Time Trap - Chapter Two

Author: Milady Dragon

Author's Note: There is a brief mention of events from "Thor: The Dark World" in this, but you didn't have to have seen the movie or anything. Just be aware that the Dark Elves tried to invade Earth and pretty much destroyed Greenwich before Thor managed to stop them. There is also minor Coulson/Barton mentioned in this chapter; it was stated that they were together during my story "Ghost of the Collider". Everyone believes that Coulson is still dead in this.

3 June 2014

London

"He really does look like Coulson."

Patrick nodded, not turning at the sound of his father-in-law's voice. He wasn't surprised that Jack had managed to sneak up on him; after all, he was the one who'd called the Director in.

The man in the 'guest room' had been cooperative enough to get him back to their London base, called Hub2. It had been built up in a former warehouse that had once belonged to Torchwood One, left abandoned after UNIT had looted it in the aftermath of Canary Wharf. It still belonged to the Institute, however, and when Jack had begun creating his new teams it had been the obvious choice to house the London branch of Torchwood. It might still look abandoned on the outside, but inside there were state-of-the-art computers, a small archive that was storage until items could be transported to Torchwood House – and which still held scrap and other things from the abortive Dark Elf invasion last year – an armoury that Patrick was very proud of, and of course the offices and rooms where the team could sleep if needed.

One of those rooms was where their "guest" had been settled into. Mickey had installed a locking mechanism on the door so he couldn't leave without any sort of warning; he might have been the victim of whatever the hell happened last night, but that didn't mean Patrick trusted him enough to let him loose inside their base.

"He isn't, though," Patrick replied. "The language thing was enough to convince us of that pretty quickly."

The man might have resembled his Uncle Phil, may have even sounded like him in tone, but that was where it all ended. The language he'd been speaking wasn't anything that any of them had recognised as being from Earth. He'd sent a sample to Cardiff, which had prompted this not-so unexpected visit from Jack Harkness.

"It's Galactic Standard," Jack supplied, "it's the primary language of the Human Empire in the future. I knew it at once." He paused for a second, and Patrick glanced over; Jack looked slightly embarrassed. "It's not in Torchwood's translation matrix, because I didn't think it was necessary since I speak it fluently. Which is why I decided to come down to talk to him in person. We need to know what he knows."

"I don't understand," Patrick murmured. "If he's from the future then why does he look so much like my uncle?"

Jack shrugged. "Spatial genetic multiplicity? What did the DNA tests say?"

"Martha's still running them, but so far he's human with some odd bits."

"Lots of odd bits in the future," Jack confirmed.

They both went back to watching their guest…only he wasn't doing much of anything. Martha had set his left arm – he had a hairline fracture of the ulna – and they'd managed to get him into a set of clean scrubs. He had fought a little in giving up his clothes, and Patrick was pretty certain there had been some curse words involved, but in the end the man hadn't really had a choice.

"Luke's got his belongings," Patrick said. "You want to see them before you talk to our visitor?"

"Sure, it might give me some sort of clue as to what we're dealing with."

Patrick led his boss out of the main area and down toward the science bay, which was Luke Smith's domain. Really, the best thing Jack and Ianto had done was to recruit the trio of kids that had once run with Sarah Jane Smith before she'd passed away. Luke was one of the smartest people Patrick knew – and he knew Toshiko Sato-Swanson and had once met Tony Stark – so that was saying something special about the young man.

Bringing on Luke, Clyde, and Rani Chandra had also given them access to Mr Smith and K-9, which was a real bonus.

The science bay was down near the archives, and was where Luke and Mickey hung out when they weren't on mission. The large room was brightly lit, with a genuine holotable taking up the middle of the space. There were computer screens lining the walls and a small, crystal tree-like growth that was a direct link to the mainframe back in Cardiff, installed by Toshiko herself, as well as a miniature version of the supercomputer, Mr Smith, both taking up pride of place against the far wall.

Luke was leaning over the table, where the items that belonged to their time traveller were laid out. He was examining what looked like a larger version of Jack's wrist strap, and glanced up and smiled when they entered. "Hey!" he greeted them.

