Steven's eyes lit up like the lights on a jukebox when he saw the Torchwood Hub, his sorrows temporarily forgotten. Jack glared at him.
"You even look like you're planning to steal anything, and you're getting strip-searched. And not by me."
"Ouch." Steven's eyes trailed across the other members of the team, none of whom were looking especially friendly. "I take it that the gloves are off."
"Too right. What's he doing here, Jack?" Standing by her desk, looking distinctly unhappy with this new development, Gwen gestured towards Steven as though to emphasise her distaste. Jack shrugged.
"Bringing him here is better than letting him get shot. Only marginally better, maybe, but better. He doesn't even live on this planet anymore, so he's a minimal security risk. Who's he likely to tell about the place?"
"And who'd believe me anyway?" Steven ducked as a large creature swooped down near his head. "Fuck! That's a bloody dinosaur!"
"No it isn't." Engrossed in something on her computer screen, Tosh didn't look up. "Dinosaurs don't fly."
"I'll take your word for it." He gave a low whistle. "Well I don't know about being better than your ship, Jack, but it's certainly pretty cool. The, er..." He gestured above his head. "What does it eat?"
"It's a she, and she eats anything I let her eat." Jack pointed at his office. "In there. Close the door, and don't touch anything except the whisky."
"Thanks."
"Hey, I'm sorry. Really sorry, about everything that's happened. But we're in a mess right now that wouldn't be half the size it is if you'd listened to me, so don't play the wounded soldier card. What did you have to take that generator for, huh? Power? I can get you all you need. More than you need. You're flying a small ship, not a battlecruiser."
"Habit?" Steven sighed, and shook his head. "Never mind. I'll go sit on my own in the little room, and not touch anything. See you later." He went, not without a touch of drama. Several pairs of eyes watched him leave, and when the office door was shut behind him, all those eyes turned instead to Jack.
"We can trust him," Jack said. Gwen didn't look convinced.
"He's a thief!" she pointed out. "You're bringing him into Aladdin's cave, and you think you can trust him?"
"Yeah." For a second he sounded cold. Then he shrugged. "Yeah, he's a thief. But if you want to start casting stones, Gwen, you can start by casting them at me. He's nothing that I didn't used to be. Maybe still am. Remember that." He sighed. "Right, we've got work to do. Tosh? Go help Owen. I don't want him taking all night putting that body back together down there. Ianto? Coffee. Please. Something strong."
"Extra extra special blend coming right up." He disappeared on his errand, and Jack sat down in the nearest chair. Tosh lingered at her station, and he looked around at her. "Well?"
"I... I suppose I'm a little uncomfortable with the idea of laying out that body down there, when he's nearby." She gestured up at the office. "He could walk in on us."
"Not with me in the way. And besides, it doesn't matter. Whoever it is, he's not going to recognise them, is he. There's nothing there but bones."
"But if it is him... I'm sorry Jack, but it could be, couldn't it. And if it is, wouldn't it be dangerous? I'm surprised you brought them both here together in the SUV. You took so long getting here, we did wonder if something might have happened."
"It's dangerous having them both in the same place?" asked Gwen. Jack shook his head.
"No. Even if that is him - and I don't think it is - then the real danger only comes if they touch. And they're not going to. Steven's staying put for the time being. He's got a lot on his mind."
"So do you, by the look of things," observed Tosh. He smiled at her.
"Yeah. Look, your concern's noted, Tosh. And the thought's appreciated. We took a long time getting here because I got Ianto to stop for a bit, so I could bring Steven up to speed, that's all. There's no danger having that body here, and you don't need to worry about it. Or me. So go help Owen, okay?"
She nodded. "Okay. With a bit of luck it won't take long now. I'll see you in a bit."
"Thanks." He watched her go, his expression unreadable - though Gwen didn't stop trying to guess at it. Only when they were alone did she voice the other question that was bothering her, dragging him back from wherever his thoughts had been.
"What's going to happen about Charles?" Turning to look at her, Jack shook his head.
"I don't know. Have to catch him, won't we."
"And then?"
"Depends who he's killed. Depends... I don't know. I don't think he's a danger to the public - or he wasn't, until we got involved. We'll just have to wait until he shows up again. See how it plays out." He leaned back, staring up at the high ceiling, where Myfanwy swooped and circled. Gwen said nothing, and after a moment he smiled.
"I know what you're thinking."
"Read minds as well, do you?"
"Maybe." He shot her a sidelong glance. "Look, if I judge him, I'm judging myself as well. The day we met, I was ripping off an assayer's office in a mining town, about... three thousand light years that way." He pointed upwards, slightly to the right of the tower. "I got chased by what seemed like half the town. Stole a Terox glider, which let me tell you, isn't half the speedmobile the manufacturers claim it is. Steven came out of nowhere in his ship. Nearly crashed the pair of us. Saved my life, though." He smiled at her expression. "Yeah, he's a thief. So am I."
"Not anymore," she told him. He shrugged.
"Maybe. I'm still me, no matter what it is I'm doing now. And tomorrow, or next year, or a hundred years from now? Who knows. I got forever. And that's a long, long time to never steal anything in."
"You're making excuses for him."
"Yeah, I am. He's a nice guy, Gwen. Okay, thief. But what about me? I profited from Pompeii. All those people, dying in agony under the ashes? I made money out of that, and more than once. Him? He's got light fingers. He steals because it's fun; because it's more fun than making your way through life the usual way. He doesn't hurt people."
"There's no such thing as victimless crime, you know."
"Spoken like a true cop, Gwen Cooper."
"Thanks." She sighed, not wanting to argue. As far as she could see, they were just going to have to accept that they saw things differently. Ianto was heading their way with a tray of coffees, and she took that as a good excuse for a change of subject.
"You're a lifesaver, Ianto." Taking one of the mugs, Jack favoured the young Welshman with a particularly big grin. Ianto merely raised an eyebrow.
"And you're a caffeine addict, sir." He nodded to Gwen as she smiled her own thanks, then he departed once again with the tray. Gwen settled back into her chair.
"I think he's right," she said, drinking slowly. "About all of us. I never used to drink this much coffee before I joined Torchwood - and I was in the police."
