So...long time no see. I know a promised a few of my lovely reviewers that this would be up about five weeks ago, but these evil things called exams attacked and left me for dead. Luckily I survived the onslaught and now am fighting fit again! And apparently have developed a penchant for extended metaphors...0.o

Anyway, my deepest apologies, I don't own Torchwood, please enjoy.

As always, my love for flashbacks can be seen in italics.

Beginning of Part Three

Chapter 35

Ianto looked around the room, trying to remember how he'd got there. Everything was just a mass of sensory information; hundreds of images sounds feelings pelting his brain, clamouring for attention. His head ached, his throat felt raw, his limbs groggy as if he'd dunk a lot last night. Maybe he had: he couldn't remember.

Wherever he was the room was small; a single bed that he was sat on and a table. No personal effects, no photographs or other hints about who lived here. There were two doors. Somehow Ianto knew one of them led to an ensuite bathroom, the other to a long white corridor, segmented by similar doors. But despite its rather pathetic size the room was surprisingly homely. The walls were a warm yellow in colour, with matching white and yellow curtains and bedspread. All in all it looked rather like a typical room you could find in most cheap hotels throughout the centuries. (After all, why change something that worked?)

Ianto felt like he'd been here before, but at the same time the place didn't feel familiar. Maybe if he could see outside…

He got up, intending to walk over to what he assumed was a window behind the curtains, but before he'd even taken a step the door collapsed downwards (as they did from the 40th century onwards when an authorised person scanned their palm against the surface) to reveal a shadow in the doorway.

"Sleep well?" the shadow asked.

"Are you okay?" a deep voice asked, breaking the deafening silence the TARDIS had left behind.

Ianto jumped, snapping his eyes open as he span around. (He'd shut them as the TARDIS faded; not to block out the sight but rather the reality. This new reality.)

"Who-" he started to demand as his eyes registered a sinister-looking shadow as the source of the voice.

"Relax," said the shadow, effectively cutting him off as he stepped into the light. "I'm a friend of your Doctor's."

Ianto couldn't help but stare for a minute at the man, who aside from being tall and scary was absolutely gorgeous. Blonde hair, amber eyes and the physique of a medium heavyweight. It was hardly surprising however: genetic modification had been legalised in 2900 for human use on Earth, and even though that law was rescinded by the 32nd century, the damage had already been done. Parents had selected all the most 'desirable' traits for their children-to-be. Aesthetic preferences for future partners took care of the rest. The result was a species made for brochures and commercials, smiling prettily at the camera.

Sometimes Mr. Jones was disgusted by humanity. Sometimes he forgot he was part of it.

Of course cross-breeding with other species had thrown a spanner in the works, but that was a whole other story.

"He's not my Doctor." Mr. Jones bit out as soon as he'd stopped staring, his anger about the situation not quite gone, not yet suppressed. He didn't bother to feel embarrassed about looking though; the other man had clearly been doing the same.

"Of course not, forgive me," the man quickly replied, but it sounded more like he was humouring him than anything else.

They stood in silence for a few seconds.

"So…umm…you must be…?" Ianto finally prompted, once again bemoaning the Time Lord's method of introducing him properly into the 51st century.

"Agent Vorn," the man replied, smirking slightly as he stepped closer again, arm extended. Mr. Jones promptly repressed a shudder at the knowledge that this man was a Time Agent, (he'd got over his preconceptions…almost) and shook the offered hand. Vorn's grip was hard and fierce, and Ianto immediately knew he was being sized up. A lesser man would have squeezed back, but Vorn's overly muscled body was enough of a warning to keep his own grip firm but non-threatening. He was well aware of his own limits, even with all the running and working out on the TARDIS, but knew he'd have to learn to pick his battles. With the Doctor it had been "The bigger they are, the harder they fall", and it had hardly mattered if he'd died in the process. Now though…he didn't fancy getting himself killed over something petty only to revive and become the Time Agency's latest project. It would be a way in, of course, but he rather fancied being able to get out again.

Vorn smirked wider, apparently pleased at his handshaking skills.

"And what's your name?"

"What's your name?"

"Tony Migitario," Ianto's mouth responded before his brain could and he clamped a hand over the offending item. But the words continued, like a pre-programmed, automatic response running through his mind.