"Luke," Jack said, smiling. Patrick knew that his father-in-law was particularly fond of Luke, just as he had been of Sarah Jane. "You find anything interesting?"

"Well," the young man began, "the clothes are a combination of natural materials and something nearly like Kevlar." He put the wrist strap down and reached over for the long, black coat that was draped across the table top. "The molecular analysis isn't quite done yet, but I've tested it with a few items here in the lab and it seems nearly impervious to anything I've tried so far. It's like wearable armour."

Patrick reached over and fingered the cloth. It felt like any normal fabric as far as he could tell. "He moved like he knew what he was doing," he commented idly, recalling the fight between the man and one of the assailants in the park.

"And he would be, judging by this." Jack picked up the large wrist strap. "This is a portable shield generator. Only the elite would be carrying one of them."

"We saw it in action," Patrick said. "It was impressive."

"I tried to get it to activate," Luke admitted. "Nothing seemed to work."

"That's because these things are genetically locked," Jack answered. "It'll only work for the person it was programmed for."

Luke's eyes lit up. "That's brilliant!" He took it from Jack's hand, examining it closely. "Is it some sort of sensor inside the leather? Or is it like the clothes, with the sensor woven through the material?"

Patrick couldn't help but smile at Luke's excitement. He turned back to Jack. "I take it that tells you something?"

Jack nodded. "It doesn't really narrow it down to a particular time," he said. "The Imperial Shieldsmen were active from about the 27th century all the way to my home time. They literally were the elite; they were the personal guards of the rulers of the Human Empire." He turned his gaze to the clothes, dragging the black shirt toward him. "These," he pointed toward the four pips on the raised collar, "are a rank insignia, although to be honest I really didn't pay much attention to the Shieldsmen, just enough to avoid them. I couldn't tell you how high he was in the organisation."

"But he was most likely someone important."

"I would say that's a pretty good guess. What weapons was he carrying?"

"There were two knives – they're scheduled for metallurgical analysis – and an empty holster that had to have held some form of gun. I also noticed a worn place on the belt where something seemed to hang, maybe another holster or some sort of scabbard I should say."

"A scabbard would have fit the picture. From what I understand the Shieldsmen did carry swords, although they were mostly ceremonial." Jack looked pensive. "It seems like our friend was caught unprepared by whatever happened to bring him here."

"But is he here on purpose, or accident?" Patrick wondered.

"If I had to guess?" Jack answered. "I'd say a combination of both."

Everyone still in the Hub2 was gathered around the monitors, watching as Jack entered the room where they'd put their guest. Patrick had sent most everyone home after settling the stranger in; but he, Luke, Clint, and Martha had all stayed. Tom had as well, but he was currently sleeping in Martha's office and Patrick was loathe to wake him for this since it was also being recorded.

The man, who had been lying on the bed, rose as soon as Jack opened the door. His body language said he was wary, but at the same time he seemed almost relaxed, as if he'd been expecting someone to come in.

Maybe he had. It only made sense that he be questioned at some point.

Jack had had Luke attach a small box to the sound controls for the monitor. Toshiko had sent it along with Jack; it was a patch to the translation matrix she'd built into mainframe, so that they could actually understand what Jack and the stranger were saying. It was rather slapdash, she's apologised when she'd contacted Luke to tell him how to install it; no one had thought to add Galactic Standard to the database, but Jack had been busily adding words and phrases into a handheld recorder on the flight from Cardiff to London. The Sky Gypsy had made excellent time, but then Diane Holmes was an exemplary pilot.

The man in the room spoke, and there was a split second delay before the translation came over the speaker. "I know you don't speak Standard –"

"Actually, I do," Jack answered.

The man seemed to instantly relax. He slumped back down onto the bed, and from the camera angle Patrick could see a relieved smile on his face.

"Thank the Goddess," the stranger said. "I was afraid there wouldn't be anyone in this time who spoke Standard."

"Well, to be honest I'm not from this time." With those words, Jack slid up his coat sleeve to reveal his Vortex Manipulator.

That had the man shoot to his feet and taking several steps back. "Time Agent!" he hissed angrily, dropping into a defensive posture that telegraphed just how dangerous this person was, even with a broken arm.