"Coffee's good. I like coffee." He smiled to himself. "There's four great universal constants in the drinking world - aside from water of course. Beer, whisky, coffee and tea. Everywhere seems to have their own version. Wine's popular, but there are whole sections of the universe that have never thought of it. Rum, vodka... most places have something similar, but not everywhere. There's a tiny little moon about as far from this planet as you can get, where they have rum cocktails that you'd swear come straight from the Caribbean. Little umbrellas, too."
"You're kidding?" She had to laugh. He shook his head, as serious as she had ever seen him.
"I swear. Course, they serve the cocktails at 200?, but other than that you'd never know the difference."
"Idiot. Now I know you're lying."
He shrugged. "It's a big universe, Gwen Cooper. It's got pretty much everything in it."
"Most of us don't get the chance to find out."
"Your life isn't over yet. Maybe tomorrow a spaceship will crash in your garden."
"You'd impound it," she told him. He shook his head.
"Not if you took right off in it. Steven managed."
"Steven's a lot sneakier than I am. And obviously the owner of his ship didn't feel like objecting. What happened to him? Her? It? Did you ever find out?"
"Him. And yeah. Bailed out over the bay. I guess he must have panicked when he lost control of the ship."
"I don't blame him." A sad look passed across her face. "All that way, just to drown off the coast of Cardiff."
"He didn't drown." Jack took a sip of coffee, smiling as if at some memory. "He's a Machadi. They're sort of amphibious. No, he's still out there, about three quarters of a mile off shore. Swims about a lot, scares the occasional water-skier. Loves the kelp - really loves the kelp. He was a refugee, escaping from the new regime on his world. He's as safe here as anywhere, and I'm not going to give him any hassle." The smile broadened suddenly. "Though he's worth hassling. All that swimming does wonders for the muscles. And he's a really nice shade of green."
She looked faintly ill. "Jack, you haven't..."
"Are you kidding? His kind like to mate at two hundred feet down. That's too rich for my blood." He grinned. "Though he might be willing to compromise. I should ask."
"You're a degenerate." She drank some more of her own coffee, smiling faintly. She occasionally thought about trying new positions with Rhys - Jack thought about aquatic sex with a green amphibian. One of them was definitely having more fun than the other. It didn't seem entirely fair. On the hand, an amphibious alien... She didn't really think that she was ready to entertain those kinds of thoughts; not yet. Probably not ever. By the look of him, Jack was entertaining just those kinds of thoughts. If he was about to speak further on the issue, though, he was prevented from doing so by the sudden approach of Owen.
"Body's ready," he announced, without a great deal of enthusiasm. He had put on his white coat, and with a mug of coffee in one hand, and a clipboard in the other, did actually look something like a doctor for once. Jack jumped to his feet.
"And?" he asked. Owen shrugged.
"And what? It's a mess. The skeleton's male, fully grown, not especially old. It was pretty battered, too. Bloody rats. They'd gnawed through just about everything it was possible to gnaw through. I think we got it all back together again right, though."
"You think?" Jack eyed him speculatively. "Isn't that what the Great British Public paid your way through medical school for?"
"To learn how to turn rat food into human jigsaw puzzles?"
"Smartass. To learn all that 'foot bone's connected to the shoulder bone' stuff. I don't just employ you for your pretty face, you know."
"We put it together right. You know Tosh. World's greatest perfectionist, and part-time medical expert." He led the way down to the autopsy room, where Tosh was examining the skeleton with a magnifying glass. "She's so futuristic, too. I've got banks of the best equipment money can't buy, and she's playing Sherlock Holmes."
"Never knock the old ways, Owen." Jack went over to join Tosh, looking the skeleton up and down. "So what you got?"
"Hard to tell the cause of death. The ribs by the heart look as though they've been grazed by a bullet, but I can't be certain." Tosh laid aside the magnifying glass, and looked up at Owen. "Wouldn't you say?"
"Yeah. It's as good a theory as any, and it's the best you're going to get without doing a proper investigation. Depends how much time you want me to spend on this. I'm guessing how he died isn't your first concern."
"Not really, no. How did your missing person search go, Gwen?"
"It didn't. I couldn't find anybody listed as missing who looked enough like Steven for his own brother to confuse the two. If he shot him in the dark, maybe..."
"Yeah, but who'd shoot him in the dark, and then wrap him up and bury him without turning a light on to check?" Owen went over to the body and gestured at the bones. "It's in good condition. I'm guessing this isn't any down-and-out - or not a long term one. So surely somebody should have missed him if he's local to this timezone? Jack, I know you don't want to believe it, but surely it's got to be Steven?"
"It's not." Jack pointed at the right clavicle. "Steven's got a hole through his shoulder bone. Almost a perfect circle, caused by a pulse gun on Minos. You can still feel it through his skin. Weapons like that, they scorch the bone so it never heals."
"There's not a mark on either shoulder bone. Well, aside from the rat's teeth." Owen frowned. "So who is he then? I know everybody's supposed to have a double, but it's a bit weird to have yours turn up in your own house quite by chance."
"More than a bit weird." Jack was staring at the body, an unhappy look on his face. Tosh reached out, putting her hand briefly over his to draw him back to the present.
"You said earlier that you had some sort of theory," she reminded him. He nodded.
"Yeah. Steven's never gonna time travel. He hates the idea of it, and he's the sort of guy who makes up his mind for good. But what if he never comes back to settle on Earth? And I don't believe for a moment that he will. What if he stays out there, maybe settles down one day? Has kids?"
"And what if one of them travels in time one day?" Tosh's eyes drifted back to the body. Jack nodded.
"Yeah. Fathers and sons can look a lot alike. Or sometimes a family resemblance skips a generation, turns up further down the line. Who's to say that Steven's son couldn't pass for his father one day? Or what about his grandson? There's always somebody who's got time travel technology for sale. Most of it's pretty basic in this era, but there's still plenty of it around."
"So you think that Charles has murdered his nephew? Or great-nephew?" Coming down the stairs to join them, Gwen took her turn at peering at the collection of bones. It wasn't much to show for a life - and certainly not for a life that might have begun somewhere out in space, and travelled back in time to be here. "Only you could come up with that theory."
"Can you think of something that makes more sense?" He picked up one of the bones, turning it over in his hands. "There's no problem doing a DNA test, to find out if this is a Hope. Be a start, at least."
"What about other tests?" Owen was suddenly all business again, galvanised by the new theory. "Is there anything we can do to see if this body has travelled in time, or if whoever it was was born out in space somewhere?"
