Thank you for the amazing response to the first chapter. Hope I live up to your expectations!
Thank you especially to everyone who reviewed, (particularly those two lovely people with PM disabled who I couldn't thank personally)
Here's the next installment, as promised. Apologies in advance for the evil cliffie.
"I'm not going to let you out of my sight for a second," Jack vowed. He could feel the tension in the arm threaded through his own and was pulling out all stops to relieve it. "Which will hardly be a trial, given the way you look. Why have I never gotten you into a dinner suit before? Or out of one."
Humor worked where reassurance hadn't.
"If one more person says I look edible," Ianto growled, eliciting a giggle from the comms.
"But you do," Jack insisted. He hadn't known Ianto even owned a dinner suit. It was, Ianto had informed him, the one he'd worn as groomsman at his sister's wedding. That simple statement contained the most information about Ianto's family Jack had gleaned thus far, which showed how nervous the young man was beneath the unruffled exterior. Ianto had then gone on to say that the suit was quite the wrong cut to be fashionable now, and as such it would grieve him the least if it was irrevocably bloodstained.
Jack hadn't appreciated the gallows humor. He still didn't. What sort of man was he, to be dragging his….his date, they were supposed to be on a date tonight, weren't they…..out vampire-hunting?
Jack looked down at the man on his arm; throat dry from something closer to fear than desire. Ianto could pass as a vampire himself tonight, which was probably the point of the outfit. The stark black and white of the suit contrasted perfectly with rosy lips and pale skin. Too pale, perhaps. Jack dipped his head until his lips brushed Ianto's ear. "No one's gonna eat you tonight, Ianto Jones," he murmured. "Well, except me, maybe."
And suddenly Ianto's cheeks weren't pale anymore. An improvement.
Ianto ran a finger beneath the starched collar. The neat bow tie bobbed as he swallowed.
"This is too tight," he grumbled. Jack grinned.
"Don't take it off," Tosh warned via the comm. "There's a tracker inside the bow."
There was a tracker in his pocket too, which he was supposedly attaching to the vampire, or whatever the hell it was. Before it drank him dry, preferably.
Ianto rubbed his eyes next. He'd always had good eyesight, never needed glasses, even for reading. The contact lenses felt strange, though Tosh had patiently assured him he'd get used to them.
"Don't dislodge them either," Tosh scolded, silently, via text across the lenses. Tosh wasn't in the best of moods, either, having been left back at the Hub where she could throw the entire power of mainframe into their various surveillance systems. She might, Ianto thought fondly, still be sulking.
"I'm in position," Gwen announced. "The roof was a good idea, Jack."
"Naturally," Jack replied. "It was one of mine."
The lenses even made the eye-roll feel strange. Ianto stifled a sigh. He didn't know whether he was more uncomfortable at the prospect of becoming a vampire tidbit, or being the focus of so much attention. He had Jack on his arm, Tosh in his eyes, Gwen hovering above and Owen lurking, ready to provide emergency procedures Ianto devoutly hoped he wouldn't need.
"I'm good too, if anyone cares," Owen announced. He wasn't with them, either. Owen was content to remain in the back of the SUV, presiding over a chilled container. He might have waved Ianto off to the sacrificial altar with a snipe and a sneer, but he was taking no chances. Teaboy wasn't dying on his watch, thank you very much. There was enough of Ianto's blood type on hand to resupply his entire body. And then some. Anticoagulants could be tricky.
Jack smiled an unconvincing smile. "Are you ready?"
"As I'll ever be." Ianto's throat jerked. "We should probably split up though."
"Not likely." Jack's arm tightened around his own. "You're tempting enough as it is without leaving you unprotected."
"I'm supposed to be bait," Ianto countered. "It's hardly going to go to come after me if I've got a bodyguard. It'll just go after easier prey."
"He has a point, Jack," Gwen urged, via the comms. "All the victims were out alone. And I'll still be within earshot if you yell, Ianto."
"Assuming I can yell," Ianto answered dryly.
Jack showed no sign of releasing his grip on Ianto's arm. Obviously hadn't got the hang of gallows humor yet.