Personal Identity Number: 438908735-21

I live at 29 Cosslatters' Place, Lapso Community, Continent Argenta, Earth Colony IX…

My birth-mother's name was Evlyn, my Mam's name was Tullen, they died almost a year ago now in the attempted Sontaran invasion…

…and so on and so forth. Every little mundane detail of living.

But it wasn't just information, there were memories too: an entire other life in his head. Growing up in the 51st century, laughing with his non-human friends on the way to school, kissing a girl outside his front door, trying to ignore the way her tail curled around his leg…

… enrolling with the Time Agency.

"Oh." Ianto exhaled, because that part at least was definitely real, something he – or more accurately Tony – had done, as opposed to another fake memory.

It was strange: he wasn't recollecting these things as much as re-living them, or more accurately living them for the first time. It may have been his body charming the Assessors, signing forms, being tagged, snogging Vorn (Ianto's eyes widened, his lips tingling), walking the streets of the Lapso Community; but it hadn't been him. But now it was, and it was somewhat overwhelming.

"Oh God-" he cried out as the memories came faster and faster, his mind and body reacting in the present as it should have done in the past, conflicting emotions beating his brain until it was too hard to think. Until it hurt to think.

He barely registered when his legs gave way; it wasn't fainting, or even passing out, but rather there were only so many things he could keep control over at once (even when that control was slipping, slipping-) and apparently his leg muscles were no longer one of them.

He didn't hit the floor because suddenly Vorn was there, a hand around his waist and another around his legs, picking him up and laying him back down on the bed.

"Don't worry…" the Agent said – or at least Ianto presumed it was him, because it was hard to see what was happening when there were other images floating across his vision; his eyes having decided to dump all the information they'd gathered over the last several days into his brain for processing at the same time. "…this happens the first few-"

And then he couldn't hear him over the voices in his head, couldn't smell, couldn't feel, couldn't anything. Still conscious, but utterly unaware of anything outside of his own mind as the last week poured in.

TWDWTWDW

"How do I know I can trust you?" Ianto asked as he followed Agent Vorn through the dark, empty streets of the 51st century. He had no idea where they were, or where they were going, and was starting to feel rather lost. It wasn't a feeling he liked. "How do I even know you're the friend the Doc was talking about?"

Vorn didn't even bother to turn around. "You don't." Mr. Jones could hear the smirk in his voice. "But what choice have you got? And I knew where you'd be, recognised the TARDIS."

"Ah…" He had to give him that one: no one could see the little/big spaceship unless they were expecting it. "Good point. Where are we going?"

"To get you ready for your interview with the Time Agency."

Ianto's footsteps halted suddenly in the middle of the road. "What? Now?" he asked.

"Of course now; you are in possession of no lodgings, no identification, no currency, and only a limited amount of understanding. All these things will be provided by the Time Agency once you qualify."

Vorn hadn't bothered to stop walking, so Ianto had to hurry to catch up again. "I see. What if I don't qualify?" Had the Doctor even considered that? Or had he just supposed he'd be able to find another way in?

"You'll qualify." Vorn answered assuredly. "You'll be the perfect candidate; we'll make sure of it."

Mr. Jones was slightly concerned about the Agent's use of the future tense – the man hadn't said that he was the perfect candidate, but that they'd make him into one, which sounded rather suspicious. Of course, they could just be planning on feeding him model answers, but Ianto had learned to not take anything in the 51st century at face value. Except sex.

Who, for instance, was this mysterious 'we' Vorn had mentioned? The Doctor had only mention one friend, and he'd assumed this mountain of a man was it. It was likely that it was just an error in the translation though; many languages often conflated the first persons singular and plural in their speech for authority – the British Monarchy for example.

Suddenly a thought struck him. "Is the TARDIS still translating for me?"

Vorn looked over at him. "No, I'm speaking 21st English."

Ianto let that sink in for a moment, wondering what that meant for his earlier hypothesising.

"With a Russian accent?" he asked instead.

Vorn paused before answering, as if working out what he should and shouldn't say. "I spent some time working undercover during Original Earth's First World War. The accent stuck. We'll get you a translation device as soon as we can."