"Time travellers have a sort of residual energy. A skeleton's not much to go on, but it might still register." Jack punched a few buttons on his wrist computer. Obviously it gave him some sort of answer, for he nodded sharply, and put the bone back down. "Trace levels. He's travelled in time. Probably more than once."
"Which proves...?" asked Tosh. Jack shook his head.
"Absolutely nothing, really. Doesn't help us much, either. It's still a murder, and Charles is still responsible, and he's still running around out there with a gun." He sighed. "Why is it always like this when old friends come to visit?"
"Probably because all your old friends are psychopaths," shot back Owen. Jack nodded.
"You could be right."
"So... was there some reason for going to fetch this body, and bringing him back here?" pressed Tosh. Jack nodded.
"Had to check, didn't we."
"Check what, exactly?" asked Gwen.
"Who he is. Was. If it was some ordinary guy, we could think about maybe handing it over to the police. As it is... this is a body we can't let the police examiner have. It's not anybody that they're going to be able to identify, and I won't take the risk that some bright-eyed scientist will notice something they shouldn't. Once they do a DNA test, they'll know that it's a relation of Steven and Charles's. And Steven and Charles don't have any relations. They know that."
"Everybody has some sort of relations, surely," protested Tosh. "It can be very easy to lose touch, but that doesn't mean they're not there."
"With that will, and that fortune, you think nobody's checked?"
"Illegitimate half-brothers, then?" queried Owen. Jack shook his head.
"No. Everybody always knew that the old man was too fond of his wife's status to risk an affair. There isn't anybody; and I'm not risking letting anything about this guy get back to Steven. You don't tell somebody that the son they haven't had yet is going to be murdered one day by his own uncle."
"We haven't proved yet that it is a relation," pointed out Owen. "You're making assumptions about that."
"True. But you tell me that you don't believe it. Brothers don't make mistakes like that. Charles is sure he killed Steven. This being a close relation is the only explanation, and you know it."
"Okay... so we assume that this is a Hope." Tosh wanted to believe anything but, but she trusted Jack's judgement, and he was clearly sure that he was right. "We still have to find Charles. Standing here talking about the person that he killed isn't going to help us to do that."
"It's all information. Information is good." Jack had begun to pace, head low. "Okay. So we spring a trap."
"Woah." Owen looked up sharply from his study of the skeleton. "How did we get from discussing the world's least probable murder investigation, to springing traps?"
"Keep up," Jack told him - rather unfairly, felt Owen. "You're all shook up, you're probably not thinking straight. What do you do?"
"Go home," said Gwen, sitting on the stairs behind him. He nodded.
"Though if you're worried about the police, maybe not."
"And where's home anyway?" asked Tosh. "The place where you've been living recently, or the place where you always lived before that?"
"He's not going to go back to that old place," scoffed Owen. "It's crawling with police, for one thing."
"They might not stay long. Depends what they're after." Jack resumed his pacing, hands behind his back, his shoes apparently suddenly of great interest to him. "Yeah. The family home. It's big, and even if the police are still crawling over it, he might be able to get in there without them noticing. He knows it better than they do, and there's plenty of places to hide. He could hole up there for a while, maybe."
"How are we going to find him, then?" asked Owen. "We can't go using our scanners if the place is still full of cops. And we can't really keep sending them packing. I mean, it's funny, obviously, but they're starting to fight back."
"We won't need scanners. We've got our own personal guide. Who better to show us where to hide in that house, right?" Jack turned about, starting to head back up the stairs. "Tosh, get a DNA test underway. He'll have had some whisky in my office. You think you can get a good enough sample from his glass?"
"I can extract a saliva sample, yes. It'll have been contaminated by the whisky, but that shouldn't be a problem for our equipment."
"Good. Do that as soon as we're gone." Jack was at the top of the stairs, leaning on the railing to look back down at the others. "Owen, get a sample from Bruce here. And... I don't know. Work on the cause of death. Maybe we owe him that much."
"Where are you going?" asked Owen. "Oh, right. Let me guess. If that place is still full of police--"
"I'll be taking a short cut into the building." Jack flashed him a wink, then spun around and headed for his office. Sharing a look, the other three went at once to follow, almost too late to see his blue shape pass through the door. A moment later they could see him talking with Steven. The words were inaudible to them, but they could see that the conversation was an animated one. Ianto came slowly down the stairs from the boardroom, looking from them to the office and back again.
"Trouble?" he asked, clearly suspecting the answer. Gwen nodded.
"Probably."
"Oh, not really." Turning away in disgust, Owen stalked back towards his desk. "Our great leader is going back to the Hope house to look for a murderer, that's all. There's police all over the place, they all want to talk to him; there's a killer wandering around with a gun; and the only person he's taking to help him out is a thief. He's a bloody lunatic."
"Steven's the perfect person to help find Charles, surely," pointed out Ianto. Owen glared at him.
"Maybe. But then what? Does Jack think he can just walk out of there with a murderer and a thief, past all those policemen? What's he going to do to stop them hearing gunshots? 'Cause there's going to be gunshots, let's be honest. And both those brothers are probably on the wanted list by now. Come tomorrow morning, we're going to be down the local cop shop begging for the release of our boss, you mark my words. And that's not going to help us hold our heads up high in this town. The police are already getting too big for their boots, if you ask me."
"Er... Owen?" But Owen was too caught up in his moment to register Tosh's interruption. He continued regardless, voice rising in volume.
"I vote we try to talk him round. At least wait until we're sure that the police have finished at the house before we go over there. And then all go. Surely we'd be better off trying to corner this bloke if we've got him seriously outnumbered? Break out the guns, and--"
"Owen!" Tosh finally managed to catch his attention, and he glared at her.
"What?"
"Stop being a prat?" suggested Gwen. Ianto hid a smirk. Tosh looked a little flustered.
"No. Well, possibly. I just wanted to point something out."
"What?" asked Owen, his voice even more hostile this time. Tosh nodded over at Jack's office.
"They've gone," she said, making them all turn to look. She was right; the office was empty. Jack and Steven had already disappeared.
The light of the teleport had barely faded away when Jack felt arms snake around his waist. His body went instantly to battle alert, until it sank in that there were lips pressing against his own, and that the hands attached to the clasping arms were beginning to roam. Generally, enemies didn't tend to behave that way. At least not at first. He pulled back.
"Are you crazy?"
"Yeah. From waiting. I was bored in that office, Jack."
