"You blame yourself," the voice said. "You bear the guilt."
Mist swirled between them. "Why are you here?"
"I am here to help you. I can spare you a great deal of pain." The voice echoed unnaturally in the open space. "I can change the past. Rewrite everything that happened."
He plunged his hands into his pockets to hide their trembling. "Nothing can change the past."
"I can reshape the fabric of time without tearing it. You need only say the word, and I will stop the bullet." The hooded figure drifted back into view, somewhere off to his left. The fog was making it difficult to gauge distances. "If you refuse, you are condemning them to their fate by your own will."
The mist roiled thick about them, obscuring the carved words, until the stone faded to a shadow in the fog.
"You must choose. Do I have your agreement?"
His voice cracked as the single word was drawn almost unwillingly from his throat.
"Yes."
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Sarah Jane smothered a yawn as she opened the door to the attic. "Mr. Smith," she called, voice still rough from sleep, "I need you."
It was too early in the morning for the dramatic fanfare and smoke effects, but Mr. Smith provided them anyway. His voice was just as chipper as ever. "Good morning, Sarah Jane. Did you sleep well?"
"Not at all," she mumbled into her mug of tea. "I was up half the night worrying about that little creature we helped yesterday. Did its ship launch successfully?"
"Scanning." Mr. Smith processed for a moment, then displayed some grainy CCTV footage of a football-sized pod rising from the pavement. "My scanner range is limited, but all available information indicates a successful launch. According to my calculations, the ship should have had enough fuel to break out of Earth's gravitational field."
Sarah Jane slumped in relief. "Oh, I'm glad to hear that. Thank you, Mr. Smith."
She was halfway back to the door when Mr. Smith caught her attention again. "As you requested, I have continued monitoring the anomalies in Cardiff. Would you like to view the updated information?"
She really would have preferred to go back to bed, but as long as she was up here, she might as well have a look. "Very well," she yawned, settling onto a stool. "Show me your findings." The screen transitioned into a map with splotches of color radiating outward. "What am I looking at, Mr. Smith?"
"The localized anomalies have been spreading. There are now twenty-seven significant temporally-compromised zones throughout Cardiff."
"So it's getting worse. Are you picking up any alien energy?"
"There are multiple energy signatures present. I have zeroed out normal energy from the rift, leaving an unidentified radiation trace, as well as this resonant frequency." A box of scrolling code and a graphic representation of a waveform appeared side-by-side on the screen. Something about the energy pattern seemed vaguely familiar—and extremely unsettling. She found herself shivering. "Have we seen anything like this before, Mr. Smith?"
"Similar readings were detected on two previous occasions."
"On screen, if you please, Mr. Smith."
Mr. Smith complied. Sarah Jane skimmed the reports, then read them through again, more carefully. "Mr. Smith," she said, now fully awake, "are you absolutely certain of this?"
"Atmospheric and electrical interference allow for a 1.42% margin of error. Percentage of variation in the energy readings calculates to 0.67%. In summary, I am approximately 98% certain."
Sarah Jane's fingers were shaking as she drew out her mobile. She tried hard to steady her voice. "Hello, Mrs. Langer? This is Sarah Jane Smith, Luke's mum. I'm terribly sorry to call so early, and for giving such short notice, but I've just learned I must go out of town for a couple of days—for work—and I was wondering if Luke could possibly stay over? Oh, thank you so much! I'm sure he and Clyde will have a lovely time. I'll be in touch."
She pocketed her mobile and turned toward the door. "Mr. Smith, I need you to compile all of these readings for me. I'll need to take them with me to Cardiff."
"You'll be traveling to Cardiff, Sarah Jane?"
"Yes. It's time I had a talk with Torchwood."
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
"Good morning," Martha Jones called cheerily as she made her way down the steps to the medical bay. "Should I scrub in right away, or do I have time for a coffee first?"
Owen pushed around in his swivel chair to face her and took the well-chewed pencil from the corner of his mouth. "Morning, Martha. Jack finally called in the cavalry, did he?"
