Ianto watched Jack leave, then closed his eyes and sighed. It had been hard, putting on the mask of confidence he'd needed in order to convince Jack to agree to the plan. Ianto could admit to himself that in many ways, Jack was right: the plan was potentially dangerous at best, life-threatening insane at worst. Ianto was tired and in pain and yes, emotionally compromised by his connection to Canary Wharf and Ewan MacDaniel. And yet he knew, deep down, that these things could help him, that he could put aside his own fear and get the job done.
He had to, or he'd be a marked man until he died.
"Your Captain Harkness is a very unusual man," Dr. Williamson offered from behind him, where he was sitting in a chair, hands folded placidly on his lap.
"He's a good man," Ianto murmured. "Just used to being the center of attention and in charge, that's all."
Williamson chuckled. "I could certainly see that. He's also quite concerned about you, though." The doctor was eyeing him curiously, and Ianto had to look away.
"He's always concerned about his team members in dangerous situations," Ianto answered, and hoped the doctor accepted it. He didn't.
"But you're more than a team member to him, Ianto," said Dr. Williamson softly.
As Ianto wasn't quite sure how true that was, he merely shrugged and denied it. "No more than the others. I take care of the team. That's my job. It's a bit odd being the one in trouble this time."
"Hmm." The doctor nodded sagely. "I suspect you take care of him more than the others, though, and I imagine he probably needs it with all that bravado and swagger hiding whatever's underneath. Just remember it works both ways: he has every right to be worried about you, and someday you might need to let him take care of you."
"Because I won't get out of this?" Ianto asked, a bit too sharply, but Williamson only chuckled.
"Not at all. I think you'll do fine, though I worry about your injury. I'm just pointing out what I see."
"I'm not sure it's any of your business," Ianto replied stiffly.
"My patient's health is my business." The doctor stood and retrieved Ianto's mobile from the table. "Now, I believe you have a phone call to make. Are you ready?"
"Not really," Ianto murmured. "But I'll do my best." He took several deep breaths before walking toward the bedroom for semi-privacy, trying to put the doctor's strange comments aside for the moment; he'd puzzle them out later if he needed to.
Recalling the number Jordan Ford had given him—a direct private line to Commander Michael Ian Collins—Ianto framed his words in his mind and took one more breath before he sat down, crossed his legs, and tried to appear more calm than he actually felt as he pressed the numbers with shaking hands.
The line rang twice. "This is Commander Collins," said a terse voice on the other end. Ianto began his charade.
"I'm sorry to bother you, sir, but my name is Ianto Jones. I'm with Torchwood Three, in Cardiff." He rattled off his identification number and a priority code he knew would convince the commander that he was, indeed, who he said he was and that he had an exceptional reason for calling.
There was a pause, which may or may not have been for any number of reasons—surprise, or simply confirming his identity. "Ianto Jones. You're Harkness's general support, right?"
"Yes, sir. I've spoken with General Brightman on several occasions."
"Then perhaps you should be speaking to him now," said the commander, and Ianto sensed impatience in the man's voice.
"No sir, I need to speak with you. Personally."
Another pause. "How did you get this number?" asked Collins, and Ianto smiled to himself, his answer ready.
"We're Torchwood, sir. We have our ways of finding out just about anything."
"I'm sure you do," murmured the other man. "I'm sorry, Mr. Jones, but this is not a good time."
"Commander Collins, I'm afraid this is the only time," Ianto insisted. He lowered his voice as if trying to keep a secret. "Someone is trying to kill me."
"What?" It was a quick reaction, Ianto had to give him that. He proceeded carefully.
"I have reason to believe it's part of a larger conspiracy, Commander. You could be in danger."
There was a bark of harsh laughter on the other end of the line. "I assure you, Mr. Jones, I am well protected here at UNIT from any sort of so-called conspiracy."
"Yes sir," Ianto hurried to say deferentially. He tried to sound hesitant as he continued. "It's just that I believe the survivors of Canary Wharf are being targeted, and while we didn't know one another at Torchwood One, we are both survivors. You could be a target as well."