"Your brother could be here. The guy with the gun, remember? Plus there's probably policemen everywhere. And you want to have sex now?"
"You got a problem with that?"
"...Not really, no." The lips were back against his own, and for a second Jack reciprocated, before pulling away again. "Hang on. Psycho-killer and lurking cops aside... I'm still angry with you."
"You were angry with me last time." Steven smirked. "I liked last time."
"Yeah." Jack couldn't help grinning. "But you're gonna have to wait. Where are we?"
"Ground floor. My father's office. It'd take a good locksmith a week to break in here, so I thought it would be the safest place to head for."
"Good choice." Pulling out of Steven's embrace, Jack looked around. It was dark in the room, but he could see a desk, and shelves of a dark-coloured wood that lined the walls. "Your father liked security, then?"
"My father was a paranoid nut." Steven went over to one of the windows. Light beams criss-crossed the garden. "Damn. They're still out there."
"Probably looking for the loot." Jack joined him, wondering if any of those torches belonged to Kathy Swanson. "Told you all that stealing wasn't a good idea."
"Yes, alright. So consider me properly chastised. I promise to keep my thievery limited to outer space from now on, okay?"
"Glad to hear it." Jack turned away from the window. "How thick are the curtains?"
"Not thick enough for us to risk turning the lights on. What's wrong? Don't like being alone with me in the dark?"
"It's not you I'm worried about. Okay. You're Charles."
"I certainly hope not. He has lousy taste in ties, and shares our father's opinion on same-sex relations. Positively no fun at all, is dear Charles."
"Steven..."
"Sorry." One of Steven's arms circled Jack's waist again. "Okay, so I'm Charles."
"Thankyou. Where would you go? Is there anywhere in the grounds where he used to like playing as a kid?"
"No. No, the gardens were my place. All those outbuildings, all those places to be alone. Charles preferred playing at being dad. Reading the Financial Times, and all that sort of thing. He was a strange child."
"He's a strange adult." Jack nodded. "Okay, so what about his bedroom?"
"First floor. No lock on the door. If the police are in the building, it'd be the stupidest place to try to hide in. I think he'd head for the top floor. It's a lot smaller than it should be, if you get my meaning."
"False walls?"
"Exactly. This is a very old house. It's been in my mother's family for years, and... well, you know they had a chequered history. At one time there were several secret rooms and passages. Any number of places to get up to any number of nefarious activities."
"How fitting."
"Quite. You see, you shouldn't be too hard on me. I only grew up to be incorrigible because of my family history. Honest."
"If I believed that, I'd believe anything." Jack disentangled himself from the arm once again, and headed for the door. "You hear anything?"
"Through that door? You're kidding. The doors in this place are an inch or two thick, and made from good solid wood. Old house, remember? Use your wrist thingy."
"My 'wrist thingy' doesn't have a police detector setting." He used it anyway, scanning for nearby lifeforms. As far as he could tell, the immediate area was clear, aside from a number of rats almost directly beneath his feet. He tried the door handle.
"Locked, Jack. Remember?" Steven was clearly patting his pockets. Jack rolled his eyes.
"Let me guess. You don't have the key."
"I have a nasty feeling I left it beside the bed at Nancy's tavern."
"Nancy's tavern?!"
"Yeah." Steven looked wistful. "She made me an offer I couldn't refuse. I'm glad I didn't bother trying."
"Nancy's tavern is clear across the galaxy. You couldn't have left it somewhere on Earth?!"
"Wouldn't be any less unobtainable just at this moment, would it. Don't worry, there's a spare." Steven headed back for the desk, flipping open the oak cigar box. "Cigar?"
"No thanks."
"Good choice. My father was cheap about cigars." Steven hunted for the key, eventually finding it at the bottom of the box. "See? Do I ever let you down?"
"Only if there's profit in it." Jack took the key, then making another quick scan, unlocked the door and led the way out into the corridor beyond. It was even darker there, with no windows to let in even the basic moonlight. "Now what? I can't risk using a torch. Somebody might see it."
"It's okay. I could find my way about this place blindfolded if I had to." Steven took his hand, careful to take the left rather than the right. Jack liked to have his gun hand free; he had learnt that before. "Top floor, yes?"
"You know any shortcuts?"
"Not nowadays. The passages lead from the top floor down, and a few to the outside, but most of them were bricked up decades ago. My mother had the rest blocked off when Charles and I were young, though we managed to open one up again." Jack could hear the smile in his voice. "Couldn't resist. Anyway, that's all that's accessible now. Half-decayed when I was last in there, but it'd do as a hideaway still. So long as you don't want to go tap-dancing or something."
"It wasn't at the top of my agenda." Somewhere nearby, voices floated about in the darkness. "We'd better hurry up."
"Yeah." There was a tug on Jack's hand, and he let Steven lead him along a corridor, and up a flight of stairs. Behind them lights came on, and Steven dragged Jack swiftly around a corner. "They must be starting to search the house as well. That was close."
"Too close. Keep moving."
"Yes sir." Steven pulled him onward again, and upward again, on a carpet that felt thinner and less ostentatious underfoot than those of the lower floors. Upstairs felt very different. The house was quieter, the thick boards dampening the sounds from below. Small creaks and sighs followed them - the voices of a house speaking to its inhabitants. Steven's hand tightened around Jack's.
"You ready for action, captain?"
"Aren't I always?" Steven thought that he could detect a grin behind the words, and smiled to himself.
"Just up ahead. There's a hidden door at the end of the corridor."
"Leading?"
"Into a passage between the inner and outer walls, and eventually to a space where Charles and I used to play. The floor's a bit iffy, but you don't worry about that sort of thing when you're twelve."
"You're a lot heavier now than you were when you were twelve." Jack followed on, but moved into the lead when the wall at the end of the corridor loomed nearer. "How do I open this thing?"
"You don't."
"Steven..."
"He's my brother, Jack. And you're just a little too trigger-happy at times. I won't have you shooting him if I can help it."
"And I won't have him shooting you!"
"Time's ticking, captain. There's policemen on the way."
"Puts you in a worse position than me, if they find us."
"But maybe I think it's worth it. He's my brother."
"Yeah. So you keep saying." Jack sighed, and took a step back. "Alright, go ahead. But you get your brains blown out, don't say I didn't warn you."
