Title: The Place That Didn't Exist (7/8)
Fandoms: Torchwood/Lewis crossover with addons
Rating: R overall.
Pairings: MAINLY Jack/Ianto, Lewis/Hathaway, Ianto/Hathaway, with some Owen/Ianto, Owen/Tosh, Tosh/OMC, OFC femmeslash and er, some variations I am just not prepared to talk about.
Warnings: AU for Season 2 of Torchwood, spoilers for Doctor Who as far as The Doctor's Daughter, CHARACTER DEATH(S), CATHOLIC ZOMBIES (I am Anglo-Catholic. I say this like it at all justifies everything I rip off in this chapter) and SHAMELESS USE OF BOTH CLIFFHANGER AND DEUS EX MACHINA. Also the healing power of group sex. CRACKFIC. Catchup? Good idea. Chapters 1-6 available on the tptde tag, below.
A/N: I apologise. I kill SOME PEOPLE in this chapter. I make SOME OTHER PEOPLE fight zombies. I don't know VERY MUCH about space travel. I also start capitalising things at random and I refuse to repent. Many many thanks to everybody who's kept up with this - only one more chapter to go!


The next morning, Captain Jack and Ianto Jones and Inspector Lewis and Doctor Harper and Toshiko Sato and the tiny Maths genius from the 1970s all went into space.

It was surprisingly simple. Lewis drove to the hospital before going to the station, stood quiet and a bit scruffy in the morning light through Hathaway’s window; guiltily glad that he wasn’t awake, but staying every minute a minute longer in the hope that he might. Hathaway was looking better; Owen’s drugs, surreptitiously administered, were working, and his face was smooth with no lurking terrors. A sleepy-eyed policeman jolted to attention outside Hathaway’s door as Lewis arrived, gratefully accepting the Inspector’s suggestion that he go home to bed. Lewis stood beside his Sergeant for almost an hour, not daring to touch him except at the last moment when he felt he sort of ought to; awkwardly, he touched the younger man’s cheek, and then had to leave before he made an idiot of himself (but not before he’d adjusted the bedclothes). Then he drove to the station and ordered a news blackout on the Sutcliffe/Healy case for the next three days. Innocent was waiting for him; he handed her an envelope, sealed although he suspected she knew the contents already. She wished him luck, patted his arm, and he left.

----

Everyone assembled in the especially-closed Church of St Mary's and stared, wide-eyed at each other's necks. Let me explain.

David (eyes: green, a bit bloodshot from tiredness) was looking at Tosh's neck because he'd never actually given a woman a lovebite before.

Jack (eyes: blue, LIKE THE SEA) was looking at David's neck because he couldn't believe Tosh was better at lovebites than he was.

Ianto (not crying, for once) was looking at Jack's neck because he was imagining putting a noose around it, and Lewis was looking at Ianto's neck because that large purple-red bitemark was definitely not evidence of a suitable appreciation of DI Hathaway's worth and thus regret for his loss.

(Owen was looking at Ianto's neck too, but secretly, because sometimes Owen had secret gay thoughts that he didn't like to share).

A short authoritative talk on vectors, time-space travel and the ship used by the Duessa was given by David. It didn't make a lot of sense (David's hair was sticking up funny and his eyes were red with tiredness), but it made more sense than the rather longer, more rambling talk Jack followed with, one which mostly emphasised Serious Eye Contact and Leader-Man Chest-Beating in its synthesis of run-on sentences and scary orthodontics. Words like Loyalty and Danger and Together were used, only slightly undermined by the use of other words like "timey-wimey", "Allons-y" and "ding".

"Here comes the science bit," Ianto muttered, shooting Jack a look of pure venom. "Look, Dave, can't we just get on with this?"

"But where are the space suits?" Lewis enquired. Jack looked handsome but a bit thick. Tosh looked kind. David looked confused and then mildly pitying, and Ianto looked murderous as he wondered how James could prefer this infinitely crumpled collection of facial spare parts to himself (Owen didn't look anything, because he was looking at Tosh, because sometimes Owen had secret romantic thoughts that he didn't like to share either).

"We don't actually wear space suits," Tosh said kindly. "Not to go through the Rift."

"But aren't we going onto a space ship? In space? To fight space pirates? Captain?"

"...but I don’t wear a suit, I have a coat," Jack said, sounding troubled and unmistakably confused.

"Actually," David said, starting to brighten, "you'd be quite right did the Duessa ship not have a thermodynavity ratio of less-than-or-equal-to seven seven four seven point seven nine four one one one..."

"...does he not like my coat?" worried Jack, aloud to Owen. Owen was having secret swearing thoughts at this point and felt ready to share them out loud too.

