28.04.2009 - 21:30

Another UNIT squad reported in that the Weevils in their location had retreated back to the sewers not long after Ianto managed to get the signal broadcasting through the Rift to shut up. It had taken just unplugging the computer it was running through in the end, but the solution wasn't always elegant. Dozens of lives and a trail of destruction, all ended with a yank of a plug. It was simultaneously deeply satisfying and crushingly frustrating. Ianto rubbed at his eyes and leaned back in his seat. The comms were chirping, dozens of channels firing backwards and forwards across the city with orders, reports, reassurance. Around the room the alarms were silenced one by one and the screens came back on, mapping out in red and green as order – and power – was restored to the city. The one female UNIT soldier knocked on the edge of the door to Jack's office and her eyes landed on Gwen's covered form behind him. "Sir, is that her?"

He flattened his palms on the desk in front of him. "Yes. I think he lured her in here. She's…" he didn't need to finish it. "There's a trolley in the morgue, and body bags. Will you send someone to collect her? And him, I suppose. But you can kick him on the way."

"Yes sir." She turned around in the doorway and barked an order at the rest of the team, but instead of leaving to join them she stepped in and rested a hand near his on the desk. "Are you alright, sir?"

"Is anyone alright tonight?" He rubbed at his face and she took the hint, pulling her hand away. "How long have you been with UNIT?"

She flinched from the question with a huff. "Long enough. I've seen more invasions than one woman should have to put up with. Lost more friends, too." Her eyes flickered across the desk. "Your partner is still missing?"

"He'll turn up," he said, with a lot more confidence than he felt. "He always does. He can look after himself."

"I've heard the stories." She moved out of the doorway to let her colleagues in and Ianto almost leapt from his chair. "Sir?"

He cast around for something to focus on and his gaze landed on one of the monitors. "There's a life sign down in the lower levels of the Hub. I'm going to investigate it."

She trailed after him as he crossed the floor in long strides, gathering together his guns and one of the trackers. Whilst he hooked it up to the life signs monitor he took a moment to let his eyes wander over the city. Tosh and Owen had reached the power station, the first injured patients were entering surgery at the hospital where the main generator was back up and running alongside the backup. By morning the only sign of the attacks would be the smoke and the bodies. Again.

"Sir, I can't let you go down there alone."

"Then don't." He glanced over at her and gave her a tight smile. "What's your name?"

"Chrissie, Sir." She checked the cartridge on her rifle and grabbed a fresh one. "Should we bring Will?"

He looked over at Will, who paused with his hands over a keyboard. "No. The rest of you keep on with what you're doing. I want a warrant out for John Hart's arrest and a do not approach order for every police force on the planet. If he sneezes, I want to know about it. UNIT can bring him in, or just bomb him into tiny pieces, I don't much care which." He wanted to hope that the life sign they were about to go in pursuit of was Hart, but he wasn't that stupid. If he was anywhere close, it was at a vantage point where he could watch and gloat and get out of there as soon as he realised that Torchwood and UNIT were wresting control back from him. More likely, he'd hopped ahead to survey the damage, watch the rolling news coverage of the funerals. Like a bad penny, he'd be back. And one way or another, so would Jack. He had to keep telling himself that.

"Sir." One of the other UNIT soldiers grabbed his attention before he could stride off into the archives. "The intruder is dead. Male Caucasian, late twenties to early thirties if he's contemporary. Doesn't match your descriptions of John Hart."

"No. My description of Hart was 'will try to kill you on sight for fun'." He bit back the annoyance and sighed. "Sorry. Thank you, corporal. Once he's secure I need you to monitor the communication channels. We'll likely lose contact once we get down to the second level, so follow our progress through the life signs monitor and send in aid if it looks like we need it."

Chrissie looked more than a little perturbed at that, but she just checked her gun one more time and tilted her head almost challengingly. "At your orders, sir."

# # #

28.04.2009 - 22:00

Chrissie swept the next corridor with her now familiar brusque UNIT efficiency. She glared at Ianto as he sauntered past her, eyes fixed to his tracker. "Clear, sir," she said reproachfully. They'd cleared through three levels of the archives in search of their wandering life sign in much the same fashion, and her irritation levels were increasing in inverse proportion to their distance from the main Hub. It was about the only thing cheering him up. This deep into the archives their comms were useless and the beeps and whirs of the computers were long since deadened, leaving just the occasional plink of drips and the low thud of their rubber soles as they moved as quietly as possible. Their target wasn't far away now, just another few turns. The closer they got, the angrier Ianto found himself. Someone had tried to rip his city apart, every plan he had put in place to stop them had fallen apart before his eyes, and now there was someone in his home.

He checked the tracker again and pointed down the corridor. "Right on to the end. We just follow the corridor from here."

"Sir, you should let me go first."

