He enlarged eyes swept the darkness for intruders before she rooted around in the heavy leather handbag slung over her shoulder. "Here."

Martha quickly took it from her and folded it into the pocket of her dressing gown. Mrs Robson tapped the side of her nose twice, giving the young doctor a knowing glance; Martha gave her a nod in acknowledgement and watched as the aged widow, in the patent leather heels, walked off in search of the lazy and indifferent Pepper Tiltman.

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Ianto entered the boardroom and rested his hands on the table. His shirt was dusty from physically moving some of the alien tech to the secure room in the underground tunnels. Tosh had offered to help but Jack had her busy transferring and overwriting files as well as locking down parts of the system and implementing the Spitfire programme. Jack was spooked, they all were, even Tosh was seeing monsters in the shadows.

There had been no time to talk, apart from relaying file codes to be deleted and the odd request for coffee to keep them all awake. He glanced at his watch; it was almost four-thirty.

He wiped a hand over his face and pulled his wallet from his back pocket, refastening the button out of habit. Flicking it open he teased apart one of the satin compartments and removed a delicate membrane of alien skin. He shut the wallet and threw it on the table, careful of the piece of translucent living tissue now adhered to the pads of his fingers. It pulsed under his touch, reacting to the light of the room. He shuddered and carefully placed it on the glass of the table top. The circle melded to the surface, concealing itself within the transparent slab and making it undetectable to the naked eye.

Ianto sucked on his finger to moisten it and then dampened the area where he had placed the slither of alien epidermis; it sparked around its edge in a curve of bright light. "Open Channel D," the young man whispered, watching as the tissue reacted to his saliva and began to transmit the sound from the room.

He gave a soft smile. "I hope you're out there, Waverly." He watched again as the piece of skin masked itself to its surroundings.

"You do know London stopped trialling the shed skin of the Arionleon because of its lack of range?" Jack stepped into the room. "Not a great eavesdropping tool if you have to be ten meters away to pick it up." He let his fingers trail on the polished surface of the table leaving smears.

"Twelve," Ianto corrected, keeping eye contact.

"Twelve," Jack acknowledged with a slight cock of his head. "So if I check the CCTV will I find this mysterious friend of yours and invite him in for coffee?" He lent against the far wall, crossing his arms over his chest. "I like to know who I'm working with."

"No," the young man answered quickly, holding the captain's critical stare. "He prefers tea."

Jack snorted and tapped his earpiece. "Tosh, I want…"

Ianto interrupted the command. "Tosh, give us a few minutes."

The two men eyed each other. "Jack?" The Asian woman's voice was full of concern.

"Give us a minute." The captain directed, his eyes never leaving those of the younger man. "Okay," he levelled, "You've got your…" he checked his watch, "… fifty-eight seconds, make it good."

"He's not out there, Jack."

"Really?" There was something of the captain's past in his voice.

"UNIT took over the experimentation with a greater success; they managed to amplify the signal by preserving and using the membrane covering the Arionleon's central cortex." He watched the captain's face.

Jack drummed his fingers on his arm. "I could still get Tosh to check."

Ianto sighed and rubbed his forehead. "You could, but it would be a waste of her time." He leant against one of the chairs for support, looking at his own reflection in the tabletop.

Jack studied him carefully. "So he's with UNIT."

Ianto looked up. "Was," he countered.

"And you can trust him?" Jack voice was distant as he broached the question.

Ianto encompassed the captain's brooding gaze, the unspoken exchange propagating the room in a mix of emotion. "Yes," Ianto answered in a final whisper.

Jack pushed away from the wall and approached the other man. "But not me; couldn't tell me what you were doing?"

Ianto swallowed and looked down at the floor before resuming eye contact. "He asked me not to."

Jack shook his head. "And still, you trust him, a government official…" he stressed the word, stretching it to say much more, "…above your own…"

"My own what, Jack?" Ianto's eyes flared and pinned the other man in the spike of their emotion.

"Your team." The captain's words struck at the young man's heart.

"Like a father," the Welshman snapped, releasing his feelings, his statement making Jack stop in his tracks.

Ianto cast his eyes to the floor in case the other man caught the blister of his soul; Jack's anger abated. He reached out a hand, catching the younger man's shoulder. "Who?"

Ianto's gaze campaigned for secrecy. "A friend of John Smith."

Jack lips flickered in a grin. "A real friend?"

"Yes."

"In government?" He sounded surprised.

This time Ianto smiled. "Well, the corridors of power."

Jack pulled his hand away and looked over to the table. "How many have you planted?"

The young man followed his gaze. "Seven, including this one; it was the last."

"So, if we're in trouble he'll call in the troops…"

"He'll do what needs to be done," Ianto answered vaguely.

"Okay."

The Welshman smiled. "He's very resourceful, Jack."

"Hey, I like him already." The captain let his voice carry over the table.

Ianto smiled, feeling the exhaustion grip his body as his adrenalin depleted. "You should get some rest." Jack's words were soft in the quiet of the room, almost fading before they fell from his lips.

"We all should," the young man replied, pulling out a chair, the air around him becoming thick and heavy with the sent of summer; crushed raspberries, over sweet lemonade and burnt gingerbread men.

He swayed slightly, his knuckles white against the back of the seat as bees buzzed lazily in his head and the low chorus of birdsong heralded the evening.