"A conspiracy targeting Canary Wharf?" asked Collins. "What makes you think that?"
And now Ianto tried to make himself sound smaller, scared, which wasn't all that hard. "Sir, someone tried to kill me earlier today. I have reason to believe from something he said that it has to do with Canary Wharf. After doing some research, I noticed a pattern regarding the other survivors and several unexpected deaths. And then I was shot in the shoulder this afternoon. You could be next."
"So could you, since you seem to be good at surviving," Collins pointed out. He did not sound surprised or dismayed that Ianto had been shot, but apparently the man recognized this because he backtracked almost immediately. "Are you all right?"
"I'm fine, sir. I could use your help, though."
"I'm not sure how I can help you, Mr. Jones. This hardly sounds like a job for UNIT." It was exactly the brush off Ianto would have expected, and he nodded to himself.
"Captain Harkness has gone back to Cardiff for a Rift emergency," Ianto lied easily. If they were watching the hotel, they would have seen Jack leave. If they tracked him through London CCTV, they would know Ianto was telling the truth. "He's asked me to look into it, but I'm not sure who else to turn to. There are several more survivors who are at risk, sir. We owe it to them to protect them."
Collins chuckled, and Ianto hated the sound of it, because it was so dismissive. "We protect the planet from aliens and extraterrestrial threats, Mr. Jones. Not common thugs and murderers."
"Sir, with all due respect, Torchwood was all about extraterrestrial threats. Canary Wharf was nothing but aliens. I'm certain they are connected."
"Why?" asked Collins, perhaps a bit too quickly, Ianto wasn't sure.
"Because the first man who tried to kill me said he was cleaning up after Canary Wharf. There must be a reason these people don't want us alive. We must be some sort of threat to them. And as a former lead scientist and an officer in UNIT, I should think that would be of concern to you." Ianto had allowed his voice to go somewhat hard and accusatory by the end, and was rewarded when Collins sighed.
"No, it is. If what you say is true. We need to find out more before we go blundering around. What do you want from me?"
"Can we meet, sir? Tomorrow morning?" Ianto was prepared for the man to deny his request and almost held his breath.
"Mr. Jones, if you've been attacked twice today, perhaps we should meet tonight." This surprised Ianto, and his first thought was that Collins wanted to finish him off before he could stir up any more trouble. Or the commander might honestly be concerned about Ianto's safety…but Ianto did not sense that from the tone of the man's voice. He sounded more exasperated than anything.
"I've got plans to go underground for the night, sir. I want to shake anyone who might be following me. I'd rather they didn't know I was heading out to see you. Two targets together might be irresistible." It had already proven deadly for Ewan.
"What about your injury? Do you need medical attention?" Collins had lowered his voice; maybe he didn't want anyone to hear, or maybe he was actually concerned. Or perhaps he wanted to gauge whether Ianto was seriously injured enough to die on his own without a third assassination attempt. Ianto filed it away to ponder later.
"I'm fine, sir. It was not a direct shot." He put just the right amount of hesitation into the rest of his answer, allowing his voice to hitch as he thought about Ewan. "I was speaking with another survivor, and the bullet actually killed him before grazing me."
"I see." There was a long silence on the other end of the line. "Then perhaps you're right about this conspiracy. Who was he?"
"Ewan MacDaniel, sir," said Ianto. "He was a good man. We fought our way out together."
"I'm sorry to hear about his death, then," said Collins softly. "We'll meet at 0800 tomorrow morning, UNIT headquarters. I'll make sure you have a badge. Will you be able to get here safely?"
Ianto let a bit of confidence creep back into his voice. "Yes, sir. I've been shot at twice today and survived. Now that I have some idea of what's going on, I can do a better job of staying out of sight. I know how to disappear and hide."
"Right. That's Torchwood for you." A long pause. "Be careful, Mr. Jones. This sounds serious. I'll look into it and see you in the morning."
"Thank you for your help sir," said Ianto. He could imagine the other man nodding before he signed off. Blowing out a long breath, Ianto set down his phone and let his head fall into his hand.
It had been almost too easy. He was in.