"Should, not going to." He gestured towards the end of the corridor with his gun. "After me."

If looks could kill, Chrissie wouldn't need her rifle. She was UNIT through and through, though, and followed his orders to the letter, moving behind him like a silent and deadly shadow. Some of the newer recruits tended to the dramatic, bursting from around corners and sweeping their torch beam across so fast that every shadow looked like a threat and sent adrenaline pulsing through the body. Chrissie had seen too much for that sort of thing. She paused at every corner to listen, then flashed her torch around it to blind anyone lying in wait, waited again for cursing or shots, and only then did she peer around cautiously. Ianto was rather less cautious. He had his eyes on the life signs monitor that told him there was no one in these corridors, and in his other hand was a scanner that was searching for any signs of bombs or other weaponry. So far it had found a pile of scrap metal that Jack had insisted was some sort of portable radio with the logo of an alien sitcom on it, and a device that went ding every time it got near a temporal fluctuation. Ianto presumed that that meant it was working but really, who knew down here?

"Another two corners," he said softly, holding out the monitor so Chrissie could see where he meant. "And then there's a door at the end. Looks like he's stopped by the door."

She gave him a sharp nod and made an 'after you' soft of gesture that was right on the border between deferential and sarcastic. Her grip on her gun was as steady as her manner, and despite everything Ianto was suddenly deeply grateful for her quiet, solid presence. He took a shaky breath and tucked away the life signs monitor so that he could pull out his own gun, and they proceeded around the next corner and down the confined passage in silence, lit only by the thin strip of weak, flickering bulbs that ran along the top edge of the corridor and showed where it bowed down so low Ianto had to duck his head.

As they got closer, Ianto picked up the sound of their unidentified intruder. The first gasping breath took him by surprise, but once he'd heard that it became easier to focus on the noises, and more and more clear that whoever they'd found didn't want to be there any more than Ianto wanted them there. He moved more quickly to the final corner and was careful when he rounded it to keep the light from his torch down on the ground. A figure sat in the corner, knees curled up to his chest and face pressed against them. Ianto's heart stopped when he lifted his head.

"Chrissie," he said quietly, "go back up to the Hub. I've got this from here."

He didn't look to see her reaction, or whether she obeyed. His eyes were fixed on Jack. Because of course it was Jack - how had he not realised? It was Jack and, judging by his expression of slowly dawning, bewildered recognition, something else had gone horribly, horribly wrong that day.

# # #

28.04.2009 - 22:30

Jack was silent all the way to their rooms, save for the occasional hitching breath and the drag of shuffling feet on the floor. Whilst he stayed quiet, Ianto's mind did anything but. The clothes he was wearing weren't the same ones he would have put on that morning. They looked older, not in terms of wear but in terms of time period. He realised with a sinking feeling that it wasn't a question of where Hart had taken him, but when. It was no wonder they hadn't been able to find him. Ianto kept to a steady pace for him, finding his way through the archives and up through the levels without conscious thought. He'd spent too much time down here for something as mundane as navigation to get in the way of the growing sensations of dread and grief piling in on him, creating a feeling more claustrophobic than the dark, narrow passageways had ever managed.

The bright lights in the accommodation area were a shock to him as much as to Jack, and he finally realised just how long he'd spent down here in the dark since he rushed to Gwen's rescue. An hour, two, a day? He checked his watch and was somehow unsurprised to find that it had actually been less than an hour. The events of the night were already being filed and washed away, tucked neatly out of sight so they didn't trouble anyone. Blood and tears wiped, power restored, shadows chased away by harsh artificial lights as the night swept in to fill in whatever corners it could. They trudged across the silent living room with its huge TVs and huge sofas and back onto the corridor, where Ianto had to stop Jack outside the first room, their room. He opened the door - never locked because they trusted the people they shared the Hub with their lives, never mind their phones and loose change - and stepped inside. Suddenly awkward.

It was nothing like taking Lisa back to his hotel room at the Torchwood conference, but he couldn't help draw the comparison. The only thing the occasions had in common was that he was clueless, utterly lost for what to do. Then, Lisa had known. Now... Jack didn't. He sat down on the edge of the bed carefully, like perhaps he was injured or didn't want to impose too much on Ianto's space and put his head in his hands. Ianto sat next to him, equally gingerly, and swallowed hard. "Jack?"

"I'm sorry," he said at last, voice cracked and strained. "I couldn't... I was trying to get up to the Hub to help, but I couldn't find my way out."

He reached over and took Jack's hand carefully and, when Jack didn't pull away, squeezed it gently. "Up to the Hub from where?"

The silence dragged out between them. "The morgue. I had them put me there in 1918, when they found me. I told them I needed to get out today, I told them the time... I told them a time."