"Promise." Steven leaned over, doing something that Jack couldn't see in the darkness. Nearby, voices hummed once again.
"Hurry up!" hissed Jack. Steven fumbled slightly.
"The catch is a lot easier when your fingers are small," he complained. Somewhere, footsteps came closer. Lots of footsteps. Around the corner, suddenly there was light.
"Steven!"
"I'm getting there!" There was a click, and with surprising force, the wall swung away from them. Seizing Steven by the shoulders, Jack hauled him up and pushed him through the hole, tumbling after him. He pushed at the door with his foot, and heard it swing shut behind him. Immediately they were in total darkness again; total silence; with a musty smell around them, and an inescapable sense of age and decay. Jack reached for his gun, making his way carefully to his feet.
"Watch where you stand!" hissed Steven, his hands searching for Jack in the darkness. "Some of the flooring here is really bad. It's best to keep to the sides."
"Ssh." Mindful of the possible presence of an armed killer, Jack's own hands found Steven unerringly, one hand clamping tightly around the other man's mouth. He was answered with an indignant mumble, which, had it not been well muffled, sounded suspiciously as though it would have been very rude.
"Just wait a moment." With his free hand, Jack pulled a torch from his coat pocket. He hadn't dared use it before, but in theory they should be safe here from the eyes of the police. Charles he wasn't sure about - but thenif they were going to see him, he was going to have to be able to see them too. He switched the torch on, and shone it around. Cobwebs hung everywhere, and several broken floorboards showed that they would very likely have fallen through to the lower level if he hadn't turned on the light. Finally freeing himself of Jack's hand, Steven edged carefully towards the hole.
"Shine that down there," he said. Jack obliged. They saw a small, plain corridor, no more than a couple of feet across, a thick tangle of cobwebs stretching across it like a net. Clearly nobody had gone that way in a long time.
"Smugglers?" asked Jack. Steven shook his head.
"Not really. Just about everything else, though. Like I said - chequered history."
"You should write it down."
"Are you kidding? Charles would shoot me." Steven seemed to realise what he had said, and winced. "In the metaphorical sense. Hopefully."
"Come on." Stepping carefully around the hole in the floor, Jack pressed on. Steven followed him, more carefully, but with no less speed. After a while the corridor began to narrow and slope, eventually turning into a set of very cramped steps, that seemed to lead down to the next floor. Jack handed the torch to Steven, and holstered his gun in order to consult his wrist computer.
"Anything?" asked Steven. Jack glared at him.
"Silence is an alien concept to you, isn't it."
"I went to Eton, Jack. They teach us to be noisy and arrogant, not like good, quiet little soldiers. What's the wrist thingy say?"
"That I should have left you at the Hub." Jack flipped the leather cover closed. "One human male. Close by."
"Lifesigns?"
"Strong. I'm pretty sure I only grazed him."
"Thankyou."
"Yeah, well let's hope neither of us comes to regret it." Jack drew his gun again, and with Steven behind him holding the torch, he began to make his way down the stairs. They creaked horribly, and he winced. "Great."
"It's an old house, Jack. You can't keep an old house quiet."
"So I gather." Each step seemed to make more noise than the last, and when finally they reached the bottom of the flight, Jack wasn't sure whether to laugh at the situation, or punch something in frustration. So much for being quiet. Charles couldn't help but know that they were coming - and where exactly they were. Coming to a decision, he put his gun away again, then firmly pushed Steven back.
"Hey!" his companion protested. Jack wrested the torch from his grip.
"Just keep back," he said, making the genial tone that he usually used with his friend into more of an order. "Look, us 51st century guys heal a little quicker than you lot, okay?"
"I'll remember that." Steven relaxed slightly, apparently accepting that he should let Jack go first. Holding the torch out so that he would hopefully not look at all threatening, Jack stepped out away from the stairs, and around the corner at the bottom. He found himself in another corridor, blocked off by collapsed boards from overhead. Charles sat at the far end, his back to the blockage, his gun ready in his hand. He levelled it at Jack, his hand much steadier now than before.
"Don't come any closer," he said. Jack, who wasn't particularly eager to get any closer to a man with a levelled gun, obligingly stayed where he was.
"You're hurt," he said. Without directing the torch beam right at Charles, he could see him only in the half-light of the beam's periphery; and he couldn't really see if the other man was hurt at all. Charles made a vague noise that might have been confirmation, or might have been disagreement.
"I'm a pretty good field medic," offered Jack, who had done turns in that role during wars in half a dozen centuries. It wasn't a lie - he was pretty good, if sometimes a bit vague about which techniques went with which particular period. Again Charles grunted. "It hurt?" asked Jack.
"Steven's with you, isn't he. You know him somehow." Charles changed his grip on his gun, and Jack was sure that he detected stiffness in the other man's left arm. He filed the detail away, but kept the observation to himself for now.
"Steven's a friend, I told you that earlier. He has been for years." A good hundred and forty years from Jack's point of view - not that Steven himself knew that. Charles nodded, not looking especially interested.
"I killed him," he said. Jack nodded.
"Certainly looks like it."
"I was trying to get into my father's study, and I saw him. He'd been away for years, and I was waiting for the chance to have him declared dead. And then he came back, and it wasn't fair. I just wanted what was mine. I stayed here, while he disappeared and never told anybody where he was going - but it's him that my father left everything to. So I followed him, and I got the gun from the living room. Dad had guns all over the place. For security. So I got the gun, and I followed Steven, and I shot him. One shot. Used to be in a gun club."
"And then you buried him," pressed Jack, gently. Gentle wasn't his favourite approach, but Charles seemed unnaturally delicate. Fragmented almost. The head that was so nearly Steven's nodded faintly.
"I was going to throw him in here. Who'd find him? But I couldn't carry him." He shook his head, and mumbled something indistinct. "Don't remember, really. Buried him somewhere." He looked up suddenly, and his eyes stared brightly at Jack. "He is dead, isn't he."
"Somebody is. Not him, though. You killed the wrong man."
"Like I don't know my own brother." Charles frowned slightly, still trying to take in the notion that it hadn't been Steven he had killed. "Looked younger. Bit thinner. We've got the same face, though, more or less. It's not like I don't know it."
"True enough." Jack took a couple of steps forward, as casually as he could. "Mistakes happen. Isn't it good that Steven's not really dead?"
"I don't know." Charles looked suspicious all of a sudden. "Who the bloody hell are you, anyway?"