"...one one one one one one one one one one..."

" ...do you not like my coat?"

"Oh, for fuck's sake, everyone stand by the fucking altar and let's go save the lesbians."
Owen started off in direction of the circle of sensors David had set up (David's ruffled hair and slightly swaggering walk were really starting to piss him off). The others followed, Lewis looking around a little nervously, and checking his phone one last time - he'd told all sorts of lies and made lots of phonecalls to ensure and no questions while he, er, fought space pirates, but he was still a bit scared. Ianto and Jack were the last to move, walking up the aisle with as much space as possible between them, and Ianto's hands shoved deep into his pockets. Owen sniggered, humming a few bars of the wedding march as they sidled into place.

"Right. Are we all ready?"

"Yep," said Ianto curtly, finding a space between Tosh and Lewis and avoiding Jack's eyes.

"You might find the initial sensation a little daunting," Tosh explained kindly, leaning across Ianto to reassure Lewis. "Just stay calm and remember to breathe. If all goes well, we'll be on the ship in a few seconds. There'll be a bright light, though, so shield your eyes."

"Smashing," said Lewis, who wanted to appear game despite the growing feeling that he was about to die. He took some deep, calming breaths, and waited.

"David." Jack's voice was thin and a little sharp around the edges.

David jumped. "Right, yeah, sorry," he mumbled, and Tosh did at least have the grace to blush. He took a small, white, circular device from his pocket; the larger and sleeker cousin of the sensors around them. Smiling at Tosh, who beamed back, he started to tap in numbers, and immediately, the circle of sensors began to glow blue, bright and unearthly.

Ianto heard Jack's appreciative laugh and thought how much he loved him. How much, indeed, he wanted to fuck him -

shit.

This was what had happened to James, the first time they'd kissed. The massive spike of Rift energy that, because of its nature, caused an overload of sexual energy in humans whenever the sensors were activating. Ianto had debriefed the team on that earlier, and David was meant to have factored that into his calculations - but if Ianto was feeling this way (and he was; right now he just wanted to sink to his knees and get Jack's cock in his mouth and that wasn't good), something had to be going wrong. They couldn't save Chloe and Imogen through the power of group sex, for fuck's sake - glancing round, Ianto saw to his horror that Owen and Jack were beginning to look increasingly glazed-eyed and slack-jawed; even James's crumpled Geordie man was starting to give him the eye.

Ianto could hear David still punching in numbers; the sensors were glowing white again, but as if they were white hot. A light was starting to surround them, brighter and brighter; the sensors seemed to break open, sending their glow upwards like the flare of a flame. It shot up towards the roof of the church, high over the heads of the carved saints and the seats in the empty choirstalls that were the last place Chloe had stood on earth.

Bars of light surrounded the six of them now, spreading their surroundings wider and wider, and still Ianto could feel the energy coursing through him, harder and harder to resist. James had wanted to pounce on him after only a moment's exposure - now they were all in the centre of the Rift, right beside the altar. It was the new man-made Rift created by the Duessa, and Ianto was finding it hard to cling to conscious thought. David was still typing away, but his eyes were fixed on Tosh, who had begun kissing and stroking his face with a feverish intensity; everything was going horribly wrong and there was no way those numbers could be accurate. David's eyes were fixed and blank and the last two thoughts Ianto had before madness claimed him were as follows:

1) That David was undoubtedly sending them to the wrong destination, which meant that sex-crazed miscalculations were currently hurtling them into space towards a destination unknown, and

2) That those couldn't possibly be Owen's hands unbuttoning his fly, but since he was about twenty seconds away from coming and he really wanted to piss Jack off, Ianto would allow it.

White changed to blinding white, Ianto buried his hand in Owen's hair and thought dimly that if they were all about to die, he wanted to do it with his tongue down the throat of a man Jack had never managed to bed.

And then, in the best and most ancient traditions, everything went black.

----

“Ianto! Ianto, are you all right? Ianto!” Owen’s urgent hissing appeared to be coming from inside Ianto’s skull; groggily, Ianto opened his eyes and discovered he was half-right; Owen’s face was disproportionately huge and therefore only inches from his own. Disturbingly, Owen had his hand clapped over Ianto’s mouth, their surroundings were almost pitch black, and, worst of all, Owen was on top of him with both their trousers firmly around their knees. Motioning Ianto to keep quiet, Owen cautiously removed the hand.

“…we didn’t,” Ianto breathed, looking horrified. Owen flushed.

