Torchwood: Divergence
Book One: Dychwelyd
Chapter 12
The rest of the morning had indeed been uneventful, with only one slight hiccup. Much calmer and feeling stronger after a shirt change, a brief nap and a cup of his own coffee, Ianto had innocently asked a question that had been at the back of all their minds for several weeks. Why was the Rift so quiet? Nothing had come through, even by UNIT's reports, since the portal in the graveyard had become active. That meant no Rift spikes, no alien debris, and no unwanted visitors for nearly a month and a half now. The breach in Time and Space that ran through Cardiff was still present, and registering a static level of energy, but it wasn't surging. It was almost as though something was blocking its flow and preventing it from spitting out what might be travelling its stream. It definitely explained why the only activity the team had dealt with early on after Torchwood re-opened, had been the harrowing capture of two rogue Weevils that had strayed from the St. Mary's colony and started attacking late night commuters near the train station.
So, having come up with the requested autopsy results for Martha and in need of a new project, Johnson had volunteered to start looking into possible reasons for the Rift's odd behaviour by checking the digital Archives for any references to similar lulls. The rest of the team had continued with their assignments, Ianto even offering to help Lois with her video splicing. That however hadn't lasted long, as the footage began to give the young Welshman symptoms not unlike a panic attack, and he'd opted to arrange for lunch to be delivered instead of risking another possible seizure.
In the afternoon, Police Constable Andy Davidson had appeared to be let in by Lois, who'd closed the TIC so the entire group could convene in the huge dead-end tunnel below the containment cells, which housed the base's firing range. Once they were all present, Johnson had walked the two "civilians" through basic firearm safety and usage, then allowed them to try a couple of test rounds. Lessons on clip loading, jam clearing, and proper grip had followed, as well as more extensive target practice. Then she and Jack had demonstrated a few of the heavier guns, the Captain going on to show the correct handling of a couple of the safer alien weapons they'd learned to use over the years. Turlough had proven that he knew his way around a well-stocked armoury, explaining that he'd gone to war on his planet at the age of twelve and been schooled in combat since he was four. He preferred blades, but was more than proficient with pretty much anything that came under hand. Martha had then shown that she'd been trained by UNIT to use a hand gun with scary efficiency, and wasn't bad with a rifle either.
So, it now came around to Gwen and Ianto, who had both started as straight "civilians" and learned to fight with whatever was available once they'd joined Torchwood. In tandem, they demonstrated how to strip down and reassemble the standard issue 9mm Glocks the team normally used, loaded them, turned, and fired at the distant targets. Examination of the paper enemies afterward proved that even less than perfectly recovered, Jones was the better shot, a fact he attributed to training he'd received at One. Cooper cheerfully demanded a rematch nonetheless and asked Jack to call out specific areas of a target they had to hit, the idea being that whoever could come closest to the designated points in the shortest time was the better marksman.
Gwen went first, Turlough timing her at 40 seconds to hit the called targets... left shoulder, right shoulder, head, heart, groin, right knee, left knee, head, heart. Johnson chided her for the right shoulder being just a graze, that the groin shot was decidedly lower than specified, and that one of the heart shots was more in the left lung field. Ianto took his turn without comment, garnering a time of 36 seconds for his marks... head, left knee, heart, right knee, left shoulder, right shoulder, heart, throat, groin. The Weevil shaped paper target had displayed nine perfectly positioned bullet holes, the two heart shots so close together that the openings had merged into a squashed figure eight.
"Show off," Gwen laughed, glad to see the younger man smiling and relaxing with the bit of sport they'd often indulged in before he'd died in London.
"All right, newbies," Johnson called, motioning for Andy and Lois to approach once more. "I want you both to have a couple more turns with the Glocks. Practice loading, ejecting, and reloading the clip while I get some more targets posted."
"I'll post them," Ianto offered, just as he always had during practice sessions in the past.
The young Welshman started across the big room to put up a new set of paper cut-outs, but suddenly stopped in the centre of the room to stare at the floor beneath his stocking clad feet, a small strangled sound escaping him as though he'd stubbed a toe. But they could see him start to shake, the fabric of the shirt he wore seeming to swirl and ripple like liquid down both shoulder blades, just before the wings that hadn't been seen since his initial return unfurled behind him with a breath of scorching air. Ianto cried out in obvious pain as the silvery feathered appendages manifested, then choked back a scream of pure terror as a searing red light shot up from the floor directly beneath him.