"It makes sense for whatever it is to hone in on targets with no one to protect them," Tosh added. "I'll be watching as well. And tracking."
Jack sighed. He was probably overreacting. Surely it was a good sign that he others didn't seem as worried as he was? "All right," he conceded, with poorly concealed reluctance. "I'll back off. Is everyone happy now?"
Ianto rubbed his elbow after Jack released it. He'd been holding on too hard.
"But don't go too far, will you, Jack?" Tosh continued hurriedly, the concern in her voice traveling easily across the airwaves from the Hub. "As Ianto said, he might not be able to scream. No one heard anything when the others were taken."
"Course not," Jack assured her. Maybe he wasn't overreacting after all.
"Not helping, Tosh," Owen put in.
Jack ignored him, frowning down at Ianto instead. "You're armed, right?" he checked.
Ianto sighed. The delay wasn't helping his nerves, not one bit. "Stun gun in my waistband," he confirmed. "Tracker in my tie, Camera behind my eyelids. Any more wired and I'd be…." He broke off, almost choked off. Too soon for Cyberman jokes. Always too soon.
Jack leaned forward and pressed his lips against Ianto's hair, finding himself inexplicably steadied by the mundane scent of shampoo. "Not letting you out of my sight," he repeated in a whisper.
Ianto pulled away, gently, indulging his own reluctance, then gave Jack a tiny push. "Go on, then," he urged. "Anyone'd think I can't fend for myself." Of course, maybe that was what they did think.
Jack turned back after only a few steps, suddenly noting the absence of Ianto's earpiece.
"Where's your comm.?" he demanded.
Ianto raised an eyebrow and patted his pocket.
"Put it on," Jack growled.
Ianto hesitated. Jack began to stalk back towards him.
"He can't draw attention by wearing it," Tosh broke in, somewhat impatiently. "There's a microphone concealed in the bow tie along with the tracker. If you make him wear the comm. as well, it'll create too much interference."
"Oh," Jack said, deflated. He hadn't realised he wouldn't be able to exchange reassurances with Ianto if he needed to. It was disquieting, all the more so as he suspected he was being overprotective, doting even, and was fairly certain the rest of the team found it amusing. Stuff the lot of them. Gwen would be far worse if this was Rhys.
And that particular thought had Jack grasping frantically for his professionalism.
"All right then, we'll need comm. silence," he ordered. "If Ianto squeaks, I want us all to hear it."
"Squeaks?" Ianto demanded. "Did you say squeak?"
"Didn't I just order comm. silence?" Jack retorted.
"Comm silence beginning now," Tosh said pertly.
Ianto amused himself by counting the number of times Jack looked back at him before finally vanishing around a corner. It was kind of nice; he had to admit, having Jack so concerned. If alarming.
And then Jack was out of sight, and the comms were silent. There were people all around him, well-dressed, fancy-dressed, some of them. Chatting, laughing. Having fun.
Ianto couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so alone.
Text slid across Ianto's eye-line. I'll be with you every second, even though you can't hear me, OK?
Ianto nodded, knowing the movement would register on Tosh's monitor. It was flattering having the whole team worrying about him, however unnecessary. Unless they really did think he was incompetent to defend himself.
Ianto sighed. He was his own worst enemy, sometimes. Now, how to be bait? He couldn't just stand here all night. That would only raise suspicions in the black t-shirted security staff manning the club entrances. The attacks would have all of them on alert, too, and he didn't want to find himself being escorted out of the precinct.
On the other hand, he didn't want to stray out of sight of his invisible minders, either.
Ianto eventually picked a nearby club, brightly lit, with a fairly constant queue in the front, and a few disgruntled rejects stalking away from the front of the line. Busy, popular, elite even. No one would notice him mingling with the crowd near the entrance, as long as he didn't loiter. No one without a reason to notice, at least.
Ianto circled the block, pausing at his chosen venue on each circuit. It kept him visible, within his designated area and hopefully left the security staff with the impression that he was meeting someone – or that he'd been stood up. Either impression would work for the hunter he was supposed to attract, too.
