Torchwood: Divergence
Book Four: Hatchweliad
Chapter 37
Nearly a week later, the Rift had continued to have periods of abnormally high surge activity, randomly interspersed with its regular ebb and flow. Jack suggested it was just residual hiccups from the earlier span when they'd had the Scieron blocking the Rift. At least that's what he said in front of the team. However, he and Ianto both were concerned that the true cause was related to the future generated Storms they'd dealt with, and that the pending event was major enough to be destabilising the Rift as a whole. Without proof though, they didn't want to worry the others any more than they already were. Especially since Martha was set to be on leave for nearly a full week in a few days, her GP having sent her to a specialist for the ovarian cyst they'd discovered, because it required surgery to properly treat the condition.
So, they were just trying to handle the ups and downs from day to day, hoping they'd have enough warning to be able to prepare before disaster struck. This morning was giving them the impression that they were in for a quiet twenty-four hours, which meant projects and earlier mission follow ups could get taken care of once everyone had their coffee in hand.
"Ianto," Lois called as she came into the kitchenette where the young Welshman stood with their leader. "There's a great, hairy black spider building a web under the cot in the back room of the kiosk. Could you come up with me and get rid of it?"
"I'll take care of it," Harkness offered, seeing his partner's breathing accelerate slightly.
"You've got two minutes before you're supposed to be on the phone with the Prime Minister," Gwen reminded the American as she topped the stairs in search of the brew that was just finishing up. "I'm sure Ianto doesn't mind helping with the creepy crawly."
"He's busy," Jack insisted helpfully.
"Rubbish," Martha put in from the risers. "He's almost done dispensing our morning caffeine fix, and you really do have to talk with the PM about his trying to block the Queen's writ for upping our budget for equipment and giving us full jurisdiction now that Cardiff is the only Torchwood branch left."
"Fine," Ianto called, his tone flat and somewhat clipped. "I'll go take care of the bloody spider, so Jack can make his call. He was just trying to help me out, because I have a major problem with the eight-legged horrors and he didn't want the Scieron Guardian to look like a sissy coward. Coffees are on the counter, enjoy."
He was down the stairs past Martha before anyone could say another word, and out the cog-wheel door just as quickly.
"He's afraid of spiders, okay?" Jack frowned, taking charge of his own steaming cup as well as his partner's and aiming for the stairs. "Really had a hard time with the giant one UNIT sent you the necropsy report on from last week. And we've both been having a lot of restless evenings, last night was particularly ugly, so our moods aren't the best. I'll go call the sodding Prime Minister, the rest of you grab your coffee and get to work. Gwen, Martha, since you both pushed things in this direction, one of you gets to go up and help Ianto with the spider… now."
Then he exited the kitchenette to stride over into the office, leaving the women to blink after him. Turlough finally moved away from his workstation, paused to look up at the female half of the team and shake his head.
"I'll go up," the redhead stated quietly, turning toward the main entrance. "Just hope Jack and Ianto's moods improve, yeah?"
The three remaining team members took possession of their coffee cups and quietly quitted the raised kitchenette area. Lois headed upstairs to the TIC, Martha aimed for the Autopsy Lab, and Gwen went to bring her workstation online. The morning hadn't gotten off to a very good start. Hopefully it didn't bode ill for the rest of the day.
Cooper could dimly hear Jack on the phone to Whitehall as she brought up the research project she'd been working on, silently wondering why it was such a surprise to find out that Ianto had an issue with spiders. Probably because he'd dealt with all the Archive cleaning, alien wrangling, and corpse dumping since she'd hired on, and it had always seemed like he could handle anything. The thought that something like a common little arachnid could freak him out, had honestly never crossed her mind.
The former PC was actually contemplating asking the normally unflappable Welshman if he had any other phobias when he returned to the Hub, but the look on his face as he came through the cog-wheel door with Turlough made her decide against it. The two young men exchanged quiet words near the entrance, then the Archivist cut toward the office and the team's Time expert headed for the kitchenette. So, she turned her attention to the data on her monitor array, and figured she'd ask later when both immortals' moods had taken an upswing again.
It was only a few minutes later however, when they heard their resident Changeling raise his voice in the office, which was a surprise in and of itself.
"Politely tell the Prime Minister to bloody well sod off!" Ianto insisted heatedly. "I am not going to be a damn dog and pony show for the Gold Command members, or act as their personal warrior. Who the hell told them about me being a Scieron Guardian in the first place? Martha promised that other than the Queen, only Torchwood and few high-level personnel at UNIT would ever know. If Johnson outed me to the Military and Whitehall at some point, I swear I'll go break her out of prison and then break her fucking neck. They cannot overrule Her Majesty in regard to Torchwood, and I refuse to be blackmailed into performing for them."
The team members in the Hub couldn't make out Jack's reply, but Ianto was in the doorway when he countered whatever was said.
"Then tell them it'll doom the Earth of something," the young Welshman snapped. "That if I use my abilities for anything other than fighting what comes through the Rift, the Scieron will take me back. Or just tell them no for fuck's sake. Don't turn me into more of a freak than I apparently already am, Jack. Please."