Martha hooked her bag over the back of an empty chair. "He didn't tell you I was coming?"
Owen shook his head. "Doesn't surprise me, though. I told him I didn't need help, but…" He shrugged. "You know Jack."
Martha frowned. "But it seemed urgent. Jack sounded upset on the phone yesterday."
"Jack's been upset for days," Owen growled. "And by upset, I mean short-tempered and bitchy."
"Why?"
Owen turned back to his workstation. "Probably feels responsible for Ianto's getting shot," he muttered. "Anyway, now he's dragged you into it, you'd best keep your head down if you don't want it bitten off."
"I can handle Jack. I'm only here as a favor to him, anyway." She dragged the spare chair over near Owen's desk and settled into it. "So what's the big crisis? Why would he think you'd need my help?"
Owen leaned back and waved a hand at the monitor. "Two crises, actually. The one he probably wants you to help with is Ianto."
Martha swallowed past the sudden lump in her throat. "But Ianto died of a gunshot wound. Pretty straightforward. Why would he need my help?" She hoped they didn't expect her to do the autopsy. She hated conducting postmortems on people she knew. Granted, she had known Ianto for only a few days, but she had liked his dry humor and his sincere smile. And it was clear Jack had been mad about him. No wonder he had been on edge ever since it happened.
"He did die." Owen looked over at her. "And then Jack brought him back."
Martha's eyes stretched wide. "He did what? How?"
"There's this alien glove thing that wakes the dead. There were two of them originally, but… it's complicated. The point is, it's only supposed to bring the dead back for a minute or two, but Ianto has stuck around. So his body's dead, but he's walking and talking as though he's not. And nobody can figure out why."
Martha swallowed and chose her words carefully. "So he's… dead, but conscious? What, like a zombie?"
"See for yourself. Ianto!" Owen shouted toward the main space of the Hub.
A short time passed before a pale, gaunt figure dressed in a suit appeared at the top of the stairs. "You bellowed?" Ianto said, then spotted Martha. "Martha! Nice to see you again. I thought you were heading back to London?"
She managed a shaky smile. "Jack asked me to come by. I… wasn't expecting to see you up and about."
Ianto smiled. There was something not quite right about the expression. With his glassy, dilated eyes and waxy skin, he looked like Dracula masquerading as Jeeves. "Not many people were. It's a bit of a mystery. One you're going to help solve, I take it?"
"I suppose that's why I'm here. Jack didn't say why he wanted me." She glanced around. "Where is everyone else, anyway?"
Ianto nodded in the direction of the briefing room. "Council of war. There's some sort of temporal anomaly spreading rampant through Cardiff. Top priority."
Martha glanced between the two men. "And you two aren't up there because…?"
"I'm assigned to sort out Ianto," Owen said, sticking the pencil back between his teeth. "No away missions for me."
"Me, either," Ianto added. "I'm confined to the Hub." He didn't look happy about it. Then again, Martha wasn't sure what he would look like happy. He wasn't exactly devoid of expression, but there was something decidedly uncanny about him.
"Also," Owen added, "we got bored yesterday and sort of blew up an important alien artifact using a prohibited alien weapon and almost burned down the Hub."
"We're being punished," Ianto continued smoothly. "Would you like some coffee? I was just about to put on another pot."
Owen's hand shot up. "Me."
"I was asking Martha. We've some pastries, too, if you'd like. Tosh stopped by the bakery on the way in."
"Er… No pastry, thanks, but I'd love a coffee," Martha managed. Ianto nodded and vanished in the direction of the kitchenette, and Martha blew out a long breath. "So," she began, turning back to Owen, "tell me what you've found so far."
Owen was staring at his screen, which was displaying a browser window with a 404 error. He didn't respond.
Martha frowned. "Owen?" she tried again. He continued staring.