Jack grinned - his usual, cheery grin of introduction. "Like I said at your office - Captain Jack Harkness. This isn't the best way to say hello, but I've met people in worse places."
"If I shoot you, will the police hear?"
"Very likely." His smile didn't waver. "If I come a little closer, you could try strangling me instead?"
"No. No, I don't think I could strangle anybody." Distaste showed in Charles's eyes. Clearly the sarcasm had completely passed him by. Still the gun pointed straight at Jack, though, whether Charles was afraid it would be heard or not. Nearby, Steven shifted restlessly. Jack edged forward another pace.
"You don't look very comfortable," he said, in an attempt to keep the conversation light. "Steven said you used to play in here as kids. Did you have any chairs in here? I could get one for you."
"No chairs. Sweets, hidden in the floorboards. Biscuits we stole from the kitchens." Charles looked up suddenly. "He's with you. Where?"
"He's upstairs, looking out for the police," lied Jack. "They're all over the place now. Going to be difficult getting out of here unseen."
"You mean you're not going to turn me over to them?" Charles looked baffled. Jack shook his head.
"This isn't any of their business." Not strictly true, but again the lie was easy. Summoning a patient smile, Jack took another step forward. "Let me look at that arm. You can always shoot me later. Deal?" Charles glanced at his left shoulder, as though surprised to find that it hurt.
"You shot me," he said, in a moment of striking lucidity. It came as something of a surprise, given the wreck that he had appeared to be earlier. Jack nodded cheerfully enough.
"That's right." Advancing until he was within reach of Charles, Jack lowered himself down to a crouch. "No hard feelings, though, yeah? You were trying to shoot Steven at the time."
"But Steven is already dead." Charles spoke the words as though to a child, and Jack gave up trying to argue the point. Somehow Charles had convinced himself that killing his brother for the inheritance was acceptable; but he could not face the idea of having killed somebody else instead. Very gently, Jack reached out for the wounded shoulder - but at that moment, drawn no doubt by the conversation, Steven came around the corner. Undoubtedly he thought that he could help - that it would be better for his brother to see that he wasn't dead - but whatever his motives, the effect on his twin was electric. A ripple seemed to rush through Charles's frame, and with a shout of sudden fury he began to climb back to his feet. Caught by surprise, Jack made a grab for the injured arm, but Charles swung around, clubbing at him savagely with the gun. Jack fell without a sound, and Steven started forward, aghast.
"Charles, for heaven's sake! What the bloody hell has got into you? You've always been a prat, but this has gone well past the usual family stupidity. Put that gun away and stop acting like a--" He broke off, the insult dying on his lips. Charles was pointing the gun at him, its muzzle no more than a few inches from Steven's chest. They were closer now than they had been before, and Steven could see the look in the other man's eyes. The look that said that this wasn't Charles being typically idiotic, or unexpectedly vicious. It was a man on the brink of insanity. Steven turned quite pale.
"Charles?"
"You're dead."
"It wasn't me that you killed. Look, it's quite alright really. I mean, okay, so it doesn't seem it, but--"
"You're dead." The hand holding the gun was jabbed forward, unexpectedly, so that it struck Steven's chest with a sharp blow. Charles jumped back as though stung.
"Dead - but solid enough, see?" Steven wanted very much to do something decisive - to see about disarming his brother, perhaps, or at the very least giving him a good shake - but he didn't dare try. Charles was far too unpredictable, and his finger far too ready on the trigger.
"Not for long," he growled, and his hand seemed to tighten around the gun. Steven's eyes widened.
"Now just a--"
"Duck!" It was Jack's voice; Jack's form that came barrelling out of the darkness behind Charles. Steven moved instinctively, though he had no real idea which way to go. It wasn't as though there was very much room. Crashing into Charles's back, one hand going desperately for the younger twin's gun, Jack started to wrest it away. There was a brief, brutal struggle, and the gun fired twice. Charles went limp.
"What the--" Steven, who had thrown himself to the ground just to stay out of the way, scrambled over now on hands and knees. "Charles? Is he--"
"The bullets went into the floor." Jack slid off the other man, clambering wearily to his feet. There was blood on his head, Steven saw, though his main concern was for his brother. Jack at least was still moving.
"But Charles--"
"His head kinda went into the floor too." Jack hauled up the unconscious man, though there wasn't really the space to swing him up onto a shoulder. "We need to move."
"The police--"
"Will have heard the gunshots, yeah. With luck they won't be able to figure out where they've come from, though. Where to?"
"Huh?"
"Steven, this is your house, remember? Where can we go? I'm guessing that teleport of yours can't take the three of us."
"No. Two's its limit, really. None of us is especially small." Helping Jack to lift the unconscious Charles, Steven dithered somewhat. "My father's study? They'll never get in there."
"No, and neither will we. How are we supposed to get down the stairs? Look, just get us somewhere where we can shut him up for a bit, and talk through what happens next."
"The library." Getting a better hold on Charles, Steven started towards the blockage in the tunnel. It wasn't easy to bend down and pick up the fallen torch, but he managed it, shining it onto the obstacle ahead. "Like I said, the passages have been mostly blocked off, but by the look of things they've decayed so much, I'm not sure that matters anymore. I think I can get us into the library. The police seemed to have searched downstairs already, so we should be okay in there for a while. We just need to get past this stuff here."
"No problem." Propping Charles up against the wall, Jack looked the debris up and down, then grabbed the nearest fallen floorboard and tore it loose. There was a shower of dust and cobwebs, but undeterred, Jack started forward, shoulder against the blockage. The mess of boards and plaster shifted, then with an almighty crack, gave way. Jack stumbled over the pile, and shook dust from his hair like a dog shaking itself after a bath.
"That was subtle," commented Steven. Jack dragged Charles over the debris, and shot the other twin an eloquent glare.
"After that gun went off, being quiet stopped being quite so important. Just get us somewhere where we've got some space to breathe, yeah? Where next?"
"Give me a second. I've not been been to the library by this route since before my mother blocked the tunnel entrance. That's a long time ago, Jack."
"Half the Cardiff police force is on the other side of that wall."
"I know!" He breathed out, heavily, mindful suddenly of the dust in the air. "Okay, we're on the second floor at the moment. The library is on the first floor. It should be straight ahead this way, and then down a level. There's a big cupboard in the library, and the back wall of it leads straight into these passages. Or it did." He sighed. "Oh, forget it. Come on."