Eventually Ianto stood and returned to the outer room, where Dr. Williamson was flicking through the pages of a golf magazine. He glanced up and gave Ianto a questioning eyebrow. Ianto liked the doctor. He was steady and calm, obviously knew what he was doing as a doctor, and had a hell of a lot better bedside manner than Owen ever had. Ianto wondered if the man had children and grandchildren, because he seemed like the sort who would dote on them while at the same time remaining strict and structured. It struck Ianto that he could have used a father like that. Which was a strange thing to be thinking at such a time, but then, he had been shot, and right then Nigel Williamson was the only one there to help him.
"How did it go then?" the doctor asked, standing with a smile.
Ianto nodded slowly, not quite sure whether it was appropriate to feel proud of his success when he'd only set himself up for more danger. "0800 at UNIT headquarters," he replied.
"Oh, very good, Mr. Jones!" Williamson exclaimed, almost clapping his hands together. "Are you sure you don't want to join MI5 and get out of the alien business?"
"I'm sorry, the what?" Ianto replied stupidly.
"Oh come now, Ianto, we all know what Torchwood is really about," Williamson waved a hand in the hair and grinned. "Although I suspect Jordan would rather not. Either way, you'd make a good agent."
"Hardly," muttered Ianto. "I got shot at. Twice."
Dr. Williamson frowned as he placed a hand on Ianto's good shoulder. "You survived. Twice. And yet you're going right back in. I'd call that commendable on any CV."
"Likely won't make my CV, sir," Ianto replied with a rare chuckle. "Torchwood is really an all or nothing sort of job."
"Call me Nigel," said the older man. "And I understand, believe me. Sometimes secrecy is in our blood when it comes to what we choose do with our lives. Now, if you're ready, we should get going. I've got your laptop packed and ready and taken the liberty of tidying up everything else, since we hardly used the place."
Ianto glanced around and smiled; Nigel Williamson was a man much like him in that regard. "What about my phone?" he asked "Won't they try and track me now that I've called Collins' private line?"
"Leave it here," Williamson instructed. "We've transferred everything important to a new phone." He took the mobile from Ianto and with a few swift keystrokes that Ianto recognized too well from his own clean up work, wiped the memory clean before tossing it on the bedside table. He handed Ianto a new phone. "This one has some of our best programs at blocking a trace. Could be useful in your line of work."
"I'm sure it will be," said Ianto, examining the sleek, updated device. "Thank you."
"All right, let me call my contact and get them to disrupt the CCTV in the area, then we can leave. Here's a hat just in case." He handed Ianto a rather large black fedora; Ianto stared at it.
"Really? MI5's best disguise is a hat?"
"Just a precaution. You're not usually seen in hats, are you?" When Ianto shook his head, Williamson took out his own hat and perched it on his head, looking for all the world a bit like an elder statesmen from the turn of the century. "Plus, it's stylish. You should take the sling off for a bit, bit obvious that you've been injured. Are the painkillers still working?"
Ianto took the sling off as Williamson made a quick phone call. He tried to flex his shoulder, but it was very stiff and sore. It was not unbearable, though, so he nodded. He'd certainly need more soon medication soon, though.
"All right. Five minutes and we're good to go. Ready to leave this place?"
Ianto glanced around. "Not really. It's a nice hotel."
Nigel grinned. "Oh, it's an exceptionally nice hotel. Great restaurant, good spa, adorable concierge who speaks six different languages. Lovely place, except when you've been shot in your own room. You'll probably want to find something different next time you're in London."
"I'm sure Jack can come up with something," Ianto murmured, too late realizing what he had said. Williamson winked at him.
"I knew it," he said. "You two make a…well, a good team." He glanced at his watch. "All right, let's head down to the garage. There's a car waiting for us there."
"Not the same car you drove in with, I hope?" asked Ianto quietly as they left the room. Nigel carried his laptop bag while Ianto simply tried not to jar his shoulder too much. As they stepped into the elevator, the doctor gave him an approving look.
"You are good, Mr. Jones. No, not the same car. If anyone's snooping about, I checked in for the night. So we'll leave a bit differently."