She examined him more closely. His expression was vacant, pupils dilated and jaw slack. Martha waved a hand in front of his face and got no response. "Owen!" she called, gripping his shoulder tightly.
Owen came back to reality with a jerk, blinking at the screen and then at Martha. "What?"
Martha frowned and seized his face, lifting his eyelids to check his pupils. They constricted normally.
"Oi!" Owen squirmed out of her grasp. "What are you doing?"
"You went blank for a bit there," she said, watching him carefully. "No response. Like a petit mal seizure."
Owen shrugged. "Probably just spaced out for a second. No big deal."
"This was physiological, not mental. Do you have a history of epilepsy?"
"Martha, I'm fine." He pushed his chair farther away. "Just tired and overworked. Jack's run us ragged ever since Ianto…" He broke off as Ianto reappeared, carrying a tray. Owen brightened. "Ah, caffeine. My one true love."
"Thanks, Ianto." Martha accepted the mug, noting that he'd remembered exactly how she took her coffee. Beside her, Owen grabbed his mug and slurped at it greedily. Martha watched him closely, but nothing seemed amiss. Perhaps he was just tired.
"I've left the pot on the burner to stay warm," Ianto said. "The others may want some when they get out of their meeting. If you need anything else, I'll be down in the archives. I'll have my phone, so you can call or text."
"Thanks," Martha said again, and watched him climb the stairs. He moved with a little less grace than he had before, but after watching him die, everything he did was altogether too lifelike for comfort.
She waited until Owen surfaced for air, then put down her mug. "Okay," she said. "Now that you've been re-caffeinated, let's talk about how the dead are walking among us."
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
In the space between Q and R, there was a tiny alcove half-filled with ancient file boxes. It had once housed an access ladder that led to another level, but that had long ago been peeled from the wall, leaving only a handful of rusty bolts in the brick to mark its passing. The alcove was ideally situated just out of sight (though not out of earshot) of the main entrance to the archives, and shortly after his arrival at Torchwood Three, Ianto had discovered that the flat surface of the stacked file cases measured the optimum dimensions to accommodate one average-sized archivist and one steaming mug of coffee. It was his own private nook, and it had stolen many fond minutes of his time in the archives, luring him to sip a warm beverage or make a note in his diary in between categorizing alien artifacts.
There was no cup of coffee today, though a part of Ianto still longed for the comfort of a warm mug to wrap his cold hands around. Instead he stared down at his mobile, which taunted him with a waiting phone icon. His thumb hovered over the screen for a long time before he worked up the courage to tap the green call button.
He listened to it ring, half hoping it would switch over to voicemail. He was just composing the message he would leave when the call connected. "Hello?" snapped a female voice.
"Um, hi, Rhi?"
There was a shuffling sound as she moved the phone around. "That you, Ianto?"
"Yeah, it's me. Um, have you got a minute? I need to talk to you."
Rhiannon's laugh sounded harsh over the tinny connection. "Well isn't this a chilly day in the underworld. Mum says she's been trying to reach you for the last two weeks. Called me up last night, had worked herself into a panic, convinced you were in some kind of trouble, or you'd gotten hooked on something. I was up half the night calming her down. Finally had to get one of the nurses to give her something. And now you want to talk?" There was a muted squeal of tires, followed by her muffled shout of, "Get in your own lane, you lunatic!" Her voice returned at normal volume a moment later. "Idiot lorries think they own the road. I shouldn't be on the phone at all; I'm on my way to David's school. He got caught fighting, and they want me to come in. You picked a bloody inconvenient time to remember you have family."
Ianto pressed his eyes closed. "Sorry to bother you. I'll just ring off, then, shall I?"
"Don't be a prat. What did you want to tell me? You're not hooked on something, are you?"
Ianto resisted the temptation to disconnect. "I just… I'll be going away for a while, and I thought… maybe I could see you and the kids before I go."
