Strange Encounter
Chapter Eight
Sunday morning started with a bang. Weevils were rampaging in Canton and Owen and I went out and dealt with them. There were four of them and we scared them away from the car park and back down into the sewers. We finished around five o'clock, bedraggled from the rain. It sure does rain in Wales. In a hundred or more years I've not known three consecutive dry days. Owen went home to grab some clean clothes – he'd slept at the Hub - while I headed back to base. The others would be in soon and I could cope for a few hours. Feeling grubby I went towards the showers but halted then doubled back and checked the CCTV of the cells before making my way down there.
The boy was awake, sitting with his head in his hands. He looked at me then looked away. Whatever fight had been in him yesterday was gone now, he was dejected and I thought he'd been crying. Owen had said this was normal, rage and depression intermingled.
"Want to wash and change?" I asked.
He waited and just as I was on the point of leaving – I do not hang around, got better things to do – he spoke. "Yes, please."
I released the door and stood to one side. I made him go in front of me, watching my back a bit more carefully this time. He walked off, knowing the way, and stripped off and got into the shower without hesitation or embarrassment. I followed suit and was soon soaping myself down singing The Yellow Rose of Texas but he didn't join in. When I got out of the hot, restorative water he was already in his underpants, looking through the bag I'd packed for him. He put on a fresh pair of jeans – nice snug ones – and a T-shirt. I was shaving by now and he sat on one of the benches and watched. Not sure whether he was hoping I'd cut my throat or not. Perhaps he just wanted to have a shave himself.
"There's an electric razor in the cupboard." I nodded towards the one to the side. "If you want it." It was Owen's but I didn't think he'd mind.
I went on shaving but watched him in the mirror. I had made a bet with myself, I often do that to decide what action to take. This time if Ianto shaved I would give him another chance. If not … Well, I didn't have to go down that route, he was at the cupboard already. So Ianto Jones got another chance. It was quiet in the Hub, a good opportunity for a chat and to address some of those issues Owen had touched on last night. According to him, Ianto needed to talk about his experiences at Canary Wharf and to put his role into perspective, to understand that he was not to blame. Giving the boy some structure and routine would help too, apparently. What I'd done in getting him working was all right but not good enough. Is it ever? Seems there's always someone around who knows better than me, or thinks they do.
Putting my shaving kit away, I put on my T-shirt. "Owen tells me you two had a chat yesterday. He seems to think we should too." I reached for one of my favourite light blue shirts and put it on.
The buzz of the electric razor stopped and Ianto stared into the mirror. "So he said."
"Then let's do it."
Up in the work area I was pleased when he offered to make coffee. The one from the shop the night before had been okay, would have been good even, but now I'd tasted this boy's brew there was no comparison. I accepted, of course, and stepped over to Toshiko's desk and checked the Rift predictor and the other alerts. Nothing likely in the next hour or two. I carried on to the office and sat down. I had no idea what I was going to say, how I was supposed to help Ianto address his hang-ups. His diary had been strangely silent on the whole Canary Wharf debacle, just stopped for three days, no entries at all. And after that it had all been about healing Lisa. Maybe the trauma was just too great to write it down.
"Your coffee," he said, coming into the room and standing before the desk.
"Sit down." I took the mug and smelt the rich aroma, closing my eyes in ecstasy. God this stuff was good. I heard the chair creak, opened my eyes again and sipped the drink. He looked younger without the stubble and the uncertainty was evident from his body language. "Where do you want to start?"
"I don't. It was the doctor said I should."
"You know why?"
"The battle." He gripped his mug hard enough for the knuckles to show white through his skin.
"Tell me about it." He shook his head, eyes trained on his hands and the mug they held so tightly. "Okay, I'll tell you about it." I sat back in my chair and put my feet on the desk looking up at a point where the wall and the ceiling met. "It was a normal day. You were at your desk, just like usual. Checked the latest on the ghosts, read a few silly e-mails from your mates and talked about the previous night's TV. How am I doing so far?"
"They talked, I listened." His voice was strained and he still wasn't looking up.
"Got to the middle of the morning and the rumours started to fly. The Doctor, public enemy number one, had been caught, was on the top floor with the bigwigs. Then other rumours filtered down, of the ghosts becoming real, of them being in the building, of people disappearing. Finally all hell broke lose. Alarms, fighting in the corridors, explosions, people being rounded up and taken to the higher floors and never coming back. More and more of the metal men appearing. And you were frightened, frightened out of your wits and you didn't know what to do for the best. You were overlooked and found a corner and stayed there, curled into a ball and hid yourself away."
"Yes." I looked over and he was shaking, the coffee in his mug spilling over the sides and dripping down his hands. "I was a coward."
I got up slowly and walked round to his side of the desk taking my chair with me and sat beside him, knee to knee or as close as I could get. He didn't notice, he was back there, reliving the events of Canary Wharf. "You were trying to survive and there is nothing wrong with surviving. That's our first instinct, the most basic and the strongest." Resting one hand on his shoulder, I eased the mug from his hands.
"I should have helped, I could have helped. I could have saved them all, saved Lisa."
"How? Tell me, what would you have done? Taken on the whole Cyber Army and the Daleks? I don't think so." I was rubbing a hand on his back now, feeling his shaking body as tremors ran through him. "You were one man against hundreds much stronger than you."
"It was my fault," he wailed, rocking backwards and forwards, his fists clenched and eyes tightly shut. He had it bad, no doubt about it, Owen had been right.
"Was it? Did you open the portal and let the Cybermen through? No, you were a lowly archivist working in the bowels of Torchwood Tower expecting a routine day and who had done nothing to deserve what erupted around you. You weren't trained to fight aliens, I doubt you'd even seen one up close before."
