Torchwood: Divergence
Book One: Dychwelyd

Chapter 28

Jack's stomach was turning flip-flops when he made it to the roof of the Millennium Centre's big, copper tiled hall. He could see Ianto standing up toward the building's edge facing the car-park, his heart freezing when the early morning sun glinted off of mirror bright silver in the young Welshman's right hand. He was about to call out, beg the young brunette to reconsider. But then he noticed that the weapon was a type of short sword, not an elaborate hunting knife, and Jones was simply spinning it from hand to hand like a strange, lethal exercise ball. And he'd apparently been at it for some time considering how relaxed he looked and the speed at which the blade was changing hands. Harkness took a couple of slow steps forward, not wanting to startle the twenty-six-year-old.

Suddenly Ianto's back stiffened and the blade turned to quicksilver in his left hand. From where he stood behind him Jack could see the Welshman's breathing accelerate as he nervously tugged down his suit coat, shot his cuffs and straightened his tie before carefully turning around. His gaze was lowered, expression bordering on fearful, muscles tense and jaw clenched.

"You okay?" Jack prodded evenly, slowly closing the gap between them.

"Fine, sir," Ianto breathed, but the grey tinge to his complexion and slight trembling now visible in his hands lent a lie to the answer.

"You don't look fine," the Captain countered gently. "You look scared and sick. And that's my fault. I don't know what was wrong with me this morning. Whatever came through the Rift really got under my skin, but that's no reason for me to get ugly the way I did. Taking things out on you is one of the worst habits I ever got into, and I need to stop.

"You're a Scieron forged Guardian, something like Weevils should run from you. I was wrong to go after you for something like that, and I don't know how to fix the damage I've done. I never meant to make you sick like this... I don't know what I'll do if I ever push you too far and you use that Pledge Blade on yourself. Please let me try to make this right."

Harkness was close enough to reach out and lightly touch the twenty-six-year-old on the right cheek, gently shifted his hand to lay his palm against the side of the Changeling's face. He could feel the Archivist tremble, knew he was probably holding back tears. Then the younger brunette brought up his right hand to cover Jack's, took a hesitant step forward to let the man embrace him.

"I'm sorry..." Ianto whispered, shakily wrapping his arms around his partner's body beneath his long coat, obviously seeking comfort but not sure if he should.

"Don't apologise," Jack murmured, pulling the young Welshman close and gently stroking his hair. "I'm the one to blame. I hurt you without meaning to and without a thought for what it could cause. I want to fix things, show you how much I really need you. How can I do that?"

"You don't..." Ianto breathed softly. "You don't have to do anything. I just need to feel you close like this... know there's love for me in your heart."

"Now and always," Harkness reassured, finally feeling the younger man's muscles starting to relax. "I'm right here and I'm all yours. No more nasty remarks about couples or pairs, no finding excuses to be mean or rude or push you away, no avoiding the L-word in public. I love you, Ianto Jones, and I am overwhelmingly glad to have you back in my life."

Ianto hid his face against the American's neck with a choked sound that was half laugh, half sob and finally relaxed completely in the older immortal's embrace. They stood together in the rising wind for some time, simply enjoying the shared warmth and the vibration of one another's heartbeat.

"What were you doing with the blade when I came up?" Jack asked curiously after a span, finally breaking the silence. "Looked scary... beautiful, but definitely scary."

"Oh, um... it's like meditation," the young Welshman replied quietly, his breath warming his companion's throat and upper chest. "Sort of self-hypnosis to help me calm down and relax."

"Show me," Harkness urged, moving to kiss the side of his partner's face. "I'd like to see it properly."

Ianto nodded, reluctantly stepping away to put a couple metres of space between them. Then he stood very still for a moment before setting his feet apart to line up with his shoulders and finding his centre of balance. The ornate short sword materialized from a flash of quicksilver-like material in his right palm, and he began by simply staring at it. Soon the eternal twenty-six-year-old started to slowly turn and flip the blade, let it gently arc from hand to hand, his gaze never leaving the centre of the mirror bright length of edged metal. After a few seconds his eyes focused straight ahead and the sword began to change hands with increasing speed, spinning and turning as it danced through the air.

The Captain watched, indeed finding himself almost hypnotized by the flashing silver weapon, the high point of each arc bringing the centre of the sword's flat side exactly even with its wielder's unwavering gaze. Ianto's breathing had settled to a deep, steady rhythm, all the lines of worry and stress fading from his face as he focused on the twirling blade. Faster and faster, it flew from hand to hand, until it almost seemed a ribbon of silver light in the morning sun. Then it began to slow, finally winding down to a halt when the sword disappeared into quicksilver and melted back into the young Archivist's right palm.