It would have been comforting if he'd gotten a glimpse of Gwen or Jack as he paced. But of course they were both too professional to be seen. They hadn't slipped off into a doorway for a quick snog, whatever Ianto's insecurities continued to suggest. No, they wouldn't do that. Either of them. Well, not during a mission, at least.
Tosh sent the occasional bracing text across the contacts, but there were only so many ways of saying 'Still nothing happening' and she wouldn't risk distracting him with anything more detailed.
After four circuits Ianto was simply bored, which was dangerous in that it might make him inattentive. He'd even welcome Owen's insulting comm. chatter at this point. As he paused after his fifth lap, the left-side security guard gave him a comforting smile. Great, even strangers thought he was a pathetic loser.
Nothing continued to happen until Ianto caught the toe of his shoe – a pointy-toed monstrosity of a bygone decade which Jack had seized on and Ianto conceded he wouldn't mind ruining - on a crack in the path well away from the illumination of the club entrance. He stumbled and fell, ending up sprawled inelegantly in the gutter. Good thing he wasn't fussed about spoiling this suit, either.
"May I help you?" A chill ran from Ianto's neck right down to the base of his spine. The voice was silky, with the not-quite-right quality he'd come to associate with an alien speaking English. Even Jack had that inflection, sometimes, when he was lost in memories. A thin pale hand reached down towards Ianto, a courtly offer of assistance that made his scalp prickle. Ianto dipped a hand into his pocket, lodged the tracking device between the web of his fingers, then gritted his teeth and forced himself to take the stranger's hand in his own. Cool, hard, dry skin. If it was skin.
"Thank you." Ianto said politely, over the pulsing in his ears. He looked up into a picture perfect Gothic vampire face. Edward, eat your heart out. Handsome to the point of beauty. Unnaturally pale skin, but however hard he looked Ianto couldn't detect the least sign of make up. Ruby red lips with delicate fangs protruding from amongst the smiling white teeth. Perfectly in character. What self-respecting vampire would omit the fangs? Dark hair tied at the neck. Immaculate evening dress, fitting its body like a second skin. Or not. No cloak, though.
The collected learning of Torchwood stated that shape-changers didn't wear clothes, they grew them. Ianto finally understood what that meant. No tailor produced that sort of fit, not if the person wearing it wanted the ability to bend their limbs. And there was absolutely no empty space between the cuff of the – thing's – jacket and its hand, which was going to make applying the tracker damnably difficult. Cloth fused to the skin, perhaps. Or cloth that was skin. Or skin imitating cloth.
Ianto's own skin began to crawl, seeking a safer body to attach itself to. This is it. Ianto thought, as he exchanged meaningless pleasantries, including pointed comments on the accuracy of the costume which he hoped were enough to alert the team. Hope you're listening, Torchwood. It would be beyond horrible it they'd gotten bored and ducked out for a coffee or something. They wouldn't, Ianto assured himself firmly. Of course they wouldn't. And it was, Ianto cautioned himself, still a touch early for the screaming. The man… err …thing…. err ….male thing hadn't done anything worse than offer him a hand up, after all.
"A nasty fall," his gallant rescuer/assailant continued, helping Ianto to his feet. It had a strong grip, with just a little bit too much pressure, fingers tight around his wrist. Enough to make him feel uneasy, even if he hadn't known what was happening. The hunt beginning, no doubt. Ianto wondered if it fed off its victims' fear as much as their blood, then wished he hadn't as his stomach roiled. He marshaled his remaining wits and concentrated on the task instead. The tracker slid out from between his fingers and Ianto felt it sink into the palm pressing against his - and hoped he wasn't going to be sick.
The creature flinched, eyes widening as it stared intently at their joined hands.
"Ah, sorry," Ianto said hastily. "Did my cufflink catch you? The edge got scuffed. I've been meaning to take it to the jeweler. Didn't realize it was that sharp. So sorry."
Clever, Tosh approved. Ianto's gut settled back into place. He wasn't alone.
The ruby lips bent into a tight smile. Had the other victims actually found that reassuring?
"I will escort you into the club," it announced. "You should rest after your fall."