Jack had already started toward the younger brunette the instant he'd frozen in the middle of the room, made it to his side just as he doubled over in apparent agony. Jones closed his eyes and crashed to his knees within the hellish glow that now surrounded him in smothering heat, his wings trembling as he huddled in on himself like a frightened child.
"Jack!" Gwen called, the rest of the team flanking out on both sides of the room. "It's them!"
Shadows rose around the edge of the scarlet light, thirteen tall flickering shapes that were only semi-humanoid.
"Frân Arian," one of the beings whispered in Welsh, reaching out a wisp of tattered shadow to touch Ianto's bowed head. "It is time to test the waters of your future, and determine if all you endured was for naught."
"Hey, hey, hey!" Jack snapped, standing up from where he'd crouched next to his stricken lover and moving to put himself between the closest alien and the young man that they'd so obviously traumatized. "Back. Off. Who the hell are you, and what gave you the right to kidnap this man and change him?"
"Our race has existed since before this Universe was born," the foremost Shadow stated equitably, its voice clear yet soft as an errant breeze. "The Scieron have ever watched the myriad of worlds on this plane and many others, trying to aid where we can. Guiding the various lifeforms on the least destructive path when a Divergence of possible futures arises."
"I've been around a long time and covered quite a good part of this Universe," Harkness frowned. "But I've never seen your kind before, or even heard the name you gave your race. If you're so old and have supposedly 'helped' before, why aren't you known? Where do you come from, and what did you do to Ianto?"
"We are the Shadows that sit at Death's Door, the Children of Void, who are no more than wisps of darkness to your eyes and dwell in the breath between all Time and Space," the being replied serenely. "Most races dismiss us as spectres, hallucinations, evil spirits, corrupt data. Only this world's dominant species ever gave us a title, calling us what we are even as they sought to remember the name that we whispered to them... 'Scions of the Void'. And those who chanced to glimpse our unique home through the neutral singularities we travel by, called it 'Hell'.
"As for this young cysgod, we heard your prayer at his untimely passing and weighed the consequences its granting would hold for all existence. Whether it was best to ask that the Door be sealed behind you, or to otherwise intervene. If our actions would help rebalance this Timeline, or merely delay disaster."
"My prayer?" Jack prodded with raised brows.
"To not be reborn," another of the Shadows breathed. "To remain in the Dark with the one who held your heart, the one whose loss left a wound too deep to ever heal, a guilt too overwhelming to carry."
"You are the Eternal, the Fixed Point, the Living Singularity," the original speaker continued. "Even if the Scieron wielded the power to bar you from Life and lock Death's Door as you desired, we would not do so. Many worlds and countless lives will depend on your presence in the ages to come, so your prayer could not be answered.
"But the heart that beat when resurrection came was utterly shattered by grief, the soul within you frozen and stripped to ribbons. Your ability to feel and care crushed into near non-existence, because none were able to grant your most desperate wish. Your humanity all but lost, you gave up on everything... even sacrificing your own flesh and blood to destroy those who had stolen your most treasured companion from you."
"That devastation could not be allowed to remain," another of the Scieron whispered, its voice as unsettling as a cold draft down the back. "So, we spirited away the lost one who held the key to healing your heart and soul, as we have taken others in the past from many worlds when so strong a need has arisen. In our native space, we purified the system of the Chosen, repaired all mortal damage, gave Life back to his body, seeded the fibres of his being with our own flesh to prepare him for his new destiny. Gave him the means and training necessary to perform the duties required."
"You tortured Ianto for almost two years, grafting wings, changing him with your cells for who knows what," Harkness accused icily. "Do you always mangle your 'Chosen' that way? Why teach him to fight with blades? What exactly is this 'new destiny' you've shackled him to? What was the point of blocking his memory? Why make him have to suffer being ageless, possibly deathless like me? How does changing him relate to my wanting to die with him at Thames House?"