Jack blinked a little dazedly, then met his partner's calm but somewhat uncertain gaze and drew in a deep breath.

"Incredible," he sighed, honestly impressed. "Was that part of your training?"

"Sort of," Ianto shrugged. "It started out as a dexterity exercise, but then I found that I could focus on the horizon past the blade and just zone-out for a while. No heat or fire or pain or blood, only the flash of silver against the horizon line like a fish in a pond. When I'd start to get nervous because I knew I'd be going back on the altar, I'd do the exercise till they came for me and I wasn't quite as scared when they chained me down."

"So, if I see you doing that in the firing range let you finish before I ask what's wrong, yeah?" the older man surmised, holding out his hand. "You feel okay to go home, or do you want to stay up here for a bit and watch the places along the bay open up?"

"We should probably head back," Jones concluded, coming over to accept the offered hand to hold. "It is nice up here this early though. Quiet... and it almost feels like you can see all of Cardiff laid out around you."

"It's pretty spectacular at night too," Jack chuckled, heading them both back to the maintenance hatch he always used to reach the roof. "All the lights spread out as far as you can see, like a million deep sea creatures floating in an ocean of ink dark water... only not wanting to make some kind of meal out of you."

"Maybe you can show me some time," the twenty-six-year-old beside him suggested tentatively. "I'm not as bad with extreme heights now that I know I can catch myself if I fall."

"Then I have got some great places to take you when we have time," Harkness grinned, holding open the hatch. "For now though, we have a very un-charming alien gadget to figure out. Let's head back to the Hub, see what Turlough can tell us."

"Yes, sir," Ianto responded automatically, starting down the ladder to the main maintenance gantry.

"I've missed that too," his companion smiled, following him back inside the big, dark patinated copper clad building. "No-one else calls me 'sir' and actually means it with any respect."

"I've always respected you, Jack," Ianto stated solemnly. "Even before I actually met you face to face and not just passing in the halls of T1, or fetching you materials from the Archives there, or serving coffee at one of your shouting matches with the my boss or the first rendition of the Future Options Committee. I've read every bit of information Torchwood has ever collected about you, some of it stuff not on the system here until recently because it was stored at Canary Wharf. She-who-will-not-be-named tried to bury the files on you when you cut ties, which just made me curious. And I had full access to all the Archives including sealed files because of my particular job in the Information Retrieval Unit, as well as a very lazy boss who forced through an A2 clearance and had me spending half my days in the Archives after I was no longer Yvonne's PA. I have to say, the records in London were worked very nicely so it seemed Captain Jack Harkness was a generational thing... Grandfather, Father, Son... nothing to hint it was all just you. Not until I got into the stuff here at Torchwood Three that you hadn't hidden anywhere near as well as you thought you had."

"My unique relationship with Death was never common knowledge... until you lot and Abaddon," Harkness shrugged with a crooked smile, recapturing his companion's hand as they slipped out of the service door facing the car park and started around toward the Tourist Information Centre kiosk. "The sadistic bitches that ran things when I was first forced to join, played mad scientist with me for quite some time, but I managed to accidentally burn all their paperwork about me once they were dead and gone. After that, whoever was in charge of the Cardiff branch knew my secret even when I was freelance, and sometimes team members would stumble across the truth, but we were all careful to keep it out of anything London might get their hands on. Otherwise, I probably would have ended up a permanent resident in one of their many shady holding facilities."

"Do you have any idea how many harmless aliens and Time-lost humans died when the Institute went down in London?" the younger immortal frowned. "Most of the satellite storage areas still in use were wired for full firestorm and collapse in the event that the main Tower at Canary Wharf was compromised or destroyed. A lot of the explosions around London the day of the Battle had nothing to do with the Cybermen or Daleks; they were all Torchwood One buildings self-destructing to the point of turning anything inside them into steam and ash. The protocols claimed it was to prevent anything dangerous from escaping or falling into the wrong hands, but I honestly believe it was to obliterate any evidence of the questionable things the T1 scientists were doing."

"Somehow that doesn't surprise me," Jack admitted sadly. "Disgusts and infuriates, but doesn't surprise. That's part of why I high-jacked Cardiff when Command came to me. London was a catastrophe waiting to happen. I just didn't know it would be on two legs, encased in metal, and gang-fighting with overgrown, disintegrator wielding pepper pots when it arrived."