"Yes … I had … in the holding cells." He spoke in gasps between sobs, tears running down his cheeks.
I ran a hand over his hair and impulsively held his shaking body against me. Owen had said not to push too hard, just to get him to talk and to get across as best I could that he, Ianto, had not been responsible. I thought maybe I'd done enough for now, no point in upsetting the boy any more. We sat like that for quite a while until his sobbing eased and his breathing calmed.
"I tried," he said softly, "I tried to get to Lisa. She was on … on the tenth floor and I was sub-ground. But they … they were on the stairs … I couldn't get past them." He kept his face buried in my shoulder.
"I suppose the lifts were out," I said conversationally, thinking it might prompt him to say more as he seemed to want to talk. "They usually shut down in an emergency."
"Don't know. I hid in a bathroom, stayed there for ages. When it had been quiet for a long time I tried again and I got to the higher floors." His voice was stronger with less hesitation. "The Cybermen were going to the top floors, I don't know why. Do you know why?"
"They were trying to get to The Doctor. He was getting ready to defeat them, send them back into the void."
"He's not an enemy then?"
"No, no he's one of the good guys." At least some of the time, I thought. When he's not leaving his companions stranded alone on wrecked and empty spacestations hundreds of years in the future. When he's not letting others, like Rose, die. "You found Lisa." I prompted again.
Ianto shuddered and clutched at me. "She was in a machine that had stopped. There were others but she was alive. I got her out, got her away. I hadn't done anything to help the others so I had to save her."
He lapsed into silence and this time I didn't encourage him to continue, he'd said enough for now. I held him tighter and let him decide when he wanted to move. Surprisingly it was ten minutes before he pushed himself away from me and sat up. Still not looking at me, he rubbed at his eyes. I patted his back and stood up, pushing my chair back round the desk. Some silence seemed called for, to put some distance between his memories and the present. I felt sympathy for him, of course I did, I'm not a monster, but there was only so much I was prepared to do, only so much I could do. I would help him provided it did not distract us from our real work.
"Was she really that dangerous?" he asked. His voice was steadier but husky from crying. It was so damned sexy.
"Who?"
"Lisa."
"Yes she was. Everything I told you the other day was true." I leant forward, forearms on the desk. "No one here blames you for what you did or did not do at Canary Wharf. You were one of us, Torchwood, and we want to help if we can. So here's the deal. No more trying to kill me, or anyone else. Work with us and once we trust you, we'll let you go. You can do what you want then, no questions asked as long as you keep quiet about us."
His deep blue eyes were locked on mine. "I won't tell anyone, you can let me go now."
"No, sorry. I have to ensure our security and I don't trust you – not yet." I had warmed to the guy but let walk him round Cardiff having seen what he'd seen? I think not. "You have to earn it."
"How?"
"Do what you've been doing. We need someone here to see to the records, clean up after us, make coffee." I sat back in my chair, thinking of all those tasks that were essential and just didn't get done. "We have a fake Tourist Office upstairs that's a disgrace and lousy cover. And down here our supplies are never unpacked and equipment boxes are made up at the last minute. And the SUV could do with a clean."
"Sounds like you need a butler." There was hint of a smile on his lips.
"Exactly! That's just what I want. If you can do that, you'd be helping us and showing me that you're not a threat."
"So I work my butt off all day, at danger of electrocution at any time," he held up the wrist with the bracelet on it, "and sleep locked up in a cell never seeing daylight. Is that the deal?"
When put that way it didn't sound like an attractive proposition. "And I want to talk to you some more, like today, don't forget that." I was grinning at him. "Look, we can do something about the sleeping arrangements, there's plenty of room and camp beds lying around. And I could be persuaded to allow you an hour or two outside every day. But for now the bracelet stays on."
"It didn't stop me attacking you like you said it would." He looked at me steadily.
"I lied. But we can all defend ourselves so don't think of trying that again." I met his gaze and saw his slight nod. "So, is it a deal?"
"I don't seem to have a lot of choice. Okay."
"Good. Let's sort out somewhere for you to sleep while it's still quiet."
It didn't take long to drag out a camp bed from storage and set it up in a largish room on the same level as the registry. Rootling around we found bedding, a desk lamp, a clock and an old coat rack as well as a wonky chest of drawers that must have been here since Emily Holroyd's time. A couple of upended crates made tables for the lamp and clock. While he headed up to collect his clothes from the bathroom, I looked round. The room was okay, easily as comfortable as my quarters.
"Can I get some more of my clothes and a few other bits? And how do things get washed round here?" he asked when he got back. He had a cloth and broom with him and started wiping off surfaces and the insides of drawers before sweeping the floor. He was just the sort of guy I needed to get the Hub shipshape.
"If it's quiet and you're good I'll take you later today. Laundry is collected on Mondays. Come up when you've got everything sorted here, someone'll be in soon with breakfast." I made to leave.
He stopped what he was doing and looked at me. "Why don't you cook here? It must cost a fortune keep bringing food in."
"No one to do it. If you're offering, I won't say no. Especially if your food is as good as your coffee." I grinned. If he only knew - I'd have settled for him being here just to make the drinks and look good.
"I'm not brilliant. But I could probably rustle up breakfast." It was the first time he'd offered to help out and I hoped it boded well for the future.
"All right. You start tomorrow."
I did leave the room this time and walked up to the main level thinking hard. I liked him and not just as a sexy young man who still turned me on. He had been messed up by Torchwood One – Yvonne Hartman had a lot to answer for – and needed a lot of help but underneath he was a young man looking to rebuild his life and I hoped we could help him.
God, I'm getting soft in my old age.
Many thanks for the reviews. Hope you like where this story is going. Next time, Jack takes Ianto out of the Hub.