Ianto forced a vacuous smile onto his face and allowed it to lead him, wondering if he ought to fake a limp. The weaker he seemed, the less careful it would be. He settled for leaning heavily against the offered arm, stomach roiling afresh at the chill seeping through his sleeve, mind boggling at the way its clothing didn't flutter in the breeze.
Ianto had to admire its strategy, though, on a level far removed from his thumping heart and sweating skin. Pick someone alone and hopeful. Someone denied entrance from the club, someone abandoned by a date. Someone with dreams to fill. Offer them not only that beautiful face and perfectly shaped body, but entrée to the elite club as well. The perfect lure. And the hopeful rejects might just make the perfect prey, too. No-one waiting for them. No one meeting them. No one to look for them, at least not in a hurry.
"Side entrance, for VIPs," the creature continued, tugging Ianto into an alleyway at the side of the building. And it kept tugging, harder, because now they could see the door, which was indeed the side entrance, flanked by dustbins on either side and tightly locked. Just what a VIP would expect. Not. And as Ianto tried to free his hand, as his other groped for the stun gun concealed beneath his impractical clothing, the creature began to transform without even releasing its grip on his wrist.
Ianto thought he screamed then, the requisite scream that would bring the team running, but he couldn't tell if any sound escaped his dry throat. Text flashed before his eyes, but he couldn't focus on the words, not with what was happening right in front of him.
Grotesque and totally fascinating. Stretching, shifting, changing from a creature of fantasy to a thing of nightmare. With a bizarre economy of effort, because it only changed the parts needed to attack. Hands turned into claws, one still fastened on Ianto's wrist, the other closing around the other hand as it scrabbled for the stun gun lodged in his waistband. Too firmly lodged to loosen in response to the desperate fumbling of suddenly nerveless fingers.
Both hands – claws - wrapped around his, pulling him closer, drawing him into an unholy embrace. The head bulged forth from a mockery of starched collar, color rotting from chalk white to bilious green, topped by faceted insect eyes reflecting his own face back at him. An unintended cruelty, perhaps, making him see himself contorted with fear.
Ianto struggled afresh as two long, rigid, needle-like protrusions emerged from where the ruby mouth had been, where a mouth should be.
He couldn't get away. He couldn't reach his stun gun. He couldn't even scream. He really was incompetent.
And he was being attacked by a giant bloody mosquito in an impeccable suit. The sheer absurdity made it worse, somehow. Insult added to injury.
The sense of injustice unfroze Ianto's vocal cords, just for a moment, a precious moment during which he had the tiny victory of forcing a sound from his throat. A cry for help, but not a scream of fear, not really. "Jack!"
The thing shook him. His head snapped back, and its eyes caught his. Caught, trapped, and held, and Ianto knew, now, when it might be too late to tell anyone else, why none of the victims had been able to provide a description of their attacker. Those facetted eyes whirred, compelling him to look, then dulling his vision, blurring his mind. Hypnosis he tried to say, so the microphone would pick that up, at least, but his throat was locked again. Ianto struggled to close his eyes, to break the gaze, but he couldn't. Just couldn't. Tried to struggle, to fight, but his muscles wouldn't obey.
They'd heard, Ianto thought fuzzily, because there was text scrolling before his eyes again, superimposed over whirling, opalescent eyes which might have been beautiful if they weren't so deadly.
We're coming. Hold on. We're coming.
The message repeated, over and over, in capitals now. Tosh must know his vision was blurring. Clever Tosh.
They were coming. Of course they were. Too late for him, perhaps. He couldn't possibly hold the thing off long enough for the others to get here. It was too strong and he was too weak. But at least they'd catch it while it was busy with him, stop it from hurting anyone else. That was something. Better than nothing. Better than all his friends at Canary Wharf.
Something touched his neck. Something colder than Jack's lips, sharper then Jack's teeth. Something that hurt. And he still couldn't scream.
Ianto's last memory was of pain turning to a numbness worse than pain, but his last conscious thought was of Jack. Guess he'd been right to worry. Hope he doesn't blame himself.
Hope he gives a damn.
More soon, really. When it's safe to come out from under the desk.