Ianto simply nodded, the Battle of Canary Wharf still not a subject he was comfortable with. An easy silence fell between them as they skirted the area between the Centre and the Pierhead building, almost the only people stirring in the entire area. Finally, the pair passed through the door at Mermaid Quay, Lois calling a cheerful morning greeting as she fielded a phone call and buzzed open the entrance into the corridor that lead to the small lift down to the Hub on one end, and the back stairs as well as the primary passage to the new private car park on the other. The cogwheel door rotated open to admit them once the lift halted and the two entered to the sound of laughter coming from the Autopsy Lab. Curious, they wandered over to the observation deck railing to look down on the three team members gathered around a monitor near the exam table.

"Hey, gang, what'd we miss?" Jack called, effectively drawing their collective attention.

"I just got the breakdown on that 'ectoplasmic residue' from Mrs. Byrne's false teeth," Martha supplied helpfully, trying hard to get her amusement under control.

"You know," Turlough added, somehow managing to keep a straight face. "The seventy nine year old from Butetown who swore that every time she used her late husband's denture cream from the medicine chest, that her mouth went numb and the teeth would drop out and 'slither across the table forming letters'. Nearly talked Gwen's ear off about how her Henry was obviously trying to communicate with her from beyond the grave."

"I remember," Harkness nodded, quirking a brow. "Took a sample just to be sure, and made her some nice Retcon tea with honey, yeah?"

"That's the one," Cooper confirmed, still smiling though her eyes were dark and serious as she watched the Captain and the younger man beside him.

"I'm not sure how the tube got in her house, let alone the medicine chest," the team physician continued, taking a deep calming breath. "But we can rule out paranormal visits from her husband or anything Rift related. The analysis says that what she was using as denture adhesive is actually... well, it's personal lubricant."

"The kind with mint and clove that tingles on contact," Gwen clarified with a smirk.

"Nice," the American on the walkway snorted, now understanding the cackling they'd walked in on. "We didn't happen to confiscate the tube, did we?"

"No, why?" Martha responded, then realised Jack was looking at the twenty-six-year-old beside him with a speculative smile.

"Minty fresh and tingly," Harkness replied with raised brows.

"I... think I'll go put on some fresh coffee," Ianto decided, but he was smiling as he turned to slip away.

Gwen caught Jack's eye, squarely met the undying brunette's gaze. The Captain nodded slightly with a small, reassuring smile, then glanced over at the rest of the team as they got back to work.

"So, Turlough," he called evenly after a minute or two. "Once the coffee's done, we'd all like to hear exactly what dropped through the Rift into Weevil Central this morning. And personally, I'd really like to know why it gave me such a bad round of cosmic PMS."

"Pre-Menstrual Syndrome?" Cooper prodded with a practiced, wide-eyes expression. "Did we all miss the memo about calling you Jacquelyn from now on?"

"PMS... Paranoid Mean Streak," Harkness insisted soberly, then smiled crookedly. "And Ianto looks much better in heels and a little black dress than I do."

"He says as I'm making his coffee," the named Archivist called from the kitchenette. "Did I also hear you say three sugars and extra milk?"

"I throw myself on the mercy of the Barista," Jack cried with a laugh. "Name any penance for my sin."

"Not in mixed company," the younger man demurred, but it was obvious he was smiling.

Gwen exited the medical area, giving their leader a narrow-eyed look that clearly said 'I hope he really makes you squirm' as she headed for the kitchenette, fielding an empty cup from her workstation on the way. She came up behind Ianto, rested one hand on his upper back and leaned close as he placed five cups of steaming coffee on a tray.

"Did he apologise properly, or make excuses?" the former constable asked quietly, glad her friend was smiling but concerned that he still looked a little pale and tense. "If it's the latter, me decking him and leaving him to bunk between Janice and Judy is still very much an option."

"We're okay," the young Welshman breathed, looking up to meet her gaze. "Really... no bare-knuckle brawling required."

"I'm still thinking that cell is calling his name," Cooper insisted, able to tell the twenty-six-year-old wasn't quite as happy and cheerful as he was trying to make her believe.

"He apologised, all right?" Ianto clarified, the tiny smile he gave her more relaxed and open. "So stop it."

"I'll let him slide for now," the raven-haired woman chuckled, rubbing her friend on the back. "But I'll be keeping an eye on him... and you. If I see you looking as miserable as you were earlier at some point, into the Vaults he goes, yeah?"

