Chapter Forty-Two

Sorry for the delay – a couple of friends and I went to see "17 Again"…

It was horrific. Mentally scarring, I tell you! –shudders-

Anyway, here's 42, although 43 isn't written yet, and I've got tons of schoolwork. :-/

Disclaimer: Nope, don't own it… yet… -evil laugh-

Ianto opened his eyes, and then promptly closed them again.

The wall he was propped against was cold and uncomfortably hard. The floor was slightly slick beneath him, though with what he had no way of telling.

He forced himself to open his eyes, to examine his surroundings in the impassive way he had been taught. Ianto took a deep breath, and realised that there was a gas-mask attached to his face. A long tube extended from the front of it and snaked across the floor, like the shed skin of a gargantuan serpent, to a box fixed to the wall in the corner.

With mounting panic, Ianto realised that there was no way of him removing the mask from his face; he couldn't't use either of his hands.

Where was Jack? The small room – cell – was empty, save for Ianto himself. He could feel his mouth drying, his hair prickling uncomfortably with fear. All he could think of was Jack – where was he? What happened? Why couldn't he remember anything? Jack?

Maybe, if he could remove this mask, he would be able to think clearly. He moved to pull it away, then thought better of it: the air had a strange feel to it, heavy and close. Maybe the mask was feeding him oxygen, because there was none in this room.

Or…

Ianto quickly cut off that line of thought. No point going there, he told himself sternly, just focus on getting out.

He checked the walls again. Like he had suspected earlier, there was no door.

Ianto jumped as a sharp knock echoed throughout the room. He swallowed, hearing footsteps outside, and wished that he had use of at least one of his hands.

Then part of the wall swung inwards, operating on an invisible hinge, and Jack tottered through.

Ianto stifled a cry at the state of him; his clothes were ragged and ripped, his face bloodied and his hands tied behind his back.

As soon as he saw Ianto, Jack's face relaxed with relief. He bit his lip, falling forward onto his knees and crawling close.

"Are you okay?" he asked in a rough whisper, blue eyes anxious. "Have they hurt you at all?"

Ianto shook his head. "I'm fine," he said, his voice distorted by the mask. "What happened to you?"

"Oh, the usual," Jack said with a crooked smile. "Torture, threatening, displays of violence – you get my drift."

Ianto's gut clenched, a heady sense of anger flooding his veins. How dare they… "Bad?"

Jack shrugged. "Not particularly. They didn't't kill me, at any rate."

"Small mercies."

"But mercies all the same." Jack smiled, his eyes sad. "How long have you been awake?"

"Not long," Ianto replied, "a few minutes." He considered, head tipped to one side. "Less, maybe."

"So you don't know what's happened?" Jack's face was taut, his eyes searching what he could see of Ianto's face, behind the mask, with increasing anxiety.

Ianto shook his head. "What has happened?"

Jack pulled a face. "Well, it's been enlightening to say the least." He nodded at the gas-mask. "You collapsed a couple of hours ago. The mask's for oxygen, as far as I can tell."

"I collapsed?" Ianto frowned. "Why?"

Jack looked away. "No idea."

Ianto didn't say anything, waiting for Jack to tell him the truth.

Jack locked his eyes with Ianto's, his expression raw. "They shocked us, when we arrived."

"Shocked? As in—"

"Electric shocks," Jack said. "Mind probes."

Ianto cocked an eyebrow. "How come our heads didn't't explode?"

Jack chuckled. "Our mind-probe's very crude. They have a much more up-to-date model."

"Again, small mercies," Ianto said softly.

Jack frowned. "Sorry, didn't't catch that."

Ianto raised his voice, "I said, 'Again, small mercies'."

Jack raised an eyebrow. "That's one way of looking at it." He shifted to sit on Ianto's right, so that their arms were brushing. Ianto knew that Jack took comfort from the contact, that it reassured him that Ianto really was there, alive and speaking to him. "But they found out about Torchwood."

"Everything?"

"A good deal of it," Jack said grimly. He let his head fall back against the wall and sighed. "Not good."

"Not particularly," Ianto agreed. "Do you know who they are?"

Jack grimaced. "No."

"Well, that's helpful," Ianto quipped, before seeing Jack's face fall. "I didn't meant it like that. It's not your fault."

"I can see the report: 'Sorry, I was too busy splayed out screaming to discover anything useful'," Jack joked weakly.

Ianto reached up with his bandaged hand to touch Jack's face, ignoring the sparks of pain that shot up his arm as he traced Jack's lips with a forefinger. "So it was bad."

Jack closed his eyes. "Yeah," he admitted. "But you didn't need to know."

"Did you die?"

"I think so."

"You think so?"

Jack smiled, though without any trace of humour. "It kinda got hard to tell, after a couple of hours."

Ianto said nothing, just kept his hand against Jack's cheek instead of a verbal apology, which he knew Jack would rebuff.

"They did keep on mentioning the 'other group'," Jack said suddenly. "I did hear that."

"What did they say about them?"

Jack's brow creased as he tried to remember. "I don't know," he said finally, brokenly. "It's just a blank space."

Pain dissociation. Ianto had questioned enough witnesses in his time at Torchwood to know that there was no way Jack would be able to break through that gap in his memory.

"It's…" Jack trailed off, shaking his head. He looked at Ianto, the expression in his eyes lost. "Why can't I remember?"