“We might’ve,” he admitted, looking sheepish, and, well, sweaty. Ianto tried to reach down for his belt, but Owen was still on top of him and to his horror, Ianto touched a hip that wasn’t his. He froze.

“We can’t’ve,” he decided, scowling. “That spike can only have knocked us out for a few seconds and you’re not that good. Get off me and get dressed ohfuck.” Owen had moved slightly, trying to obey, and now the older man’s eyes had gone very wide. And his cheeks were red.

“…residual energy, right?” he breathed, looking at Ianto as if absolutely nothing in the world made sense. Ianto fought to control his breathing, and nodded.

“Residual, yeah.” He exhaled. “Now get off.”

Mumbling invective, Owen did; Ianto lay there in the dark, trying to get his bearings and fight the urge to reach over and drag Owen back to finish what they’d started (one good thing, though – Owen felt bigger than Jack, which had to be worth mentioning sometime).

They were in a dark space that appeared to be motionless; nevertheless, something about the atmosphere told Ianto they weren’t on the ground.

“Owen?”

“Yeah?”

“Where are we?”

Owen was sitting up now, zipping up his jeans. “Dunno. The ship, I hope. The comms are down, we’ll have to – shit, look.” Their eyes were adjusting to the dark and in the corner of the room (Ianto was beginning to discern walls, curving away from them to a place that seemed to be slightly less black), Owen had spotted a shape; DI Robbie Lewis, lying face down like a crumpled doll, his knees bent under him and one arm splayed to the side.

“Crash-landing.”

Prompted by some impulse of guilt, Ianto actually got there first, rolling Robbie onto his side before Owen unstrapped his kit and started to work. Mercifully, the older man’s heartbeat was strong and after his face was freed, he started to come round, blinking awake with a confused and dark-eyed expression that the two young men struggled to identify.

Everything became clear(er), however, when Lewis leapt on Ianto and began snogging him
senseless.

It was perhaps inevitable that Jack, Tosh and David should have been beamed by the explosion into the adjacent vault of the Duessa’s cargo pod (for such this was), and that – having dealt with their own residual energy rather more rapidly and efficiently (in ways that the gentle reader may imagine for themselves), they should have regrouped, reassessed and – with David’s guidance – disarmed two guards and rescued Chloe from her cell before Ianto had even come round. Given that two unconscious alien guards were unlikely to go unnoticed for very long, the search for Imogen had to accelerate – and include both Torchwood’s medic and Torchwood’s hot coffee-making undercover boytoy. And thus it was that Captain Jack Harkness led what was left of his forces back into the cargo pods (the comms were down, but David had still been able to track their wearers using the power of his mind) just as Robbie Lewis was getting into the swing of things and Owen had decided Rift Spikes were a good enough excuse to put his hand back down Ianto’s boxers.

Tosh would later wish that somebody had brought a camera.

“…residual energy,” Ianto explained eventually, when David had hauled Owen off Ianto, Owen had hauled Lewis off Ianto, and Jack had been encouraged by Tosh to sit down in a corner and take some deep calming breaths. Owen was staring hard at the floor and muttering darkly about lifestyle choices, and Lewis was actually looking unexpectedly cheerful. He couldn’t remember much of the previous ten minutes, but Jack was looking murderous and he was in space, so life was presumably going well. Ianto was still half-lying on the floor of the pod, hair tousled and tie undone and Jack had never seen anyone so fuckable in his life.

Chloe, the girl lucky enough to be saved by this motley band of sex-crazed space travellers, was wondering if she could convince the Duessa to take her back. As this seemed unlikely, she decided to remind the team about her possibly-dead-hostage girlfriend. Everyone tried to look busy.

“We’re on the second floor of seven,” David explained. “There’s an anti-gravity lift running through the centre of the ship, three pods over. Branning’s laboratory and his quarters are on the sixth floor of the ship, directly below the observation deck. If the sensors hadn’t gone wrong, we’d have been beamed into the cells where Chloe was being held. As it is, we’ve got quite a journey ahead of us. They’ll know we’re here; Tosh disabled the security mainframe before we rescued Chloe, but two dead guards is a bit of a giveaway.”

“Okay, everybody,” Jack cut in, eyes like bright blue steel, if steel was ever blue, which it isn’t. He stepped into the centre of their little circle, granite-jawed boy-next-door good looks uplit by the cold unforgiving wash of Tosh’s flashlight. He ran a world-weary hand through his gel-weary hair and enunciated his words slowly and clearly to emphasise not only the aching sense of loss he continually battled to hide beneath a stony, enigmatic exterior, but also the close personal sense of responsibility and – who could tell? – perhaps even love that he, personally, closely, and achingly experienced as his personal, close, and aching connection with every single member of his team who wasn’t trying to fuck Ianto Jones. “We have to find this girl. We have to get to this anti-gravity lift and storm Branning’s quarters.”