"Work again, is it?" He could practically hear her rolling her eyes. "Well, I don't know when you think we'll have the time. Between David's football practice and Mica's rehearsals, we hardly even have supper as a family any more. And what with Johnny having to take those extra shifts all this month—oh, but you wouldn't know about that, since you skived off tea with Mum last week."
He ignored the accusation in her voice. "What's Mica rehearsing for?"
"She's in the school play. Don't you even read my emails?"
"Must have missed that one. Look, it doesn't have to be supper or anything. I could just drop by for a few minutes, maybe some time this week?"
"This week is no good. Why don't you just wait until David's birthday? That's only two weeks off."
Ianto winced, imagining what effect two more weeks would have on his physical condition. "I might already be gone by then."
Rhiannon let fly a word Ianto was sure would have put a blush on even Johnny's callused ears. "Don't you dare. You said you'd be there this year. You promised, Ianto."
"I know, Rhi, and I'm sorry. I didn't know this would— I didn't know I would have to leave."
"Well tell your boss you can't go then! Tell them you have a family commitment!"
"It's not that simple…"
There was another squeal of tires, followed by another oath from Rhiannon. "Look, I can't talk about this now. You sort out your priorities, and if you decide family matters to you at all, I'll see you in two weeks at David's party. And call Mum!"
The call disconnected abruptly, leaving Ianto with only a softly glowing screen for company. He stared at it for a few seconds until it auto-dimmed to conserve battery, then slipped the phone into his jacket pocket.
He suddenly wished he had an auto-dimming feature. Or a rechargeable battery. The thought was absurd, and for a moment he almost felt like laughing. Did sleep deprivation have any effect on the undead?
The phone vibrated suddenly in his pocket, and for an instant Ianto considered hurling it into oblivion at the back of the archives, but then he dutifully retrieved it and checked the screen. Steeling himself, he swiped to answer the call. "Yes, sir? Yes, I'm in the archives. What?" He straightened and glanced sharply to his left, where the R section stretched away toward the opposite side of the massive tunnel-shaped room. "Yes, I can find it. I'll bring them up in a few minutes."
He tucked the mobile into his pocket and tried to remember whether he had filed the documents in question under res for resurrection gauntlet or ris for Risen Mitten, but after a moment he shook his head and faced the question squarely: What the hell did Jack want with Suzie Costello's research?
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Gwen was just leaving the conference room when her phone rang. "Sorry!" she said, waving Jack and Toshiko past her. "It's Rhys, probably just forgot what kind of sauce to buy. Won't take a mo." She waited for them to leave the room, then accepted the call. "Rhys, love, I'm at work."
"I know, Gwen, but did you try to call me?"
"Not since last night, when I told you I'd be home late. Why?"
"Well, it was the strangest thing. I was out on delivery—see, I'm filling in for Tom, because he had to take the day off to take Becca to the doctor. Well, actually he called in sick, but Colin gave me the real story at the pub last night. It turns out Becca is…"
"Rhys," Gwen cut him off. "I'm supposed to be working. The point?"
"Oh, right. Anyway, I had a delivery up north, a bit out of town. And as I was passing the turnoff for Radyr, my mobile started to ring. And then it stopped after just a second. And then it started to ring again, and I checked the number, and it was from you. But then it stopped ringing again before I could answer. When I got to a place where I could stop the lorry I checked my missed calls, but there weren't any from you."
Gwen frowned. "Well, it was probably just a glitch in the system. Wrong number, or something."
"That's what I thought, too, so I didn't try to call you. But on the way back, I was driving near the same place, and it did it again! It rang, then stopped. This time I was ready, so when it rang again I answered, but there was nobody on the line. And then it rang again a few seconds later. And nothing in the call log for any of it."
A thought occurred to her. "Wait… Rhys, you said this was in Radyr?"
"Near there, yeah. On the B4262."
"So our ghosts aren't just people," she murmured.
"What?" Rhys barked in her ear. "What's that about ghosts? Oh, please tell me this isn't something to do with Torchwood."
"This isn't something to do with Torchwood."
"Are you lying to me, Gwen?"