Jack had his hands up. "Not anymore," he said, obviously trying to placate the Shieldsman.

There was apparently no love lost between their organisations, Patrick mused. Jack had explained some of what the Time Agency had gotten up to, and that he'd had it on good authority that the Agency had been disbanded.

"My Vortex Manipulator doesn't work," Jack was explaining. "I'm as stranded here as you are. But I've made this time my home, and if we can't get you back to your own century then we'll help you make a home here as well."

Their guest was silent for a few moments, but then he began to relax once more, as if he was slowly accepting Jack's story. He didn't sit back down, but he did lose the defensiveness. "Where and when am I?" he finally asked.

"London, Earth Standard Year 2014," Jack answered, lowering his own hands and taking a seat in the only chair in the room.

That seemed to take the air out of the man's sails. He practically collapsed onto the bed, resting his elbow on his knee and his face in his good hand. He didn't say anything, and Patrick watched as Jack waited him out, because that had obviously been a shock to the man.

Finally, he lifted his head. His expression was one of horrible exhaustion, and Patrick had to wonder just how long he'd been on the run from whoever had been chasing him.

Then his back went ramrod straight. "I am Phillip Pendragon, First Degree Shieldsman and personal guard to Her Imperial Highness, Crown Princess Julianna, Heir to the throne of the Human Empire."

"Did he say Pendragon?" Luke asked, amazed.

"Wait," Martha interrupted. "Isn't that King Arthur?"

"Yes," the young man answered excitedly. "Arthur Pendragon, the Once and Future King."

Patrick didn't much care because he was still trying not to react to the man's first name. He glanced over at Clint, and he could tell his friend was having the same problem he was. It was bad enough that this person looked like their two years' dead loved one, but to have the same name…

He turned back to the screen, needing to put his attention back on what was happening in that room.

"Captain Jack Harkness," Jack was introducing himself, "Director of the Torchwood Institute here on Earth."

Phillip – no, Pendragon; Patrick had to call him by his last name or else he might very well have a long overdue freak-out and he really wanted to save that until he was back home and he could count on Alice to help him through it – bowed slightly.

"I have heard of your Institute, I am honoured to meet you. I put myself in your hands, Captain."

Jack looked a little surprised that Pendragon had heard of Torchwood, but he didn't ask. Instead, he inquired, "Can you tell me when you're from and what happened to bring you back to the 21st century?"

"Of course." Pendragon settled himself, resting his hands on his lap. His back was still straight, but he appeared to be a bit calmer. "I am from Earth Standard Date the Fifth of February 5114."

Thirty-one hundred years into the future. Patrick shook his head, not quite understanding the lengths between their times because he was still somehow hung up on the fact that Pendragon was far too much like his deceased uncle to completely embrace the idea that this person was that far separated from the man he resembled.

"What I recall," Pendragon went on, "was that my niece was visiting me. Her son is pregnant, and she was asking me to come home…"

"Did he just say a man was pregnant?" Clint demanded.

"We've seen stranger things," Martha replied.

"You have a point," the archer conceded, although he still looked as if he wanted to dispute it.

"Her visit…distracted me. By the time I'd realised that the Imperial Palace had been infiltrated it was too late for me to really do anything. I have no idea how they got in, since the entire Imperial Homeworld is shielded against any and all sorts of teleportation…but I do know Winn and I were trying to get to the throne room when we were attacked. The next thing…I'm in the middle of a park at night, and I'm being pursued by six assailants who are doing their best to kill me." He sighed. "Please give my thanks to your people, Captain Harkness. They saved my life…even if I'm stranded here."

"You have no idea who they were?" Jack asked.

Pendragon shook his head. "They didn't wear any sort of uniform or identifying marks that I could see. I'm…I do hope Winn got away. I'd hate to think…" He swallowed thickly, looking down at his hands, which were twisting together helplessly. "Oh Goddess, her parents are going to kill me slowly if anything happened to her while she was under my protection…"

"It really says something that he's more worried about his niece than he is about being stranded in the past," Martha murmured.