“We don’t know how we’re going to get back to Earth,” Owen pointed out, evidently less than thrilled by the prospect.

Lewis had the image of Jim, lying alone in the hospital bed. He hoped the nurses would have
rung his parents; nice people, sensible people in a better class of clothes, normal and nice and a million years away from here. Something tugged hard at his ribs, homesick and smarting as everyone stood there considering Owen’s words. But then he remembered Jim’s voice and Jim’s unopened eyes that morning, and he raised his head to say the only words he could:

“Then we don’t have anything to lose.”

Opposite him, Jim’s Welsh policeman looked surprised, and then – undeniably – impressed. Ianto had never liked the Inspector so much as that moment, and although he, too, was loath to leave a certain drugged-up hero behind, Ianto nodded. “He’s right.”

“I can’t think of anywhere I’d rather be than right here,” Tosh added, voice warm and sure as she smiled across at David. Chloe, not being privy to the complex web of intrigue, betrayal and dead gay priest love rejectionism around which the group was structured, looked a bit confused, but Jack was glowering again.

“Okay, great, let’s roll. Tosh, Owen in front; David and Lewis either side of Chloe; Ianto with me. What was that, Owen?”

“Nothing, nothing,” Owen mumbled, trying to turn a very audible “You wish” into a bad attack of coughing as he lined up with his gun.

They made it to the anti-gravity lift without too much trouble, David quietly identifying the major landmarks of the ship. It was beautiful; even Jack had never seen anything like it before. Once outside the cargo pods and cells, the dim drab grey of the walls gave way to rich panelling and glowing representations of art from all the major civilisations of the universe. In some corridors, Mondrian squares shuffled and reshuffled themselves; in others, strange orbs of light whirled above their heads. For a minute everyone froze, before David explained that this was how one alien civilisation created art; others manipulated your sense of smell, or even taste. The Duessa’s real technology mainframe had been disabled, but there was still a palpable sense of urgency and fear. The corridors were quiet, but Chloe’s escape had to be discovered soon, even in this silent library of a space-ship.

The lift itself looked unmistakably futuristic, a column of purple-green light that cascaded down like a waterfall. It was beautiful; Tosh, enthralled, put her hand into the spray and laughed when tiny drops of anti-gravity bounced against her hand like golden fireflies.

Chloe hung back from the group a little, and Lewis paused to reassure her (smile crooked and self-deprecating) that he’d not got the hang of this space travel thing either, but that they were all going to be fine. Jack saw and grudgingly approved; it was the sort of thing Gwen would have done.

One by one they climbed into the lift, and immediately began floating steadily upwards, the colour of the waterfall changing with every knew level that they reached. They passed a gleaming white laboratory where two women worked in silence; Ianto automatically reached for his gun before David explained that – because the security system was down – everyone passing through the lift became invisible. On other floors they saw rooms of maps; of foaming green pools containing strange and unspecified creatures; one room, where the waterfall was pink, was empty except for a huge human eyeball that stared solemnly at them, its iris glowing crimson and the veins a sickly green. Sometimes they saw aliens – no Weevils, nothing any of the Torchwood team had seen before, but species which, if you looked at Jack’s face (as Ianto kept doing, despite his best intentions), sparked either fear or recognition there.

Lewis felt as if the top of his head would fall off. This was weirder than any B-movie or fuzzy satellite picture seen on the news, and yet – with the exception of Chloe, who looked frankly terrified for all her piercings and frizzy hair – the people around him treated it as normal. He desperately wanted a camera, or a notebook, or even just a good solid smack to reassure him it wasn’t just a dream. His mind was struggling to grasp the wider implications of all this; and, as the initial wonder began to stabilise, deep down somewhere he was obscurely angry. If the Duessa were the most intelligent people in the world, why did they hide away on their ship, hoarding their knowledge except when it suited them to come down and hurt Lewis’s loved ones – or kidnap little girls? How could a people that knew so much not want to share their knowledge, and what was the point of all this if it wasn’t used to help?

When they got to Branning’s floor, the waterfall became a rich indigo; immediately, the seven of them found firm ground beneath their feet, and the anti-gravitational effects all stopped. Owen gave an impressed whistle. “It’s as if it just knew.”

“Psychic technology?” Tosh enquired, but David was frowning.

“No – it shouldn’t have known at all. It’s a bit outdated but technically the lift is voice-activated; I was about to tell it to stop when it just – did.”

