Ianto had been walking through the undergrowth for a while when his vision blurred, and a wave of nausea washed over him. He doubled over and rested his hands on his knees, waiting a moment to see if he would throw up. When nothing happened, he took a deep breath and the nausea slowly subsided.
What was that?
Ianto straightened up and looked around. The scenery had changed slightly, with heavy clouds in the sky and a cold wind rustling through the leaves.
"Jack?" Ianto called out, trying not to yell. "Jack, something's wrong. Did you feel that?"
He received no response.
Ianto turned around and walked back to where he'd last seen Jack. There was no sign of his boss.
Then Ianto noticed a building in the distance. A structure that should not be there.
He just stood and gaped at it for a moment.
Westwood Mental Asylum didn't exist in 2008. And yet, he looked straight at it.
Ianto heard a dog barking and voices in the distance. He ducked and took cover behind the bushes. He saw Jack walking into sight, his hands raised, followed by a man dressed in a dark uniform and a large and angry-looking Rottweiler. They approached the building's backdoor and then vanished inside.
How was this possible? The structure had been demolished fifty years ago. Ianto recalled the strange sensation of dizziness, and an uneasiness settled over his heart. If the building was here when it shouldn't have been, it could only mean one thing. They'd gone back in time. Did that mean that all the missing people they were investigating had also ended up here?
After the two men had vanished inside the building, Ianto crept cautiously closer to the wooden door. He spent some time attempting to open it, but it remained locked. Maybe there was another entrance somewhere, he just needed to find it. He walked along the wall, keeping a close eye on his surroundings and trying to avoid being seen until he reached the front of the massive building. He ducked behind the bushes and peered into the front garden, where an impressive driveway led to wide steps and large doors that marked the entrance of the mental institution.
Stone walls with iron struts surrounded the gravelled front court. A set of iron gates closed off the premise to strangers. Ianto lingered in his hideout for a while longer, contemplating his next move, when a car came to a halt in front of the iron gates.
Ianto peered through the fence again but quickly ducked back down. He couldn't risk being discovered. He heard the gate open and close as the vehicle approached and eventually came to a stop. Ianto heard doors slamming and voices fading away as their owners entered the building.
Ianto dared to look through the fence once more as his surroundings fell silent. As expected, the sleek black Jaguar MK1 was parked in front of the steps.
When Ianto noticed the person casually leaning against the driver's door, he quickly shrank back into his hiding place.
It was Jack.
Just not his Jack. Most likely the Jack Harkness from when the mental asylum was still in operation. What was he doing here? Ianto noticed the emblem on the radiator grill as he tried to get a better look at the car. A large T, enclosed by a hexagon. Torchwood owned this car. And the way Jack waited right next to it made him look like a chauffeur.
There were obviously Torchwood agents in the building. The question was whether this was a good thing or not. Ianto crept back slowly, putting space between himself and the entrance. When he was sure he was out of sight, he straightened up and walked along the wall until he reached the backside of the building. He climbed the high metal fence and jumped back inside.
The asylum garden was well-kept and quite large. Despite the heavy clouds, patients walked along the gravel paths, and birds chatter in the trees. While he was looking for a way inside the building, the glass doors on one of the balconies opened and he saw two well-dressed people step outside, talking to each other. Ianto ducked beneath the balcony and strained his ears to listen in.
"Griffith, don't you understand? This is our opportunity to carry on Alice and Emily's important work," Constance Pritchard exclaimed as she stepped outside.
Griffith White simply rolled his eyes. "Alice Guppy and Emily Holroyd. Of course. You've always been obsessed with them."
Constance gave him an irritated look. "They were both fantastic Torchwood Agents, with an unrivalled success rate. There are far too many rules in place nowadays to achieve the same results."
"I have to agree on that," Griffith admitted. The bureaucracy had grown since the Queen decided to centralise the Institute and base its headquarters in London. Torchwood Cardiff worked better on its own, London had no idea what it meant to guard the rift. Being bound to the capital felt like a millstone around their necks.
"I'm glad you see my point," Constance exclaimed cheerfully. "Alice and Emily's Immortality research was impressive. It's a shame that we can't follow up on their work."
Griffith shrugged. "Harkness has known Elisabeth since she was a small child. I'm not surprised she persuaded her father to prohibit experiments on him. And that's not going to change now that she's the Queen."
Constance huffed. "He's immortal. There's no lasting harm possible. Sentimentality has no place on the British Throne."
Constance Pritchard leaned against the balcony railing, looking out over Westwood's green garden.
"Imagine the possibilities now that we have a second immortal Jack Harkness in our possession. We won't interfere with our timeline because he is from the future, and there will be no consequences. Nobody is going to miss him if we lock him up here.
"I know Doctor Winslow well enough to know that he'll be very interested in picking up our research. If we give him free rein, I'm sure he'll spend his nights fantasising about winning the Nobel Prize," Constance laughed.
"I still think it'd be better to bury him or feed him," Griffith muttered.
"I don't even want to imagine what happens if we do that and he resurrects," Constance looked appalled. "I'm strictly against burying, immuring, or any other such nonsense. Remember, we're Torchwood. We seek knowledge; burying such a trophy contradicts everything we believe in."
"Of course, you're right. You always are, Constance," Griffith conceded.
We should refrain from bringing our own Jack here in the future. The risk of them running into each other is too high," Constance said, shaking her head.