"Be still a time, and all will be made clear," yet another of the gathered alien Shadows urged softly. "Through the millennia circumstances have arisen where a group of beings or an entire world had dire need of a protector, but none among them were able to meet the challenge of so weighty a task. When balance is best served by providing such a Guardian, we will take one of their recently deceased... a pure heart who gave their life for the greater good, one that will perform the needed duties with honour, passion, and a deep love for what they protect.
"Of all creatures on this plane, humans are the hardest to adapt to this service. Your bodies are quite fragile for all their sturdy appearance, your minds even more delicate, your wills easily broken, and your natural life spans unduly short. What we must do to make a Chosen capable of adequately meeting their duties is horrifically painful. But we possess no compounds to ease the suffering... at least not that are safe for your kind to come in contact with. Success with humans is quite rare, for most cannot endure the agony of being made a Changeling, and tend to go mad before they simply succumb to Death once more."
"Your annwyl surprised us with his strength and tenacity," the first Scieron to speak continued when the other fell silent. "So great was his desire to return to your side, 'Captain Jack Harkness', that he endured not only the normal process necessary, but the massive extension required to make him a shadow of your Singularity state. To ensure your heart and soul are healed and fit to face the trials of the future, you need him with you. Thus, he must be able to cheat Death and Time just as you do.
"He possesses enough of our substance to be considered kin, a first among thousands of past Changelings. And he is capable of things no Chosen before him has ever achieved. However, there is a price for his existence that we must be sure will be met before he assumes his true role among the living. Our Guardians in the past have all been betrayed in the end, and we see no point in burdening him with the details of his abilities or duties if his ultimate survival is in question. That is why the majority of his memories are blocked at this time. Whether they are unlocked and he truly returns to the man you knew, is entirely up to you."
Jack looked down at where Ianto still huddled beside him, shivering with pain and fear, eyes closed in silent misery. There was no way he'd ever allow the young Welshman to stay in the state of confusion and terror he'd been battling since his return to the living world. Whatever the aliens wanted in exchange for unsealing his partner's memories and allowing him to live life normally again, Harkness would pay it... regardless of what that cost was, this time he would save the one he loved.
"What do you want to make him whole again?" the Captain demanded solemnly. "Name your price. I'm not bargaining this round, whatever you say you want, it's yours."
"Jack," Gwen hissed warningly, only to be silenced by an uncompromising glare from the man she'd followed for more than two years.
"Only one is required to render a sacrifice," the lead Scieron breathed quietly. "This is not a thing to be paid for with gadgets or currency or the flesh and blood of strangers. You and you alone will be responsible for paying the price to keep your Ianto Jones by your side through eternity.
"His human self can be sated with the food and drink he has always consumed. But the part of him that is now Scieron cannot be sustained with such fare. Our kind live off of the energy we absorb from the singularities we pass through, and the strong emotional resonance of whatever lifeforms we come into contact with. To allow your annwyl to survive, Eternal, you must be willing to feed him with your unwavering trust and love. And every decade you will be required to prove both by voluntarily dying at his hand... a very special Scieron blade through the heart by which he will know it stops beating for his sake, then in your case begins to beat again for the same reason."
There was silence in the firing range for a moment as everyone in the room took in the full impact of the alien's words.
"To selflessly die for the Changeling's sake is a thing always promised in the past, but never delivered when the moment of truth arrived," the Shadow with the unsettling voice hissed. "You have the advantage of waking after such an act, but do not bother to make the Pledge if you cannot or will not keep it... All of it."
"They took me body and soul to Hell, Jack," Ianto whispered tightly, the first words he'd spoken since the aliens had arrived unannounced in the base. "I remember now. I tried to endure what they had to do to me because all I wanted was to be with you again... to help you protect the Earth and other worlds till the end of Time. I made myself focus on the fact that you wouldn't be lonely anymore, wouldn't keep losing everyone around you. All the pain was worth that alone. I couldn't stay when you begged me not to leave you in London, so I let them bring me back, change me... to protect your heart and soul forever.
"I love you, and wouldn't hesitate to die for you... I have done. Do... do you want me enough... would you be willing to die for me, Jack? Even if I'm the one sending into the Dark?"
Harkness turned to kneel in front of the winged twenty-six-year-old, put a gentle hand on either side of his face and urged him to meet his gaze. The young Archivist's eyes still held that haunted, lost child look, now mixed with a wistful longing that made his partner's heart ache.