“And that’s not normal?” Lewis asked, sounding wary. “Chloe, have you been up here before?”

“No. He – my – Imogen said her dad was keeping her up here, I’d only seen the cells. She described the lift but she didn’t say anything about how it stopped.” She looked pleadingly at David. “You must know, though?”

“I haven’t stopped here in years – I was Branning’s assistant but we always worked on another level. I passed through every day, but… I can’t remember when I last stopped.”

David paused. “I don’t remember that music, though.”

Cautiously, they moved over to the edge of the lift, regrouping in silence as they understood what David had meant. They could hear organ music, coming from behind two heavy oak doors; the first such doors they had seen on the ship, where the other apartments had been open to the lift. As they stood there, guns raised, the music grew louder, more frenzied.

“Oh great,” Owen grumbled. “My life’s already a bad episode of Scooby Doo, now I’m in Phantom of the fucking Opera.”

“Branning’s Catholic, isn’t he?” Ianto asked, glancing back at Chloe.

“He’s a bloody nutter,” Lewis snorted, eyes still fixed on the door. “Let’s go.”
Tosh opened the door and they swarmed inside, into a huge room at least four times the size of any they had seen. On their right were recesses with votive saints, the candles in their red glasses providing the only light on that side of the room. On their left, as the team crept forwards, they saw eight long windows which ran from floor to ceiling. They were all lit with stained glass. A blood-red sun rose in the eighth window, set against a sky that couldn’t possibly be there; closer, the windows were lit with stars and a pale, sickle-shaped moon. There was no furniture in the room, only some candles and a row of greenish marble pillars that stretched to a vaulted ceiling, its panels richly and intricately marked. Something Jack saw there made him freeze. Ianto cleared his throat.

“Dave – why’s this room so huge? It can’t be, we saw –“

“It’s a chameleon circuit,” Jack said hoarsely. “Right?” He turned to face David. “Who built it for you?”

“It was before my time,” David explained, sounding surprised and not altogether pleased.

Tosh looked from one man to the other in confusion (Lewis did the same but with annoyance – the room was bloody huge, yes, but these were aliens and there was still a missing girl to find), but Jack wasn’t satisfied.

“What did he look like? How long ago did he leave?”

“He? What do you mean? Jack, it was years ago - ”

“Up there – that’s his TARDIS – there, the blue shape on the second panel, that’s it!”

Everyone except Ianto and David stopped what they were doing to look up at what (to Lewis) seemed to be nothing more than a rather dodgily-painted telephone box, or perhaps one of those old-fashioned urinals.

“Um, guys, hate to break up the party but the doors are –“

“Captain Harkness; Inspector Lewis; Sergeant Jones; Doctor Harper and – of course – Miss Sutcliffe and Miss Sato.” Sheridan Branning stopped, pulling a little face as if the last title tasted funny in his mouth. “Tell me, Miss Sato, why didn’t you ever get your doctorate?” Behind her, Chloe screamed.

“Imogen!”

Guns stilled trained on Branning, six heads turned; Imogen was a few feet behind her father, bound to another pillar, her skin nearly the same shade as the marble. Only her eyes showed life, fixed in fear on Torchwood and her girlfriend. They were the same shape and colour as her father’s, but even in marble the rest of the resemblance was uncanny. What in Branning had been weaknesses of jaw and chin became in Imogen a delicate bone structure and small features; both had the same shock of strawberry-blonde hair and small blue eyes. Of course, Imogen was a teenage lesbian and Branning a preternaturally young mad scientist working as a space pirate, and who in another life would probably have dressed up as Lestat to attend vampire conventions; thus, the resemblance could only extend so far.

“Let her go, Branning,” Lewis demanded, surprised by just how much he hated the cocky sod. Owen mentally rolled his eyes.

“He’s hardly likely to do that.”

“I’m protecting my daughter, Inspector Lewis. I’m the greatest physicist the world has ever known –“

“ – oh, here comes the monologue,” Ianto grumbled, sotto voce.

“ - I can create Heaven on Earth, but I don’t need Earth and nor does she. You humans –“

“Not “puny humans”? You surprise me.”

“Owen, shut up.”

“Sorry.”

“ – are like ants to me, scrobbling” (Scrobbling? Owen mouthed. Ianto shrugged) “about on your tiny insignificant planet, choking my child in your pathetic mousetraps of infamous sin,” (“Mousetraps?” Tosh asked, “that’s a new one. He’s worse than Jack.”) “ignoring her talent. I’ll keep her safe. From harpies like her – from foulest filth, surely you understand that?” Ianto heard Chloe suck in a breath and moved in front of her, anxiously scanning the room for further traps.