They stumbled along over rotting floorboards, attacked at every step by dangling cobwebs and protruding nails. The unconscious Charles was just as much of an obstacle, draped between them like a curtain. In the narrow passageway they had to stagger along sideways, the single torch illuminating little save more holes, more cobwebs, and more patches of encroaching damp. Jack coughed bleakly.
"You people don't believe in house maintenance, do you."
"It was a part of the family history that my mother didn't exactly celebrate."
"Really? And with the two of you following the family traditions so splendidly."
"That's not funny, Jack." Steven frowned. "Well okay, maybe it is. I'm lucky she's dead, I suppose. She'd be pretty cross with me right now, otherwise."
"I think half of Cardiff is pretty cross with you right now." They took a moment to rest, half wedged in the tunnel, with Charles between them. The dust and cobwebs clung to them, and in the torchlight they could see each other grinning. The shouts of policemen drifted to them through thick walls; beneath ill-fitting skirting-boards; alongside the breeze that floated through the holes in the floor.
"Reminds me of our first time," said Steven suddenly. "Hiding out in that cabin. Police looking for us, and an unconscious guy to keep us company. Bounty hunter, wasn't he?"
"Yeah." For a second the blue glint in Jack's eyes gleamed with more than its usual share of mischief; then he changed the subject rather sharply. "Come on. Library. I need room to move."
"And I need to get Charles started on a diet." Shifting his brother's weight slightly, Steven started forward again. "Or will the prison service be seeing to that?"
"The what?" Jack stumbled on something he couldn't see, though by the way it ran off, he was betting that it had been a rat.
"Prison service. He's a murderer."
"You think any court would convict him right now? It's not a prison he'd be heading for." Muffled shouts echoed around them again, as more police officers joined in the search. Steven struggled to negotiate a corner.
"You will hand him over to the authorities, then?"
"How? They've got no evidence. I'll give him something. Probably for the best in the long run. He won't remember what he's done, and that'll help him heal."
"Heal? How can he heal if he doesn't know he's damaged? You're talking about making him forget. Mr 'My Bosses Stole Two Years Of My Life', and you're talking about making him forget?"
"Not a whole two years, no. Just a few facts. A few details, a few names. What, you'd rather he go to prison for the rest of his life? Or wind up in Broadmoor? He murdered somebody. Yeah, okay, so he thought it was you; and maybe that's acceptable behaviour in your family, I don't know. But it wasn't you he killed, was it. This is my case now, not the police's, and that means it's my justice he faces. I can help him."
"By making him forget?"
"Yes! By making him forget my friends and I, and that he thinks he killed you. By letting him go back to living his old life, inheriting the money your father left you. He won't be a danger to anybody else. Now do we really have to discuss this now?"
"You don't know that he won't be a danger. You can't know what his mind will do. It's all broken up, and he needs to deal with that, not have it hidden from him."
"So you do want him in prison, then? Well sorry, Steven, but they don't tend to arrest people for no reason. And all they could possibly have on him is the thefts you committed. They got no murder, no body, and no reason to suspect him of killing anybody."
"I didn't mean prison, no. You think I'd want that? I know you want your work to stay secret, and I know you don't want to wind up co-operating with the police in all this. You think I'd ask that either? Let me take him with me, Jack. I'll leave Earth. I'll take him... somewhere. I don't know. But he won't be able to get back here again, and I can find some way to fix him."
"You want to be trapped in a spaceship with a man who wants to kill you?"
"For the money. He wants to kill me for the money, yes. What reason has he got to kill me out there? What use is dad's money on another planet?"
"You're mad." Jack fought off a particularly resilient cobweb, and tripped over another rat. It screeched at him in annoyance, and he could practically see it shaking its fist as he passed. "I can't let you fly off with a psychopath strapped into the seat next to you. It'd be asking for trouble. It'd be--"
"He's not a psychopath. He knows he's done wrong. Why do you think he's acting like this? He's a mess. I can help him, Jack. I--"
"Steven?" Charles was stirring, his mind homing in on the familiar voice, and hauling itself back from the gloom. "Steven, I... No. No, wait a minute. I... didn't I... You're supposed to be--"
"Here we go again." Jack gave the slumped figure a jerk, in the hope of either silencing him, or tugging him back to proper wakefulness. At least then he could bear his own weight. Charles mumbled something indistinct, then stumbled, and with an almighty tug, tore himself free. Caught off guard, Jack went for his gun, but before he could reach it, Charles hurled himself back at his two captors, with a bellow of pure, blind rage. Steven let out a cry of surprise, slipped, collided with Jack, and together all three of them crashed into the outer wall. Its tough, unyielding stone gave no quarter, and they rebounded in a confused mass, crashing instead to the floor. Predictably it gave way, and with a terrible rendering of wood, clattered in pieces to the floor below, its human cargo with it. Once again, the clouds of damp dust rose and settled, and once again the shouts of the police showed that the chase had been renewed. Somewhere in the midst of a pile of debris, Jack groaned and raised his head. Something was pinning him to the ground. Something warm and dusty and extremely familiar. A smile crawled across his face.
"Steven... ordinarily I rather enjoy being underneath you. But right now..."
"Point taken." Something stirred, and mumbled, and rolled to one side - not that there was much of a side to roll to in these cramped tunnels. "Bloody hell. The police can't have missed all that."
"Probably thought it was outside. Or... hell, I don't know." Jack sat up, wishing for a new head. "If I've ruined my coat, I'll turn the pair of you in. I only have a limited supply of these things, you know."
"So get a personal tailor." Steven made it to his feet. "The torch is broken."
"Wonderful." Jack flipped open the cover of his wrist computer, giving them a small, bright blue glow. It didn't illuminate much, but it was better than total blackness. "Where's Charles?"
"I think this is him over here." Steven knelt beside his brother. "He's not moving."
"Well don't move him, then." Jack gave the still figure a quick scan. "Nothing broken. Well, nothing you'll damage by picking him up, anyway. Where's that torch?"
"Here. And still broken." Steven handed it over, without the faintest idea why his companion might want it. "Library. Right?"
"Unless you can think of anything better?"
"No. I doubt we could find our way to one of the outside exits through these tunnels. Not without killing ourselves. And they're blocked off anyway."