He left the office, aiming for the main corridor down into the bowels of the base at an increasingly faster pace, not even casting a glance at the rest of the operatives nearby. Martha watched him go from where she stood at the top of the Autopsy Lab stairs, a frown creasing her brow. She hurried over to the office after a moment, even as Gwen moved to follow the obviously very upset Guardian downstairs. He'd been awfully pale and starting to shake when he'd passed her station, and the one-time constable was understandably concerned.
Cooper figured the twenty-six-year-old was likely on his way to the firing range to try some meditation, so that's the path she took. She hurried along the correct tunnels and corridors, came through the door of the old waterway turned cavernous room to find the young man on the floor below, dangerously close to the weapons table and mid-seizure. There was blood on the tile and sealed concrete beneath him, but she wasn't sure of its source as she ran down the stairs to grab the first aid kit and a foam transport cushion out of the ammunition room before approaching him.
"It's alright, Ianto," Gwen called evenly, quickly shoving the cushion under his head then resting one hand in the middle of his chest and hoping to ease him out of the convulsions the way Jack normally did. "Just breathe and let it go… everything will be okay."
She waited for over three long, gut wrenching minutes before the fit ran its course, and the young Welshman lay dazed and panting when it was over. He struggled weakly to turn, trying to push up into a seated position, but the raven-haired woman held him down.
"Just catch your breath, sweetheart," Cooper advised, starting to search for any open wounds on his face, neck, and upper arms. "You're bleeding pretty badly. Does it hurt anywhere?"
"Behind… my right ear…" Ianto panted shakily, again attempting to sit up. "Side… sideswiped the table… when I went down…"
His companion helped him ease up to sit with his left side against the base of the weapons table, and she used a gauze pad to clean away some of the gore in his hair.
"You've got a gash as long as my middle finger here," Gwen informed him. "I can see bone, Ianto, and there may even be a crack in your skull. Here… can you hold the packing? Not too much pressure, just to slow the bleeding a bit. I think Martha's busy, so let me call Turlough down with the big medical kit."
"Waste bin…" the young Changeling grated unexpectedly, trembling violently and starting to radiate heat. "Gonna be sick…"
Cooper scrambled to pull the item from just inside the ammunition room door, got it in place right as the injured immortal vomited. She helpfully put one hand against his forehead, used the other to activate her earcomm.
"Turlough," the one-time PC called urgently. "I need you in the firing range with Martha's main kit, quick as you can."
[Seizure?] the Trion prince queried over the Bluetooth, obviously on the move.
"Bad one, with a head injury," Gwen confirmed evenly. "Huge gash, possible fracture. He's throwing up at the moment, so the sooner you can get down here the better, yeah?"
[On my way] the thirty-year-old on the other end of the channel responded. [Try to keep him still if you can.]
"Will do," Cooper acknowledged, reaching over to remove the headset her ill friend was wearing, then grab a wet wipe from the first aid box. "Turlough's on his way. Just stay still and try to relax, we'll get you sorted in no time."
She tore open the little foil package with her teeth, pulled out the towelette one handed and used it to wipe the twenty-six-year-old's face clean of blood and sweat, got her other hand back against his forehead to keep him from moving about too much. For his part, Ianto simply closed his eyes and tried to shakily keep the packing on the wound behind his right ear.
It wasn't long before Turlough appeared with the ambulance style medical box from upstairs, the Bekaran Deep Tissue Scanner in his other hand. He gloved up without a word, set about examining the injury with the alien device.
"Hair-fine crack, substantial signs of concussion, ugly hematoma in the muscle and under the skin around the site," then young alien stated after a moment, using a penlight to check his patient's pupil response. "Let me get the gash cleaned and stapled so it'll stop making a mess, take off your shirt since it's soaked. Then you just need to sit quietly or lie down while your Shadows repair the rest. In fact, once I've got you patched up, I'll bring the cot over from the far corner. You stretch out on your left side, keep the bin handy just in case, and try to relax for an hour or so. Don't try getting up till your temperature goes back to normal, yeah?"
"Yeah…" Ianto agreed in a barely audible whisper, closing his eyes again to avoid another round with the waste bin because he was seeing double.
Turlough quickly and efficiently treated the younger man, got the cot into place, removed his blood-soaked grey work shirt and cut off the tee underneath, then got him settled on the canvas surface with its accompanying pillow. Finally, he did a cursory mop up of the gore on the floor with a chunk of packing; stuffed it, the stained transport cushion, and the Changeling's ruined clothing into a hazmat bag from the medical kit.
"I'll take the gear back up to the Lab," the slender redhead stated when he was done. "Gwen, keep him company for a bit and I'll bring a couple of blankets down, let you know if it's safe to work up there or if the shouting's still going on."
Turlough disappeared up the stairs, Cooper settling to the floor beside the cot so she could touch her friend's nearest hand. So far it had truly been a very unpleasant morning.
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AN: Ianto is really not having a good day.
Thank you to those reading the story. And thank you to those who have followed, favourited, and reviewed. NM