“We’ve taken control of the ship,” Tosh shouted along the barrel of her gun. “Disabled the
mainframe. All communications are cut and your guards are dead – we’ve taken out everything.”

Branning tilted his head and gave Tosh a courteous, sweet-faced smile. Jack was suddenly uncomfortably reminded of Harold Saxon. “No, actually, Miss Sato, I’ve taken out everything. Through David. David, won’t you come forward?”

Without a word, David complied, walking out from the team towards a smug-faced Sheridan Branning. The others saw Branning’s hand go to his pocket; the barrel of a gun gleamed in the candle-light and without warning or mercy, all the team fired. As if pulled on wires, David flew into the air like a marionette, flying in front of Branning and taking every single bullet before it could be stopped. His body jerked this way and that, hanging like meat from an invisible hook; it was the most terrible thing Lewis had ever seen. The team recoiled; Tosh cried out, and David dropped, still silent, eyes still open and unblinking and staring straight ahead. Tosh threw herself down.

“Don’t,” Owen hissed, urgent, ducking to hold her back. “Don’t touch him, it’s not safe.”

Immediately Ianto moved to cover his teammates.

“You’ve lost your human shield, Branning,” he shouted, “and we’ve still got more weapons than you.”

“Human shield?” Branning enquired, just as Lewis was thinking no, that’s not right; and suddenly he understood.

“There’s no blood.” The holes in David’s chest were exactly that; holes, smooth-edged and black and revealing not raw flesh but an indistinct greyness, from which there was still audible – over the organ music, beneath Tosh’s terrible keening – a quiet, high-pitched whirring.

“Oh, he was human once,” Branning smirked, following Lewis’s eyes and meeting his returning horror with a satisfied smile. “When I pulled him with me through the Rift. That was accidental, of course – my new employers at the Duessa were still perfecting the technology, and I had to get used to using it. David was just a passer-by; still, in Oxford, there’s always a chance that your passer-by will be a genius. I reprogrammed David in 1992, and he’s been useful to me ever since.” Branning turned back to Tosh. “You know, you really are very clever. I had the greatest fun going through your mind last night once the two of you were asleep. Your American friend doesn’t make enough of you.” He took a few steps forward. “If you ever wanted to join us –“

“STAY WHERE YOU ARE, Branning,” Lewis roared, raising his gun. Branning gave him a patient, long-suffering look, and raised his eyes.

“Security Code 144,” he said clearly, and Ianto heard his gun give a dispiriting little fzzzp noise before growing suddenly lighter in his hands. Branning smiled. “You’ll find your firearms no longer fire. Oh, and I didn’t want to do this yet, but – Saints Stanislaus, Ludmila and the Forty Martyrs. We’re ready for you now.”

At once, the pillars supporting the ceiling began to revolve, twisting upwards so that doors began to appear from the ground; at the same time, the marble saints began to climb down from their shrines, cold arms upraised from their wonted poses, toothless lips snarling back beneath sightless marble eyes. At the same moment – or perhaps a few seconds later – there was a terrible crash from somewhere behind Branning – for a moment he looked confused, but his saints were on the move and soon his handsome face cracked back into a triumphal sneer. From the pillars, white-robed saints began to emerge, all with David’s green eyes set in waxen, white-hooded faces. Some had terrible gashes across their throats, bleeding faces or angry wounds in their hands and feet; all were marching towards Torchwood, unarmed before them.

“Jack, what the hell do we do?” Ianto muttered, helping to tuck Tosh behind him as Owen dragged her back to his feet.

“I’ve got to help Imogen,” Chloe murmured, starting forward; Ianto grabbed her arm but Jack
grabbed his.

“She’s got the right idea,” he muttered grimly, meeting Ianto’s eyes. “Nothing to lose, right? Tosh, baby, you still with me? Good luck, everyone.”

“Too bloody right,” Lewis snapped, dropping his gun and pushing up his sleeves. “I’ve had enough fucking religion to last me a lifetime. Do this lot count as zombies?”

“Possibly,” Ianto conceded, “but why?”

“I was looking forward to killing a few. Now RUN!”