"Yeah. Remind me to go thank your ancestors for that one day." Managing to hook one of Charles's arms around his neck again, Jack settled the extra weight as comfortably as he could. "Okay. Where is the library, then?"
"Not far. That was a quite a shortcut we just took." Steven staggered along, limping quite badly now. "Think I broke a bone in my foot." Jack grinned.
"It is just like our first time." He manoeuvred about, trying to take the greater part of Charles's weight. "Can you hear anything from the police?"
"Nothing too definite. Murmurs. They're shouting, though, that's why we can hear them. I doubt they'll be able to hear us talking."
"You forgetting our little demolition job back there? Forget who can or can't hear us. Just get us out of here before they get in. This is no place for a confrontation."
"Just up ahead. I've totally lost my sense of direction in here, but it must be up ahead. I just need to find out how to open the wall."
"That'd be a help."
"Take Charles. Hang on." Disappearing out of the wristband's tiny field of light, Steven thumped and thudded around on the floor. "If it's bricked up, we're probably screwed."
"Think positive." Jack shifted Charles's weight again, uncomfortable now. The air was increasingly damp and unpleasant in the tunnel, and he could feel that the floor here was just as feeble as the one above. It moved slightly as he did, and the sound of much scurrying underfoot told him that the tunnel's other occupants had about as much faith in it as he did. Another almighty crash and the police were sure to realise what was going on; if they hadn't already. They were hardly stupid.
"Steven..."
"It's here, Jack. If I can just..." There was more scuffling, but human this time, rather than rodent. "I've found the handle, but it won't move. I think my mother must have had something done to the spring that operates the mechanism."
"Let me take a look." Lowering Charles to the floor, Jack crouched down beside Steven, wishing for a better light. With a bit more time, he could repair the torch. It wasn't of human design, and didn't rely on fragile bulbs and batteries. For now, though, his priority was getting out of this cramped and awkward place.
"The catch is here." Steven took his hands, guiding them to the spot. "In theory, you pull it up, rather a handbrake. It won't move, though."
"Oh for a sonic screwdriver." Jack gave a low laugh. "And to think I once thought that was a rubbish idea."
"A what?" Steven frowned at him, face dark and blue in the bad light from the tiny computer. "Who'd make a screwdriver sonic? What--"
"Never mind." Jack gave the handle a tug, and felt its determined immovability. "You got your penknife?"
"Yes. Here." Steven dug out the tool, and Jack used it to scrape the rotting wood away from the catch. Underneath was a spring, and a series of small cogs. Somebody had jammed a long metal bar through the middle of it all.
"Not subtle, your mother." Jack lay down, reaching for the bar. Rats scurried past, and one bit hard at his hand. He winced, but kept pushing. Finally, when he was more or less buried up to his shoulder in mildew, dust, and other things that he didn't much want to think about, his fingers closed at last around the bar. He tugged. Predictably, it refused to move. He tugged again. One of these days, he was really going to have to think about trying to build himself a sonic screwdriver. Or a sonic pipe wrench. Hell, a sonic toothpick would be better than nothing. Something else bit his hand, and he felt blood run down his fingers. Terrific.
"There are passages here!" The voice rang out above them, loud in the narrow space, the holes in the floor making the noise carry further. Jack groped all the more desperately. There would be torches next. Bright beams of light sweeping the place. In their dark-coloured clothing, with all this dust and rubble, they might not be seen - but he didn't really believe that they wouldn't be. The way his luck was going just now, they'd be seen straight away, and probably by police marksmen. His fingers slipped off the metal bar, and he swore, very rudely, in Venusian. It was a good language for swearing in; guttural and harsh and staccato; a language for being angry in. Beside him, rather unexpectedly, Steven stifled a giggle.
"What's so funny?" He dared not speak too loudly, having just heard how sound travelled in here. The police were on their way now, he knew. In no time at all they would be discovered, and he had no idea what would happen then. He would get out of it all easily enough; that would be no problem. He couldn't work the same magic for Steven, though. There had been guns, and robberies, and there would be questions and trouble - and could the psi-field hold out against all those policemen, all looking for evidence? Looking for stolen tools and a generator, and anything else that might have been taken? And then what might happen? Half the Cardiff police force, face to face with a purple and silver spaceship hidden in a garage. He didn't know if they would believe in what it was, though he was sure enough that some of them would. He only knew that he didn't want them to find it, and he didn't want Steven locked away. Gwen probably felt that he should be. Jack, however - Jack's eyes saw everything from an entirely different angle. He had to get the stupid fool thief out of here, as soon as possible; and yet here was the stupid fool thief laughing at him for trying.
"Sorry." Steven looked contrite. "I just love it when you swear in alien languages. It's cute."
"What makes you think I was swearing?" His fingers slipped again, and he refrained from spitting out another alien curse. Steven smirked.
"I may not have your... talent with alien tongues... but I know a swear word when I hear it. And I've heard some fascinating ones from you in the past." He grinned. "I'd make a cunning linguist joke, but I'm guessing I wouldn't be the first."
"You wouldn't even be the first to guess you're not the first." Jack smiled faintly, and his hand sought the metal bar again. Cobwebs caught in his fingers.
"You're hot when you're under pressure," Steven told him. It was Jack's turn to laugh.
"You do pick your moments."
"Says the guy who seduced me in the middle of a police raid, with an unconscious bounty hunter tied up under the bed."
"I seduced you?" Finally he seemed to have a good grip on the bar. He tugged harder this time. Something moved. Up above him, somebody was shouting about footprints in the dust. Steven smirked.
"I was innocent until you came along. You do so much seducing, you don't even notice you're doing it."
"You could have something there." A light blinked into being far above. Jack saw it shine. Next to him, as though reacting to the sudden, distant glow, Charles stirred. Jack pulled harder. The torchlight swept nearer. Charles mumbled something indistinct, and his hands twitched. Rats squeaked, startled by the light; for a second, Jack could see the metal bar more clearly; could see his hand gripping it, and the wrist band above the hand, and the gleam of a tiny aeroplane-shaped cufflink above that. He could even see the blood on his fingers, and the puncture mark that had caused it. Any second, somebody was going to see him, too. He tugged again - and with a short, harsh clunk, the metal bar came free, the catch swung up, and a section of the wall slid away. Steven was tumbling through, and Jack was scrambling after him, and they were both tugging at Charles - and then they were through, and the tunnel was bright with light; and they knew that they had escaped once again.