"You did everything you could," Ianto assured him, because even though he had no idea what Jack had done, he still knew that it was everything he could have. That was who Jack was, that was why he loved him. "You always do." He trailed off and stared at Jack, who stared at the floor and let Ianto hold his hand. "Jack, what happened?"

He shuddered. A full body shudder that left him shaking and sobbing, wrapped tight in Ianto's arms and clinging to him desperately, like if he let go for a second he'd be back in whatever torture had brought him to this. Ianto was clinging just as tightly. Now it was over, or at least coming to an end, he could let down the barriers, just a little, and let himself fear. The shock of adrenaline left his heart racing, palms sticky and gut churning once more. He held even tighter to Jack and whispered promises he knew he couldn't keep and reassurances that probably weren't true, but it was the act of framing them with words that mattered more than anything. If he could say "You're safe" and "I'm not going anywhere" and "It's alright, it's over" then he could make them true.

Jack tried and failed several times to put into words what had happened to him. They seemed to stick in his throat and choke him, and every time he panicked. Once he had to push away from Ianto and pace the small patch of carpet between the bed and the door, rubbing his hands over his face constantly. Ianto got to his feet and approached him cautiously, taking his hand again and pressing it between his own. "Jack," he said, in the same low, soft voice that Jack had used on him far too many times. "Go and have a shower. I'll get a change of clothes ready for you."

He did as he was told, soldier's instincts kicking in over the top of his panic. The door closed behind him firmly, and once the water started it drowned out the sounds of low, desperate sobs. Ianto had a moment to curse, silently, then activated his comms whilst he got out the clothes like he'd promised. "Reporting in," he said quietly. "What's the situation up there?"

"Well, Tosh is a genius, not that that's news." Owen got in first, across a babble of other voices all clamouring for his attention. "Disaster averted at the power station, and she's got power restored to most of Cardiff whilst she was at it."

"It was mostly UNIT," she told him with her usual smug modesty. "How is Jack?"

Ah. He ran a hand through his hair again. "Not good. I'm looking after him, as well as I can."

"We're on our way back to the Hub. Are you nearly there, Christina?"

"Yeah, and I've picked up Ally on the way. We'll be there soon." Christina sighed. "I've got pizzas, too. One of the take-aways has been sending them to the police station on the hour."

They were babbling to fill the silence. He felt the same. "Alright. Meet you in the common room."

He disconnected his comms. unit and pulled it out, tossing it on the bed with more force than was necessary or fair. The water was still running in the shower, so he took his time in laying out underwear, trousers, undershirt, shirt, and braces. For however long it lasted, Jack would want the security of his layers. With that done and the shower still running, Ianto sank down onto the edge of the bed and rested his head in his hands once more. Everything about him felt gritty and tight. Eyes gritty and tired, skin gritty with the grime of a long day, stomach filled with grit. He realised suddenly how hungry he was. He'd bolted a sandwich at lunch, maybe, and a couple of energy bars in the car on the way to Cardiff. It wasn't like he hadn't had the time. It had been a day of waiting around anxiously and then an hour, at most, of frantic activity. He'd just felt sick, all day. Finding Jack should have sorted that, not made it worse.

The shower turned off at last, so Ianto turned his back and started getting changed himself. He pulled off his waistcoat and shirt and chucked them into the washing basket in the corner, and when Jack opened the door he was just pulling on a clean pair of trousers. Their eyes met and he managed a weak smile that Jack just about returned. "Better?" he asked softly.

Jack nodded. "Better." Not good, not anywhere near it, but better. "Thank you."

The nausea finally abated a little. "The others are on their way back. With pizza. We..." He trailed off as he realised what he was about to blurt out, with him shirtless and Jack wrapped in only a towel. "Yeah."

He watched Ianto for a second, eyes flickering down to his shaking hands as he fastened his shirt, and then started to dress himself methodically. The oppressive silence settled over them again, and when he'd pulled back on his familiar armour he sat with his back against the headboard and refused to meet Ianto's eyes. "Who did we lose?"

Ianto looked down. "Gwen. I'm sorry. She..." He struggled to find a phrasing for it that wouldn't allow Jack to blame himself. "She came back to the Hub alone."

The silence dragged out again. Jack stared at the wall for a long time, then finally dragged his gaze up and over to meet Ianto's. "Who killed her?"

"We don't know who he was. Male, a bit older than me. Not Hart." He stuttered to a stop as Jack's face crumpled once more. "Jack?"

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, it's all my fault." He pressed one hand against his eyes and didn't react when Ianto hurried over to sit on the bed with him. "He... he's dead?"

Ianto stamped down the sudden blaze of fury and waited until his voice could come out steady again. "Yes. Who was he?" If it was another former lover... well, he didn't exactly have a moral high ground there, did he? But...

"My brother." That was so unexpected that it stopped him in his tracks. "He blames... blamed me for what happened to him?"