They ran straight down the room, Owen all but carrying Tosh, Lewis tugging Chloe on by the hand. It was all a bit epic. There was a satisfying THWACK as Owen smacked one saint with its own sawn-off crucifix; also a loud CRUNCH as Ianto punched another in the nose (they clearly were zombies – Saint Ludmila’s head fell off). The saints might have had God (or Branning’s version, anyway) on their side, but they weren’t fast movers and the sight of eight human adults running in tandem and screaming AHHHH was a bit much. Tosh swiped the candelabra, waving it desperately in front of her head to the horror of at least six of the martyrs, who scattered, colliding with their other undead brethren. Lewis, meanwhile, had to admit he was having a whale of a time; he’d always liked a good zombie flick, and the insane organ soundtrack only made the whole thing more atmospheric. The stench was a bit overpowering, though – Lewis had managed to grab a spiked wheel from somebody he thought might be St Catherine (he was glad Jim wasn’t here, decapitating saints probably wouldn’t be his strong point), and the stench when he knocked two of them down was revolting. Jack made it to Branning first, swinging a punch that sent the horrified scientist flying. Tosh was close behind, her face horribly disfigured with anger and loss as she sent a vicious kick into the now-unconscious man’s stomach. Ianto was still locked in struggle with three of the saints; Jack spotted him punch one and kick another before turning to Imogen. Close up, she was smaller than Chloe, and struggling to say conscious (perhaps even SANE) under the effects of the marble binding. Close up, this was a system of ropes, marble themselves and transmitting their influence to everything they touched. She couldn’t speak; Jack gave her his best hero-smile (somewhere in the archives there was a picture of GIs liberating Germany and Jack couldn’t deny he’d often taken it out for practice) and tried to tug at the ropes. They led around the back of the pillar to a seething knot of marble: but to his surprise, another pair of hands had got there first.

“Hello,” said an amused, clear voice, and Jack looked up into a face with pink cheeks and a wide smile; the face of a small blonde girl whose eyes twinkled total madness in a distressingly familiar way. She beamed the beam of the enthusiastically insane, and waited a second.

“Do I know you?”

The girl laughed and produced a screwdriver, the sight of which made Jack’s stomach hop.

She placed it against the knot, pressed a button and immediately both ropes and pillar crumbled. Imogen Healy tumbled forward into Jack’s outstretched arms and sucked in a breath as blood and heat rushed back around her body.

“Oh God,” she breathed, clutching at his arm.

“Baby, not even close,” Jack purred, and was a bit disconcerted when he realised Imogen’s adoring gaze wasn’t directed at him.

“Sonic,” the stranger grinned, proudly. “Who’d have laser? Hi, Imogen, I’m Jenny – nice to meet you. Okay, okay, you want me to rescue your team – really liked the running, by the way, I love running. Okay SAINTS, can you hear me SAINTS – over here! You’re all dead anyway so I’m not doing any harm with this, so – sorry, guys – living guys, that is – could you all just duck? Thanks.”

“What the – “ Ianto started to ask but Owen was having none of it and pulled the others to the floor. Jenny grinned again (she was pretty, Jack decided, and also a little manic, all of which was familiar) and hit another button on the screwdriver so that the crimson laser extended. She swept its glow around the room like a scythe, and the heads of the thirty-two remaining zombies all hit the floor in a thudding, squelching cacophony of sights and sounds it’s probably best not to think about.

The next sound came from Imogen. With a wordless cry, she loosed herself from Jack’s arms
and ran across the floor (miraculously avoiding the zombie juice splattered across most of it) to Chloe, wrapping her girlfriend in shaking arms and kissing her soundly. Jenny looked pleased. Owen looked glazed. Ianto thumped him. Lewis made his way over to Branning, still mostly-unconscious but emitting the occasional moan.

“Sheridan Branning, I am arresting you on suspicion of the kidnap of Imogen Healy and Chloe Sutcliffe. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence –“

“Inspector,” Jack said wearily, a warm hand on his arm. “Just leave it.”

“What?”

“We can’t schlep a dead man back to Earth,” Owen explained, wiping more zombie juice off his shoes with a disgusted look.

“But he’s not dead!”

“He is,” Owen said shortly. “Been dead ever since he disappeared. He only looks about 30 – how do we explain that?”

“Besides,” added Jack, hands in his pockets, peering down at the captive. “Mrs Healy thinks she’s a widow who remarried. Branning comes back, she’s a bigamist. Catholic church wouldn’t like that.” He raised his eyebrows and looked across at Lewis, whose heart sank (and who had a brief memory of a boy in New College Lane, explaining his lost certainty and how he’d allowed it to kill his friend).

“What about – David?”

Tosh, who was still sitting by her fallen lover, looked up. “And tell them what? That Branning made a living man into a computer, and that I couldn’t tell the difference? He was quiet, a couple of the things he said didn’t make sense, but – I just sound stupid now.” She was somewhere beyond bitterness now, and Lewis, uncomfortable, wanted to protest, but Jack, his arm round Ianto (who looked as if he wanted to be throw up), changed his mind with a look. “I see.”