"Oh. Thank you." They carried on walking for a few minutes, until Ianto's mind caught up with his ears. "Wait, you interfered with WW1?"

The other man scoffed, "Of course not. Tempted to, but the bosses said no. Too big an event apparently, even though there was only one planet involved. Don't see the problem myself. But no, Observation and Retrieval only: huge quantities of valuable items were destroyed without a trace, and there are no records either. Original Earth relics are worth a very much amount. "

"Large," Ianto correctly almost unconsciously. Now that he'd been told he'd noticed more inconsistencies and strange phrases in the Agent's speech, explained by how the man had apparently learned the language from Russian soldiers in the 1900s.

"Pardon?"

"'Are worth a very large amount' of money' would be better grammatically."

Vorn smirked at him condescendingly. "Of course. My apologies; it has been a while."

Mr. Jones felt suspiciously like he was being ridiculed. He wasn't sure why.

TWDWTWDW

Finally they arrived at what Ianto could only assume had been their destination all along. It wasn't part of the Time Agency, it was far too run down for that. He'd always expected the future to be bright and clean and most of it was. But apparently you could never quite eradicate those dilapidated buildings on the fringes, the ones that slipped through the cracks of government schemes and were taken over by teenagers, drug lords and evil masterminds. Ianto wasn't sure which of those options seemed most likely. Or which he'd prefer.

Instead of scanning his palm when he approached, Vorn simply grabbed the door by convenient handholds, and lifted it out of the way.

"Not here legally then?" Ianto couldn't help but quip.

"Get in." Vorn replied sharply, but his lips quirked up ever so slightly, belying his tone.

Ianto did as he'd been asked (ordered) and stepped into what disturbingly looked to be the lair of a mad scientist, illuminated only by the daylight streaming through the now empty doorway. Evil masterminds were looking more likely each second. He turned around just in time to see the other man put the door back into place, plunging the entire area into darkness once more.

Ianto immediately tensed, and for the first time in a long while he fought the urge to reach for a gun that wasn't there. The Doctor hadn't let him carry a gun ("Guns are dangerous," he'd said. "People get hurt when there are guns around." Mr. Jones hadn't replied: "People get hurt when we're around," even though it was true, but instead pointed out that a sonic screwdriver was quite capable of burning through a rope holding a piano in mid-air (Aliens watched far too much slapstick) thereby dropping it on a man, and how was that better than shooting him?) After a while though it hadn't mattered because he'd been safe with the Time Lord. Now on the other hand, he was alone (almost), vulnerable (or at least not invulnerable) and entirely in the dark (both literally and figuratively speaking). Suddenly Ianto found himself missing the Doctor.

But then a hand landed on his neck and thoughts like that disappeared.

Mr. Jones span around, plunging an elbow into something soft and fleshy that went "Ooof" before striking out with a foot towards the sound. It connected with a Thwap! But not before a hand had grabbed his ankle and somewhat lessened the impact. He shoved a fist outward, hoping to disorientate his attacker but the hand tightened and twisted, sending him off balance so that his arm went past his attacker and Ianto suddenly found himself turned away from his opponent, heading swiftly towards the floor.

However, instead of the strike any decent enemy would have inflicted two arms wrapped around him: one around his waist halting his fall and pressing him back into a warm muscled chest; the other curled loosely around his throat as an implied warning.

"Jumpy, aren't you?" Vorn's rumbling voice breathed into his ear as Ianto suddenly realised just who it was effectively cocooning him. He groaned in disbelief as he let his body relax: he'd just attacked a Time Agent, and the only ally he currently had in this century. He really wasn't doing so well on the whole adjusting thing.

"Sorry," he apologised quickly. "I'm not used to…" he trailed off, unsure exactly what to say. He'd meant to say 'touch', but that wasn't true, because the Doc had been a rather tactile person – grabbing his hands, grasping his shoulders and pinching his cheeks. So it couldn't have been that. But at the same time it was, because although he hadn't minded the Time Lord doing things like that, it had only been him. It wasn't like there'd been anyone else on board, and the majority of other people who'd touched him had been hostile, and swiftly learnt to keep their hands to themselves. It was normal, human interaction he'd been denied, until a hand on the shoulder from someone he couldn't see had become a signal of attack, rather than a friendly reassurance.

