Torchwood 2 Hell Hath No Fury - Part 4

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Title: Torchwood 2: Hell Hath No Fury

Spoilers: CoE

Characters: Janto, Martha Jones and mention of Owen Harper and Gwen Cooper/Williams. RTD owns them. All other characters are my own and I promise that I take care of my own

Genre: fix-it fiction for CoE via Torchwood 2

Rating: this is 15 probably for some bad language (though it might be a 12 at the moment). It’ll go up to 18 later as it will have adult content later, but nothing yet.

beta'd by janiemc and kelticbanshee - thank you!

 

TW2 are trying to find out the whereabouts of Ianto Jones, and Ianto certainly needs some assistance
 

         ‘I thought that there would have been news by now,’ admitted Arthur, pulling two bags of groceries from the rear seat of his car. Jude, who was standing beside him, shrugged.        

        ‘Maybe there’s complications.’

‘There are always complications,’ muttered Arthur, immobilising his car  with a careless flick of his key fob.

They walked side by side, their steps echoing in the car park. Any observer might have expected them to walk towards the entrance and out into the bright day, but instead, they moved towards the far end, towards a gated, locked door. Jude pulled open the gate and punched in the keycode for the door and they both walked through into the dimly lit tunnel beyond. As soon as the door clattered shut behind them, the lighting increased until it was softly ambient.

Arthur grinned.

‘I still like that little touch. It’s simple but effective.’

They walked on along the stone-built corridor. There were blocked entrances, some of which were several feet above the current floor level, there were old mason’s marks and debris from centuries past. Bar the electric lighting and the whitewashed walls, little seemed to have been done to the tunnels for years. Little new air seemed to permeate either, and the still, dustiness of the place made Jude gasp a little.

One tunnel led into another, all with locked doors. The lighting became brighter, however, the floor underfoot became tiled, and the air was fresher. As they passed the archive vaults, Jude peered in through the wired glass window in the doors, looking into the rooms with their map drawers, microfiches and rows of books, standing alongside a bank of computers and servers.

‘Any sign of Innes?’ asked Arthur

‘No. I suppose he’ll be in his rooms. Or he’ll be working on something.’

‘Is he getting out these days?’ he added, suddenly.

‘I  really hope so, Arthur. He can’t keep himself holed up forever.’

They tripped the door and strolled into the main vault. The lights were all on and a radio was playing, but no one was at any of the desks. No one was on the sofas.

‘Innes?’ called Arthur. ‘You in?’

‘Maybe he’s in his rooms.’

‘They aren’t rooms. They’re vaults.’

‘They are where Innes lives, so I want to think of them as rooms. They’re his home for the moment. I don’t like thinking of him in a vault. It’s too funereal.’

Arthur scoffed and increased his stride, leaving Jude behind as he hurried over to the Eastern part of the main area, where there was yet another door. He rapped on the metal.

‘Innes!’

Innes opened the door and smiled.

‘Aye? Did you get the messages?’

‘Sure did. There are some extras too, like a few more movies. Here you go.’

‘Jude with you?’

‘Absolutely. May I come in?’

‘Bit late for all that shennanagins, Mr Stone. Both of you. Yes. Do come in.’

It seemed wrong to Jude that Innes was secreting himself underground. She had tried to persuade him to find a flat, but he had always refused, saying that it made more sense to be within the vaults, that it would not be forever, that it was just until his house was rebuilt. 

She resolved to say nothing on the subject and settled herself on a black leather chaise,  while Arthur took one of the two stylish recliners. To the rear of the vault there was a kitchen area, all clean lines and high gloss, and Innes busied himself tidying away the shopping Arthur had brought him.

‘Innes. Did you find time to get out today?’ asked Jude

‘Actually. Yes. Spent a pleasant couple of hours in Princes Street Gardens. Was a nice day. Might have caught the sun a bit, though,’ he said, coming through and joining the others.

Jude smiled. He was correct. His arms were freckling and reddish.

‘Good. You do need to get out some time you know. Otherwise you’ll end up looking like Arthur. Too pale and interesting.’

‘Got a missive, though. Through the Drummer’s Passage. There seems to be a problem,’ admitted Innes.

Arthur groaned.

‘This isn’t more well chaining is it? I though we had that covered.’

‘No. Finally. Her majesty has deigned to talk to us about Ianto Jones.’

‘Oh God. What’s happened.’

‘She says he’s wrong. And she wants him out. Soon as.’

‘Wrong?’

‘Her words. Wrong. She wants  to meet. The Eildons are her preferred point. Suits me. The further she and her lads stay away from the city, the better. So we’ll need a fast car for a quick getaway.’

‘Check that,’ grinned Arthur.

‘When?” asked Jude.

‘Soon as we like. She’s there already. With him. Apparently.’

‘Fancy a spin tonight? Do you want lots of torque for a fast getaway or four wheels for some rough terrain driving?’

‘Something in the middle would do. And can it be a bit less obvious than last time. And something with a roof.’

‘Have you got everything you need?’ asked Jude, quietly.

‘Aye. Maps. Compass. Knives. Iron sheathed kevlar jackets. High energy bars. Isotonic drinks. Pearlwort.’

‘Are you sure it’s pearlwort?’ said Jude.

‘I got Java Boy to double check and classify all the plants the last time he dropped in before the German trip. So. Yes.’

Arthur stood up, stretched and grinned.

‘Right then. I’ll go and get a car. Six o’clock suit?’

‘Six. Fine. See you in the car park.’

 

************

 

Ianto sat, as still as he might, wishing that the shadows could consume him. Being so far underground was unnerving. There was not sense of time, no sense of the seasons. He had been offered food and wine, but had refused both; he had not felt hungry enough to risk either.

And this was the queen, whom he had walked so far to see. It had taken days, how many he did not know, with forays out into moors and plains. His captors were relentless in their purpose, he had soon realised. Day or night, rough ground or easy, they had walked with their easy, swinging strides. His own feet were lacerated and his legs cut about from the walk, and he felt endlessly tired. And what had the queen done? Drawn one of her long fingered hands down his face, her nails leaving livid tracery which remained still, and had declared him ill-worked and wrong.

And now, some kind of  bard was singing her songs and poems, and had been doing so for over two days it seemed, while all around, creatures came and went, passing through the great chamber with reverence and obvious respect. The place was bright, a thousand or more candles sending out light which was reflected from hundreds of golden and crystalline orbs. The candlelight made the air warm, a cloying, still heat that raised a light sweat upon Ianto’s skin. There were skins underfoot and hangings on the walls. Some were of hunts. Once Ianto had realised what the quarry was in some of them, he had tried not to look any more. He had kept to the shadows, not trying to escape, but at least to stay clear of the Queen’s attentions. The Sidhe men who watched him were disinclined to stand close to him or touch him with anything but the glinting end of their halberds, so he was left alone. That was fine, reckoned Ianto, the less concern he was, the better he might understand what his options were. Running into any one of the gloomy tunnels was not, however, in any way feasible, yet it was the only thing he could think of.

He closed his eyes, trying to breathe steadily, trying to keep some sort of perspective, trying to filter out the poetry. ‘Y llwyn sur, llawn yw o serch, fforest falch iawn ddifreg’ recited the bard. ‘Full of love’, muttered Ianto, disparagingly. If he closed his eyes and breathed in and out. One two. One. Two. He could visualise every glint of Jack’s eyes, every turn of his head, the way his spine could arch, the way his arms could hold you and you knew, for those precious, perfect moments that you were safe.

Ianto hunkered down and wrapped his arms over his head. All he wanted now was to be safe.