Jack watched him sit down. "You know there are more comfortable places…"

"I just need a few minutes." Ianto closed his eyes on the light, something was making his mind grab for the shadows in his past; his words vanishing like a dream before waking.

The captain smiled and squeezed his shoulder; the Welshman's eyes shot open.

Something seized the material of his t-shirt, its toughened claws scraping his skin…

The young man pushed himself from the chair, backing away from Jack's touch and into the table; he toppled to the floor.

Ianto tried to back away, but the heel of his hands slipped on the moist earth, causing the bloated alien some amusement.

"Jack." Tosh's voice filled the moment. "I'm getting a surge of energy, a pulse; I'm tracking it to…" she stopped. "…the boardroom! Jack!"

The Slitheen towered over him, its hollow ebony eyes regarding him with both interest and hunger.

The captain kept his movements small as Ianto's terrified stare looked through and beyond him. "Source?" he asked, taking a step forward.

With one easy stride it barred any attempt at escape…

He heard her fingers tap at the keyboard. "It's hard to pinpoint…"

"Can you block it?" Jack whispered into the Bluetooth keeping his voice low.

"Going somewhere little one?"

"I'll try," Tosh answered. "I think you and Ianto should get out of there…"

"Leave him alone, you bitch!"

Ianto's head jerked to the far wall, seeing Rose hanging from the tent pegs. He grabbed at his hair, pulling it hard to block out the images.

"No can do at the moment…" Jack took another soft step forward and crouched down. "Ianto?"

The young man kicked out, clipping the captain's leg with his heel.

The Slitheen tugged on his arm, wrenching it out of its joint. He screamed in agony.

Ianto yelled in pain and grabbed his arm.

"Jack, what's wrong...?

"Whatever it is, it's affecting Ianto."

Jack turned his attention back to the younger man. "Ianto." He tried again to reach the Welshman, giving him a gentle smile.

It smiled, bearing its razor-sharp teeth that were still coated in blood. "Please just one more game? Nothing too rough, though, I've only just eaten."

"Lily," the young man whimpered, moving further under the table. "I should never have left…"

The room stretched under Ianto's perception and then fell like a million stars exploding from the heavens leaving him alone in their darkness. Voices, faint at first, swirled around his consciousness, they were many, yet they belonged to just one.

"We are you. We are us. We are dead, yet we live. We are one, together."

They pulsed through his skin, scraping his mind in their crescendo of hate.

"You know who we are."

A word formed on the horizon of his thoughts.

"You know who we are."

Ianto held his head in his hands again. "M…"

He looked to Jack, unable to breathe through the hook of seconds, caught in the slit of space.

"You know who we are."

"Mas…" The word fell short, his throat contracting around the first syllable.

"Ianto." Jack reached out, pulling the young man into his arms as he struggled for breath.

"You know who we are."

Ianto's eyes burst with light. "Master! Master! Master!" He screamed his body shaking in nightmare before darkness gave him respite.

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The Doctor stood on the barren planet, alone, as the voices retreated into the vastness of the universe. His hearts wept in the rupture of emotion, his senses overwhelmed by both joy and sorrow.

The wind stirred and he turned his head to the flicker of a voice that split the silence of the dead world. It spun in his direction, following the path of the others, limping behind his own in a punctuated echo.

"No." The Timelord's denial sort to stop their fluctuated path and conceal their whispered tempo.

"Master. Master. Master." They danced by him, gaining strength by his proximity.

"No!" The word sprang to his lips as they trailed after his own acknowledgement and followed it back.

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Lucy Cole sat on the bed, her room burning with the odour of spent circuits and tendrils of acidic smoke. She laughed again, drawing her red lips tight across perfect teeth, the sound as deep as a drowning man gasping frantically for air. Her hand stung, its flesh bubbled with new blisters. "No pain, no gain," she said critically, her tongue licking at the swollen ridges.

"...and so their work was done." Bagpuss settled on his cushion, filling the television screen.

"Oh, it has only just started," Lucy commented looking at the dog shaped clock hanging the wall.

"Why Bagpuss, dear, it's already a new day, time to break more things." The timepiece moved its eyes from side to side chronicling the seconds.

She got up from the bed, her body swaying in time with pinecone pendulum. "Things that can't be mended," she whispered to the cloth cat on the television.

The ruined laptop let out a final hiss and a flash of sizzling light. The spark held onto its glow, drifting erratically to the high ceiling. Lucy turned and watched its progress, drawn to its lingering ember.

"Master. Master. Master."

The small sphere flared and vanished leaving just a whisper of smoke. Lucy inhaled its aroma, her fingertips raking through the wisp of its filaments.

"Now that's interesting," she remarked with a blood red smile.

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Dear Miss Jones,

Acting on recent information received, I believe our mutual friend to be in grave danger if he returns.

I would advise you to sever all contact you have with him.

I also strongly recommend that you destroy all evidence of this letter.

A Friend.

The note was hasty but the penmanship spoke of time before keyboards and e-mail. Martha studied it once more, the soft scratch of the pen on the paper, the precise wording, the lean of the letters. She found it conflicting, a military man, yet, the script was artistic. It bloomed against the paper, it had a heart, it bore a soul, it was not cold or conforming, it spoke to her of trust and somewhere in narrative she saw herself; a former friend of John Smith.

She looked over her shoulder, still feeling uneasy in the mill of residents. She walked along the pavement shredding the note as she moved, stopping only to let the ribbons of torn paper fly down the nearest cast iron drain.