Ianto stirred, shivering in the chill of the desert night. The heat of day leaked away so quickly and left them huddling together in the darkness, hungry and hoping for sleep to come. Jack lay in his arms, drifting in a troubled sleep, and Ianto held him tighter and rubbed his arms to help him warm up more.

There was movement behind him, putting him on alert. He turned carefully so as not to wake Jack and strained his eyes staring into the darkness. Andrea was visible only in a lack of stars, but as he got used to the darkness he could see her more clearly, crouched over their bags.

He extricated himself carefully and tucked Jack in better, then padded over to her. She was studying her hands now, shoulders tense, and she glanced over at him nervously. "Jack still sleep?" she asked.

"Still asleep," he confirmed. She shifted away whilst he started looking through his bag for another jumper. There was one tucked right down at the bottom, filthy from a fall he'd had but wearable when he was this cold, but he knew it should have been harder to find it. Half of their food had been in his bag, and there wasn't nearly as much of it as there should have been. "Andrea? Have you been in my bag?"

"No..." She looked over at him and hunched over. "That would be naughty. Not naughty."

He shot her another look. "Fine, if you say so."

"What's going on?"

Jack had sat up behind him, and Ianto turned to smile at him. "Nothing. I just... must have packed some of the stuff somewhere else."

"Right." He got up from the pile of blankets and came to crouch next to Ianto. "What have you lost?"

"Half the food that was in my bag," he admitted. "I must have put it somewhere else."

Andrea murmured, dragging Ianto's attention to her. There was a piece of paper close to her, and Ianto reached out for it. "You said you hadn't gone in my bag! Jack, this is one of the Magenbrot packets."

"Ianto!" Jack reached out and grabbed him before he could lunge for her, and shifted his grip. "Ianto, what have you been lying in?"

He reached up to feel it and discovered sticky crumbs. A moment later he was blinking in the torchlight, and Jack's hand tightened on his arm. "What..."

"Ianto, there's crumbs all over you." Jack pushed him away. "Andrea hates that stuff, you know she does. You should just have said something," he sounded hurt more than angry. "I knew I should have made sure you were eating enough."

"It wasn't me! I just woke up to find her hanging around our stuff." He reached out for Jack and turned to glare at Andrea when he was batted off. "What did you do?"

"Ianto..." Jack sighed and turned away. "Don't lie, not about this. Not about anything."

"I didn't do it!" He turned and grabbed Andrea. "Why are you doing this?"

"Jack!"

"Ianto." Jack dragged him off her and staggered back when Ianto wheeled around and struck out at him. "What the Hell?"

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. It's this place and this... thing. She's trying to come between us." He held onto Jack and shook him. "You have to see that."

"No, Ianto, I'm sorry." Jack disengaged himself from Ianto's hands. "I never should have let you come with me. I need Andrea to show me the way, and I can't let this come between us anymore." He kissed Ianto's cheek. "Go home. I'll come back to you."

He shook his head, unable to believe what he was hearing. Jack seemed blind to sense – there was no way that Ianto would survive trying to get home, and it seemed clear to him that Andrea wanted them separated. "Jack, no..."

"Ianto, go." He bent and packed his blankets into his bag, leaving Ianto's for him to collect. "Be safe."

He choked, but felt rooted to the spot, unable to stop Jack walking away.

# # #

The forces of the European UNIT bases were massing around Athens. The bases, boarding houses and schools were full of troops, and at the edges of the city more troops camped under the cover of the scrubby trees, all waiting for the order to sail across the Mediterranean. French, German and English were the predominant languages, but everywhere Orlando went he heard a dozen different tongues, and the strange pidgin language that the older soldiers used.

He found Martin in one of the mess rooms, covering over a communal vat of stew that looked to have far too many cooks, all of them talking in the pidgin. Martin waved him over when he saw him, and dropped into English to introduce him. "This is Orlando, our sharp shooter. He's a scientist, but we don't hold that against him."

"Scientists have their uses," the only woman in the group told him, elbowing him in the ribs so hard he stumbled. "Especially if they can shoot."

"I try my best." he tried to rub his ribs surreptitiously, and gave up when he spotted their knowing smiles. "Martin, can I have a word? Whilst we take a gentle totally innocent stroll over to see what Rick's up to," he added.

"Oh, that sort of word." He grabbed three bowls and, despite the protestations of the other chefs, ladled out two bowls of the stew. Orlando accepted one and a spoon and, calling farewells over their shoulders, they set off back towards the headquarters at a brisk pace.

The headquarters were in an abandoned hospital on the outskirts of the city, and it had taken Orlando and Martin only a couple of hours to find half a dozen routes in and out and identify the quickest way to get to all of Rick's favourite haunts. They chatted as they went, waving their spoons around freely, and got back to the hospital sooner than anyone else would have expected. Rick winked at a pretty young aide going the other way down the corridor and pushed the door Orlando indicated open. "Rick, you have missed the... Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart," he stuttered, trying to snap to attention with a bowl of soup in his hand. "I'm sorry, sir. I didn't realise you were here."

Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart waved his apology aside with a smile and paused to look him and Orlando up and down. "I'm glad to see you both still with us, still trudging along. You're both doing a remarkable service for your countries - for the world." He looked over at Rick and back to them. "It's not over yet."

"It's never over," Orlando pointed out. He shot Martin a glare. "Take it from a scientist."

"Absolutely true," the Brigadier pronounced. "And on that note of wisdom, I'm afraid I must go and herd cats. I mean, chair a meeting if the regional leaders of UNIT. I had hoped to see the Doctor, but no matter." He tapped his stick on the floor once, saluted them, and left.

Rick raised an eyebrow and glanced at the bowls in their hands. "I don't suppose you brought any for me?"

"Not a chance," Martin scoffed. "So tell, what did he want?"

"Nothing. Well, not nothing. I have to do something for the war." He hesitated and shrugged. "I won't be coming with you to Marsam - I'll come, but by another road."

Orlando rolled his eyes at Martin and perched himself on the table next to Rick. "Rick, dear idiot, do you really think that there's any chance of that?"

"It's dangerous out there," Martin added. "There's aliens and bears and things... You'll need someone who can actually shoot, and someone who can cook without giving you food poisoning."

Rick grinned, despite his apparent best efforts not to. "Do you have any other uses, Martin?"

"Dozens." He scowled. "And I'll tell you what they are when they come in useful."

"I guess I'd better tell you where we're going, then." Rick pushed himself out from between them and pulled a USB key from his pocket. "UNIT have known for many years about the other beings that live on Earth. The corner-of-your-eye, shadowed figures we try not to see. Tosh and Owen got help from the tree spirits in the attack on the Master, so UNIT have decided that someone has to try and call them for help again." He paused and glanced at them. "And when I say UNIT I mean the Brigadier. And when I say someone..."

"You mean you." Orlando sighed. "Do you think it will work?"

"I don't know." He rubbed the drive with his thumb and stared at it. "UNIT will offer them a new era of cooperation in which they can live freely and openly, as long as they don't try to harm humans. And I guess we have to hope they take it."

There was a slurping sound from where Martin was sitting, and he peered at them over his bowl. "We'd better get our transport there sorted, then. You do that; I'll go pack us some food."

Rick called out to stop him, and smiled at both of them. "You two... thank you."

"It's what we're here for," Orlando assured him. "You'd have done the same for either of us."

# # #

Owen kicked a rock down the road and swore at it. "Of all the fucking stupid..."

"Owen?"

"Your Highness?" He turned to Princess Athene, Adrastros' sister, and forced a smile. "I'm sorry, I'm just..."

"Frustrated, I understand." She smiled at him and looked out at the horizon, where the ship bearing Rick, Martin and Orlando had disappeared shortly after dawn. "We all are one way or another."

"Frustrated and riding to war. Not the best combination." He leaned against the wall and looked her over. "You're armed."

"Again, who isn't in these troubling times?"

He smirked. "Hasn't the King told you to stay at home?"

"I seem to recall that you were given the same orders." Athene glanced over her shoulder, and then stepped closer to him. "I have friends in the Spanish troops. They will cover our passage with them for as long as is needed."

"Where should I be?"

"They are one of the last to sail out," she explained. "They sail three hours after sunset. Be there an hour before. My uncle sails out at the front; he will not know we are there until it is far too late."

Owen bowed low. "Your highness."

He watched her go, and resumed kicking rocks down the road.

# # #

Tosh was once again caught up in the rush of people heading towards the outer defences. The alarms had been sounded calling everyone to arms, and Yves Charlond, the only survivor of the attempt to retake Marsa Alam, lay dying in the infirmary. She broke away from her group and darted down the corridors, trying to find her way through to the command centre where she could be of most use.

The sound of unrestrained grief coming from a side room stopped her in her tracks, and she peered around the door jam. Commander Charlond was bent over the foot of the bed in which his son lay pale and still, with his shoulders shaking. She bowed her head and leaned against the doorframe in a moment of grief for the man she'd barely met.

One of the medics arrived behind her, and rather than send her away he pushed her into the room in front of him. Commander Charlond seemed not to notice either of them, and Tosh found herself assisting the medic in assessing Yves. He had few physical injuries, but he was running a high fever and twitched in some delirium. It was clear that he was critically ill, possibly at death's door, but he wasn't there yet. She rested her hand on the commander's shoulder for a moment and addressed the medic. "We should fetch the Doctor," she told him. "He seems to be suffering from an illness rather than injuries - the Doctor may know better what we are facing."

The medic hesitated for a moment, and that was enough for the commander to wheel on her. He towered over her, with his well-built frame making him seem even taller, and advanced on her until she hit the wall and could retreat no further. "The Doctor," he spat, "is a conjurer of cheap tricks, a meddler, and a bringer of hurt. Where he goes, disaster follows. My sons... Both dead, because of him."

"Sir; Yves, Captain Charlond," she corrected herself, "he's still alive. If I could fetch the Doctor..."

He slapped her and strode past her into the corridors. "Run for your lives," he bellowed. "Run for your lives. Marsam is lost. Run!"

"Oh shut it." The Doctor pushed Charlond out of the way and strode into the room. "Now, did someone need a Doctor?"