Patrick had to agree with her. He knew, if it had been Alice or Steven or Grace…yes, he'd prefer anything to happen to him rather than danger touch his family. Even his team, his extended family…if something hurt them or did something to them, Patrick would have been gladly switched places with any of them to keep them from pain.

"We'll do our best to get you back to your own time," Jack said, "but you know I can't promise anything."

"I understand." Pendragon smiled, a small, almost painful twist of his lips. "Please don't think me ungrateful if I'm unhappy about it, though."

"If it makes you feel any better, I know how you feel about being stuck in a strange place, with no current way to get home."

"No, Captain. It really doesn't."

Patrick actually felt bad for the man. He was stranded far away from home, not knowing if his niece had made it through whatever attack had taken place back where he'd come from. That feeling certainly didn't outweigh his confusion over Pendragon's physical appearance, but it went a bit toward him being able to handle it better.

"I just…" Clint muttered. Patrick looked at him, and the expression on his face must have matched his own and it was heartbreaking. "This sucks, because while I know that guy in there isn't Phil, there's enough resemblance in him that it's gonna be damned hard to deal with that every day." He made a gesture toward the screen, which Patrick understood completely.

Patrick faced him. "Jack won't care if you take some time in Cardiff," he murmured. "Just until we figure out what to do with him…" He couldn't even say their guest's name.

"And what about you?" Clint asked softly. "This is as hard on you as it on me."

"I can't leave. I'm London Director; it's my job to be here no matter what. And that includes strangers wearing my uncle's face." His shoulders slumped as Patrick suddenly felt the weight of his interrupted night's sleep settled over him. "God, I'm just glad Mom's not here. She took Uncle Phil's death so hard…"

"That sounds like two other people I know," Martha replied, coming to stand between them. She looped her arms through theirs, tugging them a bit closer and offering what comfort she could.

"And what am I going to tell Steven?" Patrick asked fretfully. "You know how much Steven idolised him…"

"You don't have to tell him anything," Martha assured him. "This is Torchwood business and Steven doesn't need to be involved. There's no reason to upset him."

He took a deep breath. Martha was right, of course. There really was no reason at all that he had to tell Steven anything. "Okay," he agreed. "I don't, you're right."

"But you should talk to Alice," Martha urged. "She knows Torchwood and she'll understand. You both need to speak to her, because if anyone understands how weird shit gets, it's her."

"You are a good friend, Martha Jones-Milligan," Patrick smiled. "Why don't you get your husband and head home? I doubt there's anything else you can do here tonight."

"I still have analyses running –"

"And they will run without you. And take Luke with you, okay? He's a growing boy and needs his beauty sleep."

"Hey!" Luke exclaimed.

His indignation made all three of them laugh. "Get your gear," Patrick ordered lightly. "You don't have to go back to Ealing, you can sack out on Martha's sofa or something."

"I am kinda tired," Luke admitted.

Patrick knew that Luke, as an artificial human, had more stamina than most, but even he could court exhaustion, and a late-night callout with a run through a park would definitely contribute to that. "Go on," he urged.

"Yeah," Martha added, "my sofa's comfortable and you can be back in early enough for your own tests to have stopped running."

"Yeah, okay." Luke nodded, and then he was gone, heading back toward the science lab to get whatever he needed.

"And what about you two?" Martha asked. "You need rest, too."

"We'll hang around until Jack's ready to go," Patrick answered. 'He and Clint can camp out at mine and Alice's tonight."

"I have a perfectly good place –" Clint argued.

"You do, but you don't need to stay on your own tonight. You'd only wallow."

The marksman couldn't disagree, Patrick knew that. He remembered very well the time after the Battle of New York and Uncle Phil's memorial; Clint had been convinced it had all been his fault, that he'd somehow hadn't fought hard enough against Loki's mind control. He'd blamed himself for all the deaths on SHIELD's helicarrier, especially Uncle Phil's, and it hadn't helped that many of the people he'd once worked with had held it against him, as well. The best thing Clint could have done was leave SHIELD and come to work for Torchwood, and he'd gradually healed.

Now, this had to be raking up all sorts of shit for his friend, and Patrick was going to do all he could to help. And, if he was busy helping Clint, it might help him as well.