But he could hardly voice that to the man behind him, whose touch was both these things at once and therefore quite confusing. A paradox of a man, both friend and foe and yet unable to be either.

"I'm not used to…people," he finished lamely instead.

Vorn slowly released his grip, which Ianto took as a positive sign; that even if the Agent didn't understand he could be still be understanding.

"Never apologise for good instincts and reflexes, even if your technique leaves many things to be desired. Where did you learn to fight?"

"Urr...Bond movies and grappling with…" Jack "…friends."

Vorn snorted behind him as the arm finally disappeared from around his waist, leaving him unanchored in the darkness, the warm breath against his neck his only marker for the Agent's continued presence. "Unlearn it, quickly."

Ianto nodded before realising this was a redundant gesture with the absence of light. "Of course" he replied, (that Vorn knew who James Bond was didn't come of much of a surprise; the remakes were still going strong on 60th century Earth, the plots still basically the same just on other planets, and the Bond girls and villains decidedly non-human) before quickly moving on to more pertinent questions."What are we doing here? And where is here exactly?"

"Ayeay," said Vorn.

The room was abruptly illuminated as the lights came on, presumably triggered by whatever had just been said.

Mr. Jones yelped.

The Agent smirked.

The woman directly in front of them blinked.

"No need for alarm," she reassured him, her voice soft and melodic but with a distinct American accent.

Ianto stubbornly refused to stop being alarmed. Vorn clapped him on the shoulder before shaking him up a bit.

"Kid, this is Professor Heimgard, and she's your way into the Agency, so be nice."

Mr. Jones frowned, partially because the Doctor hadn't mentioned this professor, but mostly because the Time Agent had just called him 'kid'. And unless he was very much mistaken Vorn was roughly the same age as him.

"And just how old are you exactly?" he asked, letting his annoyance bleed into his tone.

Vorn just smirked. "Old enough."

Heimgard rolled her eyes before swiftly settling into professional mode.

"You'll need to be seated for this," she advised, gesturing to what looked disturbingly like the autopsy table that had once been in the Torchwood Three Hub. Ianto didn't think about that, or what it meant, and simply hopped up onto the table with Vorn coming to stand next to him.

"For what exactly?"

"Didn't Agent Vorn here explain?" the professor asked, and he couldn't help but pick up on a certain disdain in the way she'd said 'Agent'. Vorn pointedly looked away. She sighed and picked up a strange metal cylinder from a nearby table. It was about 10cm long and had a small metal funnel sticking out of one end. "It's called a mindstamp, and it's perfectly safe; the Agency uses them all the time."

Ianto raised an eyebrow; from what he'd seen so far the Time Agency thought it perfectly safe to send homicidal maniacs bouncing around the universe wearing period military coats and doing whatever they pleased.

He didn't mention that though, and instead asked: "What does it do?"

Heimgard smiled at him reassuringly. "Literally what it says on the tin."

Ianto was fairly surprised to hear that phrase come out of her mouth, but could only assume that she also had picked up her English from Original Earth or been taught it by Vorn. Before he could comment however (on either the phrase or what it actually meant) she had lifted up the metal cylinder and jammed it funnel first straight onto the middle of his forehead.

"Ow," he complained, although it didn't really hurt.

She smiled at him again, the same smile that dentists use before they start drilling into your mouth.

"It's easier this way," she said. "Everything will be explained for you, and afterwards you'll retain that knowledge. You'll thank us later."

Usually when people said that that meant whatever was about to happen next would be deemed 'not something to be thankful for'. Ianto wondered what that could possibly be before a deep ache started building in his temple, spreading out from the metal thing still pressed against it and resonating not outwards but inwards, until all he could feel was a burning circle lancing through his mind, pushing his own thoughts out until there was a large vacuum inside his head, just waiting to be filled. And it hurt. With the small part of his mind that was still coherent he briefly wondered if this was what dying felt like, until he realised that it wasn't.

This felt much, much worse.

And then Ianto didn't feel at all, because Ianto was gone, and someone else entirely was sitting in his place.

TBC

Hmm, didn't mean to leave you with another cliffhanger, but it seemed like a good place to end. Questions you may have should be answered in the next few chapters.

Reviews and concrit would be greatly appreciated :)