Gwen giggled. "I was under the impression you like it when I tell you what you want to hear," she teased. "Really, Rhys, it's probably nothing, but thanks for checking. I've got to go back to work now."
"Okay. You going to be home late tonight, or…?"
"I'll try to get out before ten."
"Any chance you could make it nine?"
"I'll see what I can do. Gotta go. Love you."
Gwen disconnected and made her way back down the tunnel to the main well of the Hub, where she found the others clustered in the kitchenette around Martha Jones and a pot of coffee.
"So what's going on in Cardiff? Some sort of temporal anomaly, Ianto said?" Martha refreshed her own mug, then held up the carafe in a visual question. In response, the others held out empty cups, gratitude scribed on their faces.
As Toshiko began to describe the unusual readings she had observed, Gwen hurried to retrieve her own mug from her desk, then rejoined the group just as Toshiko was finishing her summary. "We haven't figured out what's causing it, though just last night we discovered corresponding levels of tachyon radiation at the center of each anomaly."
"I'm afraid I'm not much help there," said Martha, turning to decant the last splash of coffee into Gwen's mug. "I don't know much about tachyon radiation."
"One of the very few subjects you aren't an expert in," Jack added. He seemed more at ease after a night's rest, and his wounds were mostly healed. If Gwen looked closely she could still see a faint mark along his hairline where there had been a gash the previous night, but his free movements clearly indicated he was recovering well from the other injuries.
Martha pulled a face at him, then grinned. "Working for UNIT, I've had to learn about all sorts of things I never expected. Though I'm still not entirely clear on this research you want me to look at, Jack. Fill me in?"
Jack's smile faded. "Suzie Costello was an operative here. My second-in-command, as a matter of fact. She was in charge of the research on the first resurrection glove we found. After she died, all of her notes were sealed, but I'm hoping you can find something in them to help explain what's happened to Ianto."
"But why seal away her research?" Martha frowned. "How did she die?"
"That," came Ianto's voice from behind them, "is a matter for some debate." He deposited a large, dusty file box on a nearby table, then frowned down at his suit and began brushing the dust off his lapels and sleeves. "The first time, it was a gunshot wound to the head. Self-inflicted."
Martha blinked. "The first time?"
A muscle pulsed in Jack's jaw, and he waved a hand toward Ianto and the file box. "Martha, Ianto can fill you in on the saga of Suzie Costello. You three," he nodded toward Owen to include him in the group, "go through Suzie's notes, see what you can find, formulate some theories. Don't try anything without clearing it with me first. Especially if it involves setting anything on fire." He shot a final warning glare in Ianto's direction, then turned back to Gwen and Toshiko. "You two, on the road with me. Tosh, grab whatever kit you need. We're going to take a look at these ghosts up close."
Gwen gulped the rest of her coffee and paused only long enough to grab her things from her desk, but by the time she turned to follow Jack, the red door to the garage tunnels was already swinging shut behind him. "In a hurry, are we?" she muttered.
Toshiko rolled her eyes and held out one of the equipment bags she had hastily packed. "The eternal rolling stone."
"Ugh. Don't say that phrase around him," Gwen warned, shouldering the bag. "The radio in the SUV picked up a few bars of 'Paint It Black' the other day, and Jack got all nostalgic. He shared more than I ever wanted to know about Mick Jagger."
"I can fix that." Toshiko turned back to her desk and rifled through a drawer. "Here we are!" She brandished a small electronic device and grinned. "Selective frequency jammer. I can disable the classic rock station."
Before Gwen could reply, a muffled ring tone sounded from her pocket. She checked the screen and frowned before answering. "Andy, is this an emergency? Because I'm kind of…" She blinked as the voice from the other end cut her off, then glanced toward the door Jack had exited. "Okay, got it. We'll be there as soon as we can."
Toshiko frowned as Gwen disconnected. "Trouble?"
"Sounds like. Come on, let's catch Jack before he leaves without us."