"Honestly, Gwen," Ianto stated solemnly, though his eyes held a familiar gleam. "I wholeheartedly pity any boy who tries to date Ebrill when she gets older. Between you and Rhys... carnage is inevitable."

"Oh, you're definitely feeling better," Cooper grinned, swiping her chocolate sprinkled coffee from the tray as the Changeling prepared to quit the kitchenette.

The coffee was passed out, and then the team gathered on and near the couch behind the workstations.

"Okay, Turlough," Jack prompted, claiming a seat beside his partner. "Enlighten us."

"Right..." the slender redhead began, carefully sipping his white coffee. "The item the Weevils were all entranced by had an extremely heavy chronon signature, and its pattern seemed familiar but I wasn't sure till I saw the device. It's sometimes referred to as a CA Sanctum, and it's Gallifreyan."

"Gallifrey... as in Time Lords?" Harkness gaped.

"Exactly," Turlough nodded. "A Chameleon Arch Sanctum looks like a fancy fob watch or large locket, but it's actually a type of portable panic room for a Time Lord. Using the Chameleon Arch in their TARDIS with a Sanctum, they can actually store their very essence, any remaining regenerations, their memories, absolutely everything about them, in the event that they need to hide among normal humans or other races. They'll only register one heartbeat, grow old, have no recollection of their previous life, the whole deal... until they accept the hidden energies again. To release those aspects, they or someone they've entrusted with the truth simply open the Sanctum and allow everything stored to return to their body and reset it to the point when they engaged the system."

"But all the Time Lords were destroyed," Martha pointed out with a frown. "The Doctor's the only one left and that isn't a watch like his, it's a locket. None of the others had the chance... wait... oh, no... not again."

"The engraving on that Sanctum identifies a rogue Time Lord you and I have both faced before... you and Jack saw him at the end of the Universe," the twenty-nine-year-old nearest the workstations nodded. "And he's the only one who'd think to try something like this. So heavy a chronon signature makes me think he stored some part of himself in it while he was playing Harold Saxon, and purposefully put it into the Rift as a final chance to return. So, I did what I could to dampen it until I can figure out a way to completely destroy it without allowing the trapped energies to escape. Because we really don't want whatever is in there claiming a new body the way he has in the past."

"The Master," Martha scowled. "No, we definitely don't want him loose in the Universe again. Not ever. I know the Doctor said he made amends the last time he saw him, but I'll lay odds that what's in that watch is pure evil and madness."

"I agree," Jack nodded with a frown. "But I still don't understand why it put me on the prod."

"Conflicting chronon energy fields," Turlough explained with a shrug. "The signature you give off is almost an exact opposite of the Sanctum. So, it's kind of like fire and water... each agitating the other as the flame tries to evaporate the liquid and the liquid tries to drown the flame. That's bound to make anyone a bit twitchy and out of sorts."

"Instant prat," Gwen remarked, slowly drinking her coffee.

"I assume your containment measures worked," Harkness pointed out, ignoring the jab. "I don't have that skin crawling, teeth on edge feeling anymore. Good sign."

"Can it be destroyed?" Ianto queried quietly; his expression neutral but his eyes reflecting understandable anxiety. "It really creeped me out too, just not as badly as it did Jack."

"I have a few sources I can tap on the subject," Turlough offered. "If there's a way, I'll find it."

"Good enough," their leader pronounced, finishing his coffee. "We'll leave it in your hands. Whenever you aren't engaged in anything more urgent, that Sanctum will be your main priority. Now, unless there are any other pressing issues, Ianto and I have a date with the firing range."

"Nothing new," Cooper reassured. "You'll know if the Rift sounds off again."

"Um, I was just going to pop upstairs with some coffee for Lois," Ianto stated evenly. "I'll meet you down on the range?"

"Gives me time to set up," the American smiled, gently patting his partner on the shoulder before turning toward the office.

Ianto hurried to the kitchenette, was heading out the big rotating door in mere moments, steaming mug firmly gripped in one hand and a small notebook in the other. He'd had a rough start to the day, but was back into his routine and appeared to be feeling better. Gwen silently hoped that was actually the case, fully intending to follow through with keeping a sisterly eye on the twenty-six-year-old... and a wary one on his mercurial partner.

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AN: I used to have a friend who juggled three balls (two black, one metallic gold) as a meditation focus, thought it would be cool to have Ianto use that idea only with a nice shiny sword.

So, things have sort of settled between the boys… let's see how long that lasts.

Thank you to those reading the story. And thank you to those who have followed, favourited, and reviewed. NM