He looked back over at the screen, just in time to see Jack stand. Patrick cursed himself for losing attention; he would have to re-watch tomorrow to see what he'd missed when he'd been distracted.

"I'll be back tomorrow," he heard Jack promise. "Maybe we'll have some ideas by then. In the meantime, get some rest. You're safe here."

Pendragon didn't look convinced, but he nodded.

By the time Jack had rejoined the team, Pendragon was on the bed, the sheet pulled up to his shoulders. "That went better than I'd thought," he said.

"Do you think he's telling the truth?" Patrick asked.

Jack sighed. "Yeah, I do. He's got enough of the facts that prove he's from where and when he says, and he just seems…honest. Oh, there's some things he's hiding from me, and right now I'm willing to put that down to not wanting to risk timelines. He's being as truthful as he can be."

"Let's all be back here by noon," Patrick said. "I'm gonna call Erisa and have her come in as arranged, letting her know about our guest. She can get breakfast for him on the way in." Erisa Magambo was ex-UNIT, and leader of the tertiary team. Jack had grabbed her after an event that had involved the Doctor and a London bus, and she'd proved herself ever since. She'd been a bit serious as first, but being around the rest of the team and out from under UNIT's regulations she'd lightened up considerably.

"You're too late."

They all turned as Erisa walked into the partitioned area, carrying several bags with her. She looked calm and collected in her civilian clothes; Patrick liked her coolness under pressure, even if she tended to get a bit excited about anything unknown. He'd known immediately that she'd be perfect to lead the third team of Torchwood operatives in London. Not that the three teams didn't overlap; Jack had originally thought that having three separate teams would mean three different shifts, but Patrick had quickly put paid to that idea. Yes, the shift schedule did work in times when it was quiet, but Patrick wasn't afraid to switch up shifts if there were any late-night call-outs.

Just like now, when members of the primary and secondary teams had taken care of the fire fight last night. Before leaving for the scene Patrick had contacted Erisa and warned her they were heading out, and she's agreed to take the morning shift. Her team was made up of ex-UNIT and ex-SHIELD; Jeff Cable and Cassandra Conover had been a part of the exchange programme Jack and Fury had set up after the 456 incursion, and once they'd been proved loyal they'd remained with the team. Their third SHIELD transfer, Laura Paulson, had been HYDRA and, once she'd been questioned about just how much HYDRA knew about Torchwood, Jack had pumped her so full of Retcon she was in a near-catatonic state and was residing permanently in Providence Park, away from prying eyes.

The one HYDRA agent found at Torchwood House hadn't been so lucky.

"I understand we have a visitor?" she went on, dropping the bags on the nearest desk. The scent of bacon and spicy sauce wafted up from them, making Patrick's stomach grumble.

"Yeah, let me brief you." Quickly, Patrick told Erisa everything that had happened last night – she acted put out at being left out of a gunfight – and explained what they'd discovered from him. "Let him sleep a while then take him in something to eat. He's had a rough night."

Erisa nodded. "We'll look after him. Jeff and Cassie are due in shortly, and I've asked Santiago and Gena to come in as well." Torchwood London's two other members, Santiago del Rio and Genevieve Colvert, had interviewed at the same time as Patrick had, and it had only made sense to bring them on when Torchwood began its expansion.

The former UNIT captain's dark eyes were shrewd. "Can we expect anyone else to come after Pendragon?"

"They may," Jack answered. "But I'm hoping they'll have lost track of him once you removed him from the park. Unless there was some sort of tracker on him, which I doubt they had time for."

"There's just one thing I don't get," Patrick mused.

"Just one?" Clint asked acerbically.

Patrick ignored him for the time being, but yes…there really was more to this than met the eye, and he could tell Jack thought so, too. "Why bring him back in time? What was the purpose of that? I mean, he'd be just as dead if they'd killed him in the future."

"That is one of many good questions," Jack said. "As I said, he's being truthful…as far as he can be. Much of it was because of timelines, but yeah…he is holding something back. I'll talk to him again tomorrow and see if we can't get an answer for you."