"And how will you check out tomorrow?" asked Ianto. The elevator was quick, and he felt a bit nauseous with so many drugs in his system.
"Oh, whoever's minding the room tonight just has to leave the keys in the morning, you know that. Hotels make it so easy for us secret agents these days."
They stepped out into the dark parking garage, and Ianto felt himself tense. What if there were more suits out there, just waiting to ambush him and the doctor? Head down and heart racing, Ianto placed his good hand on the gun in his pocket and followed Dr. Williamson a short distance to a nondescript sedan. The older man typed in an access code on the door and climbed in the driver's side door while Ianto sat in the passenger seat, placing the gun in his lap.
"Oh, I'm sure you won't need that," said Williamson, starting the car with keys Ianto had no idea how he'd got. "We're almost in the clear."
"And where next?"
"Safe house," said Williamson. "We've got them scattered across the city. I think Jordan's picked one not too far from UNIT headquarters. Less cloak and dagger to get you there safely in the morning that way."
"Convenient," Ianto murmured. "How do you keep them safe exactly?"
"Oh, that's a trade secret, Mr. Jones," Williamson laughed. He did not seem nervous at all as he pulled out onto the London streets and began to maneuver his way around. "Join us and we'll let you in on it."
"No thanks," said Ianto, unable to hold back a yawn. "I prefer Cardiff. Too many bad memories in London." He stared out the window as the memories of his short years there flooded his mind.
"I could imagine," the doctor murmured sympathetically. "And now they've all come rushing back to kill you." He patted Ianto's leg in support. "We'll stop them, Ianto. And if you like how we do it, we could always set you up in our Cardiff office instead."
Ianto shook his head at the man's persistence. "You never give up, do you?"
"At recruiting?" Nigel asked innocently. "Not really, no. Not when I see a good agent we could use."
"I'm not a good agent."
"That's not what I see," said Williamson.
"Then you're not seeing straight." Another yawn. "So stop trying to steal me away. I'm with Torchwood." And Jack, he added silently to himself, though he would never admit it out loud, to anyone.
"Torchwood got you into all this," Williamson said softly.
"And Torchwood will get me out," Ianto replied testily.
Nigel turned and gave him an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry. I've pushed too hard. Rest. We'll be there soon. Before you know it Captain Harkness will be back and your friend from Cardiff will have arrived. And then you'll be heading into the thick of it."
"Don't remind me," Ianto murmured. He laid his head back and closed his eyes, and it seemed as only minutes had passed before the car stopped in a fairly typical London neighborhood. Nigel Williamson led him into a nearby building, into the basement and through a long tunnel to another building, where Jordan Ford was waiting for them in a basement flat, typing away on her PDA.
There was food and drink and Ianto sat down hungrily. He filled Ford in on his conversation with UNIT, and she nodded approvingly. After talking a bit more, Ianto found himself starting to doze in his chair, until the good doctor gently took his arm and led him into one of two bedrooms and directed him to sleep.
Ianto explored it a bit—no windows, closet and dresser, a small bathroom with toiletries and a set of sleeping clothes. He gratefully washed up as best as he could, changed into the clothing laid out for him, and climbed into bed. Jack wouldn't be back for another hour, and Tosh at least three. He might as well get some sleep and let his body start to heal. He was in for a long day. He'd be playing a dangerous game, and while he knew he could do it, that didn't mean he was looking forward to it.
More than anything, though, he wanted to fall asleep with Jack beside him, assuring him it would be all right, and promising him once again that when it was all over, they'd celebrate his birthday properly. He was still not used to this sort of field work; he was usually on the other side, providing the backup and support that he would now have to rely on from others.
He just hoped that he survived to go back to his regular duties. Which was a very strange thought to fall asleep with as he considered all that he did at Torchwood on a day to day basis.
Author's Note:
I am not a spy. I am not a secret agent. I am not a doctor. I am not a psychologist. And I am not a commander in a military organization designed to defend earth from aliens.
I am just an amateur writer muddling my way through what I imagine it might be like for those sorts of people to become entangled in one of my stories.
All right, off to start the next chapter. Ta for all the lovely reviews!