Ianto's heart seemed to break a little bit further at the scared and confused tone in Jack's voice. He dearly wanted to pull Jack close, to chase away the monsters and make everything right again. "It's just something that happens when there's too much pain for the brain to cope with," he explained. "It's happens all the time."

"I know that," Jack said. "But I can usually remember if I try hard enough."

Ianto blinked. "You can break through pain dissociation after it's actually happened?"

Jack shrugged. "I guess. Like you can break through retcon."

"But this time you can't?"

The crease between Jack's eyes reappeared. "No."

They fell silent. Ianto's ass was starting to go numb. He wriggled, trying to get a bit more comfortable. "They could at least stick us in a nice cell," he muttered.

"What were you expecting, Buckingham Palace?" Jack nodded at the gas mask on Ianto's face. "You're lucky you got that at all. I thought—" He stopped, evidently thinking better of what he was about to say, though Ianto could read it in his face.

I thought I was going to lose you again.

"Can I take it off now?" Ianto asked.

"Is your hand up to it?"

"Anything to get this off." Ianto reached up, and slowly, excruciatingly, unbuckled the clasp and let the mask fall to the floor. He breathed out slowly, his skin tingling where the mask had dug in. "That feels better."

Jack was staring at the mask, his eyes narrowed. "Can you pass me that?"

Ianto raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

"I've got a hunch," Jack admitted. "Just pass it."

Ianto picked it up, his hand screaming with pain, and dropped it into Jack's lap.

Jack bent his head, peering at the inside of the mask. "Ianto…" he said slowly, after a couple of minutes inspection, "do you feel any better?"

"Bettter?" Ianto echoed, baffled. "What sort of 'better'?"

"Better better. Do you feel ill?"

"Not particularly. What's that got to do with the gas-mask?"

Jack didn't reply for a moment, seemingly fascinated by the mask. "Because I think that they weren't just feeding you oxygen…"

Ianto felt a tight flutter of panic in his chest. He swallowed, unconsciously pressing himself closer to Jack.

"…I think that they were also feeding you nanogenes," Jack said, an edge of excitement to his voice.

"Like those little healing robots?"

"Like those little healing robots," Jack confirmed. "Which means—"

He was interrupted by the wall-but-actually-a-door opening again. A burly fish-man marched through, a handgun clutched with webbed hands. "Torchwood!" he said, his voice low and croaky, like he was unaccustomed to using it. "You come with me."

Jack had automatically shifted in front of Ianto when he had seen the gun, and now he stood up. Ianto got to his feet as well, unsure of what was happening.

"Where are you taking us?" Jack asked, his voice cautious. "What do you want?"

The fish-man paused, as if holding an inner debate. "We do not answer prisoners' questions," he finally announced, gesturing with the gun through the door. "You come with me. The weak one as well."

Ianto felt himself puffing up with indignation, but kept his mouth shut. It would only make things difficult if he put his foot in it now.

"I'm warning you," Jack said, voice low and deadly, "you touch one hair on his head and you'll have me to answer to."

Again, the fish-man appeared to hold a mental conversation with himself. "We have no answer," he said after a moment. "You come with us."

Jack looked around at Ianto, who nodded. They didn't really have a choice, whatever Jack might think.

With a small smile in Ianto's direction, Jack stepped through the door, only to yell in shock as an icy deluge of water cascaded onto him.

"What the hell was that?" he gasped, blinking water out of his eyes.

"All prisoners must be cleaned before exiting their containment pods," the fish-man said, his expression close to what Ianto suspected was amusement.

Ianto rolled his eyes and stepped through the doorway, a small whimper escaping his lips as he was subjected to the same treatment.

His clothes were stuck uncomfortably to his body as he walked beside Jack, following their captor along wide, low-ceilinged corridors.

Jack cast him an appreciative side-ways look out of the corner of his eye. "I've always wanted to see you in wet clothes," he murmured.

"Maybe not in these conditions, though," Ianto said, suppressing a shiver.

Jack noticed. "They haven't exactly cottoned onto the idea of central heating, have they?"

Ianto was prevented from answering by a throaty order from the fish-man: "Prisoners will remain silent!"

"Yes, sir," Ianto muttered, just loud enough for Jack to hear.

Jack shuddered. "Don't do that," he whispered. "It was bad enough when you did it to Owen."

"You have a filthy mind," Ianto informed him in an undertone, "really, sir."

"Please don't do that now," Jack begged, still taking care to ensure that they weren't heard. "You know what it does to me – I really need a clear head at the moment."

"You're always thinking like that," Ianto accused.

"Prisoners will remain silent!" the fish-man repeated, adding in an emphatic arm gesture for effect.

They kept quiet, sensing that they were pushing their luck. The temperature seemed to be getting colder and colder, the further they went. Ianto had a sudden realisation. He nudged Jack in the ribs. "We're under the Channel," he breathed.

Jack's eyes widened, and he nodded. "Makes sense," he mouthed back.

Then they rounded a corner and were confronted by a large glass tank.

Floating inside it were masses and masses of brains.

Hope you all liked it – remember, reviews are good! (REVIEWS = HAPPY WRITER = PRODUCTIVE WRITER = MORE, LONGER CHAPTERS, FASTER) ;-)