"You are the only reason I came back here," Jack stated with quiet intensity. "Maybe this is why I can't really die. If getting stabbed once every ten years is all it takes to have you with me forever, it's a steal. Yes, Ianto, I want you with me more than anything and I love you enough to die for you... I really wish that could've saved you with the 456. And I'd rather get killed with a kiss than just be a random casualty any day."
"The ring of truth is in your words," the main Shadow pronounced, sounding pleased. "But both must be able to do their part for this and Seal the promise. The key to unlock the Chosen's memories and allow him to realise his full potential, is a brief taste of Death for you, Eternal."
The Captain nodded his understanding, aware that the other Torchwood members were all shaking their heads to dissuade him, obviously fearing it was some alien trick that could see him finally stay dead. But if it was for Ianto, he didn't care.
"Bring forth the Pledge Blade, Frân Arian," the most soft-spoken, almost female sounding Scieron breathed. "That your annwyl may prove his love and let your souls be bound so they might fully heal."
"I..." Jones half choked, blinking cold sweat from his eyes as he gazed up at the older man's face. "I'm not sure I can do this..."
"I know you can," Jack stated calmly, squarely meeting the young Welshman's slightly panicked gaze. "You've shown me in the past that you have the strength and courage to do anything. And you know I'll come back... I always do. If I can recover from a bomb exploding in my guts, a simple stab wound will be child's play. I love you; I trust you; I need you. Don't leave me."
Ianto nodded, seeming to relax a little and shakily extending his right arm a small distance out to his side. He closed his eyes for a moment in concentration, and a spot of shining liquid silver appeared in his upturned palm; rapidly forming into a very solid, wickedly edged, Gothically elaborate hunting knife with a ten-inch blade. He flipped it with startling ease so the grip was held tight in his hand bayonet style, then met the older man's gaze once more.
"I'm sorry..." Ianto breathed softly, tears welling in his eyes.
"Don't be," Jack smiled, leaning forward slightly to kiss the forever twenty-six-year-old on the lips.
And the instant their mouths parted, Ianto slid the strangely manifested blade at a slight leftward angle up into the hollow beneath his lover's sternum, watched the light leave the immortal's eyes when he smoothly removed it again. Dark blood instantly soaked the front of Jack's shirt as his body went limp, his partner quickly grabbing him and holding him close. An odd sparkle of golden light was briefly visible passing from the Captain to his Archivist, stardust bright even past the bloody red glow that still surrounded them.
There was utter silence in the big room for a moment, Ianto collapsing down to sit with Jack's upper body cradled in his lap, unconsciously mantling his wings over them both, the knife dissolving into quicksilver that simply sank back into his flesh. He was crying without making a sound, the unvoiced sobs shaking his too thin body, tears streaming down overly pale cheeks. No-one moved; waiting, praying. Finally, after nearly a full ten minutes, there was a quiet gasp for air and Harkness blinked up at the young Welshman holding him.
"Did I miss anything?" he asked with a quirked eyebrow and crooked half smile.
"No," Ianto squeaked, automatically helping his partner sit up, even as he swept his wings back behind him again.
"This Pledge is not chiselled in stone, but fashioned from something much stronger," the leader of the Scieron pronounced. "It is etched in blood upon your very souls. Do not forget, Eternal, that if you ever break your promise and forsake him, your annwyl will perish for all time in agony and despair. Now, as was the stated prize from this commitment, we will breach the seal on his memories so that he can again be the man he once was, and begin to know the full power of the Guardian he has become."
"Mae'n ddrwg gen i, Frân Arian," the gentle Shadow that had spoken of how rare it was for humans to survive their procedures whispered in Welsh, drifting over to extend a flickering limb toward Ianto. "There is one last bit of suffering you must endure, but in its wake, you will be whole once more. Banish your wings... and be brave as you always were beneath my knives."
Jones obediently retracted the feathery appendages, wincing slightly as they disappeared. Then he tried to brace for whatever was going to happen next. But all the self-steeling in the world couldn't withstand the onslaught he faced when the Scieron bent to place a light, desert hot kiss on his forehead. He suddenly seemed to be back at Thames House, feeling the breath leave his body, hearing Jack begging for him not to leave him, carrying the touch of the immortal's last kiss into darkness with him instead of only pain...