"He's just our driver. He never sets foot into this building," Griffith objected. He liked having a chauffeur when they took the Jaguar. It was bothersome enough that he had to drive himself when they used the transporter.
He relented when he saw his fellow agents' sharp look. "However, I agree that people might be confused if they see him standing outside the car while also being inside as a patient."
Constance excitedly clapped her hands together. "I'm glad we've reached an agreement. Let's go back inside and talk to the director. Mr Powell must be informed that his visitor will be staying and will require special treatment!"
Ianto still crouched underneath the balcony, hidden in the bush work. He'd overheard the entire conversation and was shaking with anger. He knew Torchwood seldom operated by the rules and times had been different, but this was unacceptable!
When he was certain that both Torchwood Agents had left the balcony and returned into the building, he left his hiding spot and sneaked back into the woods.
Ianto didn't stop walking until he was far away from the asylum. He desperately raked his mind for a good plan. Being thrown back in time made him feel completely out of his depths. If Jack was here, he could draw on his experience. Jack always knew what to do.
Ianto had hoped to approach the Torchwood agents for help, but that was no longer an option. He realised he had to rely on himself to get Jack out of this situation.
The female agent hadn't said anything about what they intended to do with Jack, but he feared the worst. This was sometime in the 1950s or earlier, decades not known for their ethics in human experimentation and in which decent health care was still in its infancy. Also, he knew Torchwood. They didn't give a shit about the well-being of their prisoners.
His number one priority was to get into the hospital. Getting out and back into their own time was something he would have to figure out later. What was the best way to get inside? Barging in and demanding the release of Jack didn't seem like a viable plan. They'd just lock him up too. Or even kill him.
Ianto paced back and forth. Perhaps he should take a more objective look at this. How do you gain access to a hospital without being submitted or paying a visit to a patient?
He stopped dead in his tracks and his eyes lit up.
You apply for a job.
He could do that. He didn't have a resume or a passport, but he was confident he could pull it off. Nurses were always in short supply and in high demand.
And he knew how to talk himself into a job, he thought wryly.
Ianto lowered his gaze to his clothes. He'd only recently purchased this new suit. He liked the slim fit, but the modern cut was all wrong for now. Also, walking into the mental hospital with only his clothes on his back and no luggage would be suspicious.
He patted over his coat and reached into his pockets. Gun, scanner, cell phone – no, all of them were completely useless for what he intended to do, wallet – no, the money was too new, he couldn't use any of it. The same as the digital wristwatch Jack had given him for his birthday last summer. He realised, with a pang, that he would have to get rid of everything and bury it deep in the woods.
When he reached into his vest, his hand wrapped around Jack's stopwatch, which he loved to carry around. It was old. Older than whatever year this was. He could walk back into town and sell it. Hopefully, it would generate enough money to buy some necessities. Enough to make it more plausible that he was a drifter looking for work.
Ianto looked back at the building. Jack was in there, and he needed his help. With newfound determination, Ianto began walking towards the outskirts of Cardiff.
After returning from their private conversation on the balcony, the Torchwood agents included Director Powell in their plans. He wasn't thrilled about the prospect of keeping another stranger in his hospital, especially one as delicate as this one, but he had no choice but to obey their orders.
He picked up the phone again.
"Nurse Richards? Please come to my office. Also, bring a wheelchair. We have a new patient," Director Powell said, returning the handset to the handle with a little too much force.
"If you allow me to be blunt, this one sounds like trouble. Why can't we just dispose of him in the basement? Quick and easy, without leaving a trace," he said, addressing the Torchwood agents.
"Because it would be a wasted opportunity," Constance explained, and very much pointless in her opinion, but she kept that to herself for the time being.
He looked at her, questioningly.
"So far, we've only kept the harmless strays as patients. I don't want someone dangerous loose in the ward," objected the director.
"This is a unique case requiring unique treatment. I can assure you that it will be worthwhile. Please contact Doctor Winslow. He'll be pleased with his new patient," she said.
Chief Nurse Richards and Doctor Winslow were in the Director's office a few minutes later, listening to the agents' plans.
"It's critical that patient Harkness be kept under constant sedation. He has a high tolerance, so drugs lose their effect quickly. He'll require a permanent carer so that the dosage can be adjusted as needed. With a clear mind, he's extremely dangerous. He may look like a normal human to you, but I can assure you he is not."
The hospital staff looked at her, surprised.
"He has the rare gift of immortality, which means that no matter what we do to him, he will not die," Constance explained, quickly correcting herself. "No, that's not quite right. He dies, but he always resurrects."
"You're pulling my leg," Doctor Winslow said sceptically. Nurse Richards had covered her mouth with her hand in disbelief.
"No, Doctor, I'm not. I hope you see the benefit of this. There are no limitations to what you can do with him. Experiments, research, the sky is the limit. You have complete authority; all you have to do is share your findings and keep him in the hospital. He is not permitted to leave under any circumstances."
Doctor Winslow had been listening to Constance Pritchard's explanations with growing interest. He moved closer to the unconscious man slumped in the wheelchair, scratching his beard and considering the offer. Then he lifted his new patient's head and pulled up one eyelid to check his eyes. He turned on a penlight and flashed it into the now-open eye to check for pupil dilation.
"Fascinating. And there are no restrictions? I have free rein?"
"Do whatever you want. We can assure you, he always comes back."