"And what happened was... not good?" He reached out at last for Jack's hand, and the relief when Jack latched onto him was almost more than he could handle. "You said he was dead."

"He should have been. Everyone else was." Jack staggered to his feet and reached for something that wasn't there. "My things..."

"If Torchwood found them in 1918, they'll be in the Archives. Now I know what I'm looking for, I'll find them." He looked up at Jack and tried to project reassurance. "We don't have to go out there, if you're not ready."

The weight of years had never rested so heavily on Jack's weary shoulders. He managed something that might once have been a smile and shook his head. "No. It's okay. I need to see them."

"Alright. But then we sleep, all of us, for as long as we can." With every alarm switched off and the light left on in the bathroom.

# # #

28.04.2009 - 23:00

The common room had never seemed big enough to contain their dreams when they'd been designing it. Now it loomed large around them, stark white light sending nightmares scuttling under the sofas and chairs and tables. Above them, the weight of layers of history loomed heavy and thick, keeping them away from the present. Every part of Ianto knew that it was the middle of the night, the exhaustion and aches counting away the hours he'd been awake, but there was no real sign of the passage of time. Jack's hands twitched in his lap until Ianto reached over and locked their fingers together.

The others filtered in, Tosh and Owen first and then Ally and Christina, and the smell of smoke followed them all in. Tosh's eyes were red-rimmed, Christina drank whisky straight from the bottle and refused to share it. They avoided each other's eyes.

It was Owen who broke the shocked and sullen silence. He fished under the armchair he'd collapsed into and pulled out a half-empty bottle of vodka, then trailed across to the kitchen cupboards, with every eye following him, to line mugs up on a tray and pour a generous slug of the vodka into each of them, then added the bottle and another one from the cupboard to the tray. He brought it back across and set the tray down on the table, then handed out a mug to each of them. It was so Torchwood. When the world has stopped trying to end, wrap your hands around a mug of vodka. Ianto smirked into his as he took his first sip.

Owen raised an empty mug in a salute. "To Gwen Williams. She was a mad cow, but she was our mad cow."

Tosh laughed, but it turned into a sob.

"To Gwen," Christina echoed. "To all of you." They looked over to her, furtive and cautious, and she met their gazes head on. "It doesn't feel like it right now, but you won."

It didn't feel like it at all. Ianto drained his vodka and reached over to refill it.

"Look, I know he gave you a battering, and I know it's shit and people died. But Cardiff is standing." She leaned forwards, earnest like he didn't know she was capable of, and fixed each of them with her glare. "You fucking won. Against time travel and sabotage and a nuclear power plant in meltdown and hospitals with no power, you won. You saved millions of people. Again!"

Owen nodded. "I hate to admit it, but she's right. Never thought winning would feel like this, mind you. And I hate to admit it even more, but we couldn't have done it without UNIT. Tosh was amazing at the power plant, she really was, but there would have been nothing she could do without them."

"He's right." She sniffed and wiped at her eyes and let him refill her mug. "Without them, without all the work you've done on bringing us together, it could have been so different."

"They were a bloody miracle at the hospital. Straight in there, new generators up and running, old ones fixed, battlefield medics in there treating injuries." Owen glared at the vodka like it had personally offended him and passed it over to Christina again. "Triage centres all over the city, armed patrols out there to keep people safe."

"Communications back up and running, missing persons hotline..." Ally held her hand out for the bottle. "If you hadn't pushed them this afternoon, Ianto, and made them turn out, we'd still be out there. Or dead. That's definitely an option."

He smiled weakly. "Wasn't enough though, was it?"

"Fuck that, mate." Owen looked between him and Jack and stabbed a finger at them. "Jack's always said: the 21st Century is when everything changes, and we've got to be ready. And we were. You made sure we were. So stop sitting there with faces like a pair of slapped arses, stop thinking about what went wrong with your plan and concentrate on what went wrong with that mad bastard's plan. Because what went wrong with his plan was us."

"I'll drink to that," Tosh said quietly. Her eyes had lit up gradually as Owen spoke, and the devilish gleam was back in them. "He'll have to get up a lot earlier than that to beat us."

Ally glanced over at Jack again. He was still hunched over on himself next to Ianto, who didn't dare to look at him. "They're right. We did good today. All of us. UNIT are watching the city, Mace is in charge - and he's not a dickhead. Let's eat this pizza and get back out there, back into the fray. And tomorrow we can start to rebuild, stronger than ever. Cardiff will come back stronger than a powered up Pacman."

The first real smile of the night cracked through Ianto's resolve. He rubbed at his face, remembered that he hadn't had a shower and must smell like arse, and reached over for a slice of cold pizza. "I prefer Chumbawumba. Pissing the night away."

Next to him, Jack stared into his mug and said nothing.