Then new agony consumed his world as all the memories of his time with the Scieron came crashing back. Almost two full years of choking heat, sharp knives, heavy chains, carved stone, scalding blood, and the echoes of his own screams. It was mixed with periods of cruelly intensive training in the art of flight, the manifestation and use of a deadly array of edged weapons, the overwhelming need to protect the one he loved and everything they both cherished... more blood to allow his human flesh to pass the Scieron gateway, blinding red light, panic, terror, horrible pain, Jack. Darkness claimed him once more, his mind and body flipping an internal emergency switch to give him time to assimilate everything he now remembered, and be ready to put it to use when he woke.
All Jack and the others knew, was that when the Shadow touched him, Ianto made a small choking sound and flinched as though burned, then tried to struggle up onto his knees once more with his breathing dropping to short pained gasps.
"Care for him well, Jack Harkness, he endured more than you know to return to your side," the Scieron responsible urged the ageless brunette, then the crimson glow disappeared, taking the alien Shadows with it.
The Captain reached for his lover, just as the young Welshman collapsed onto his side with a heart rending scream of such raw pain, desperation, and fear that it must surely have shredded his vocal cords. Then as he had over the past several days whenever his memories had stirred, Ianto went into convulsions. Only it wasn't the brief series of spasms they'd nursed him through so far. This time it was a long, muscle tearing seizure that Jack was hard pressed to mitigate.
The rest of the team had converged the instant the Scieron had vanished; Martha, Gwen, and Turlough now trying to help restrain the stricken brunette in their leader's arms, to keep him from doing himself serious bodily harm. A frightening six minutes later, the convulsions finally began to fade, ultimately leaving Ianto limply unconscious in his partner's desperate embrace.
"Okay, I'm really confused about a whole lot of what just went on, and totally freaked out," Andy announced when everyone eased back to give Jack and Ianto a little space.
"I'll explain in a bit, yeah?" Gwen offered with a reassuring smile, then turned to meet her boss' steady gaze. "No Rift spike, no Hub security alarms... what kind of field do they use that doesn't register on anything?"
"I..." Harkness began, then shook his head. "I'll look at the CCTV footage later and see if I can figure it out. For right now, I think Weapons 101 is over for the day. You need to tell the less familiar about me, and I need to put Ianto back to bed for a while."
"His pulse is strong," Martha reassured as she did a quick once-over on the unresponsive Archivist. "Temperature's kind of high, but nothing to worry about I'm thinking. He's in a kind of shock again, so bundling him in bed is probably a good idea."
"I'll secure the toy box down here," Johnson offered. "You get him back upstairs. Lois, you're due in the kiosk so I'll help Turlough clean up the blood the Captain leaked onto the floor."
"Come on, Andy," Cooper sighed, rising to accompany her old Heddlu partner up into the Hub. "Let's grab some coffee and I'll brief you on the strange case of Captain Jack Harkness."
Martha helped Jack get to his feet with Ianto still securely in his arms, and the room rapidly cleared. They now knew the why and how of the young Welshman's resurrection, as well as a few other surprising details. Hopefully when he came around, he'd finally be able to complete the puzzle.
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Okay...Welsh translations are whatever I could get Google, Bing, and to agree on. Hope they're right. If not...blame the internet.
Frân Arian = Silver Crow
annwyl = beloved
Mae'n ddrwg gen i, Frân Arian = I am sorry, Silver Crow.
(Yes, what the Scieron call Ianto probably looks familiar to anyone on this site or Twitter. It's Welsh for the name I've long used the English version of for website accounts and other things when I don't want my real name immediately visible. It is my name, and there's a long story behind it that doesn't matter here, but it's been my alter-ego of sorts for many, many years now. The reason it turned up in this, is simply because it worked for the story [the Scieron actually explain why they call him that much later in the tale]. It's not a Mary-Sue bid, I promise.)
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AN: So, the basic how and why of Ianto's return has been explained… now it's going to be a matter of everyone accepting it and learning to live with it, even as Ianto has to endure the growing pains of becoming the Guardian he was resurrected to be. As with any major change, it will not all be smooth sailing…
Thank you to those reading the story. And thank you to those who have followed, favourited, and reviewed. NM