“...you can’t just leave him, he’s a criminal,” Chloe protested, arm tight around Imogen’s back. “He has to have a proper trial.”

“Oh, he will,” reassured Jenny, hastily. “The Duessa’s judicial system’s based out of planet Astrophel, I’m going there anyway, I’ll take him in my ship.”

“What about the rest of the Duessa?”

“Oh, they know me, I did some work for them on my gap year. I say gap year. More of a gap light year, really. Spot of interior design, actually.” Jenny pointed towards the ceiling proudly, and in Jack’s head a thousand chickens came home to roost, only to be chased by several hundred cats leaping out of small paper bags. His eyes were suddenly full of tears.

“Doctor!” he cried, and kissed Jenny. With tongues.

And then, once again, everything went black.

----

“Sorry! Sorry, everyone! It’s the TARDIS, she’s been playing up. Bit temperamental, typical girl – OW. Keeps trying to – well, not especially sure. Hurtling off round the universe without rhyme nor reason, then keeps crash-landing and taking out the power. Sorry, be back on in a minute.”

SQUELCH.

“What the hell is that on my shoe? Oh, I’m going to kill you, I’m going to pull off your head and donate you to science, you frog-legged streak of –“

“ – now now, Donna. AHA. Allons-y, allons- what the fuck, Jack?” All the lights went on and there was a blue telephone box on top of the zombies like a sci-fi remake of Oz and a skinny man in pinstripes was hauling Jack off Jenny and swinging (at the former) the most impressive punch that Lewis had ever seen.

Given that Jenny immediately yelled “Dad!” and flung her arms round the man, Lewis couldn’t say Jack didn’t deserve it. The man’s wife – red-haired, beautiful and rather statuesque, was yelling Jenny, bouncing and yanking one of the man’s arms away so she could hug too; the man didn’t respond for a moment (he’d gone white to the lips and looked as if he couldn’t see). Then, suddenly, he laughed and included her, pressing a kiss into Donna’s red hair before burying – once again – his face against the face of his daughter. “Two hearts!” somebody was yelling, and someone else – probably the woman, and it seemed involuntary – was crowing something to bloody live for indeed - but mostly there was a lot of crying and a lot of hugging and then the man Donna kept calling Doctor beamed round at them with red eyes and the most infectious smile the worlds had ever seen. And then he remembered Jack.

“Oh. Yeah. Sorry, Jack, about the –“

“ – face?” Jack supplied, weakly, given that most of his head from nose to jaw was now splattered in blood.

“Er, yeah. Soon dry up. It just seemed the thing to d – oh yeah, you BASTARD WHY WERE YOU KISSING sorry I really don’t know where this is coming from.” He looked disconcerted, peering at his hands which seemed, unaccountably, to have tightened into fists. Donna beamed at him, arms still round them both.

“Residual energy?” asked Ianto darkly, coming to give Jack a hand up – he’d worked out by now who the big gay in Converses was, and he didn’t like it. Infuriatingly, the Doctor beamed again.

“IANTO! You must be Ianto! Oh,” the Doctor crowed, sounding like Ianto was a particular fascinating plastic toy and the Doctor a small boy at Christmas, “he talks about you, that’s brilliant. Oh, brilliant. Good work there. And TOSH, you’ve got to be TOSH – splendid, and Owen, the chippy little Cockney with the repressed homosexual – ah, we’ve all been there – and – good lord,” he frowned, eyes coming to rest on the confused-looking Geordie in the corner, “ …that’s really not how he described Gwen.”

“Yeah, OK Doctor,” Jack snapped, barging forward a bit (with, it must be said, PAY ATTENTION TO MEEE writ large across his soul). “That’s not Gwen, that’s DI Robbie Lewis of the Oxford City police. And this is Imogen Healy and Chloe Sutcliffe”

“Fantastic! Muggles! Sorry, civilians, no need to poke, Donna. Detective Inspector, delighted to meet you, Chloe, Imogen, I’m the Doctor.”

Bemused, Lewis found himself shaking hands with this cheerful speed addict, his not-wife (“Why do people always think that?” the Doctor asked, while Jack’s went got small and stabby) and his equally cheerful daughter. The Doctor seemed delighted to meet Lewis, yammering away in the praises of the modern CID, including fond memories of Morse (whom he, at least, had apparently not slept with) and a baffling reference to having “read all the books”. Chloe and Imogen were equally and effortlessly charmed (not least by Donna, who clearly thought they were sweet and who also had fantastic breasts). Then father and daughter went back to talking very fast; Jenny, it seemed, had stopped by the Duessa to negociate trading rates for a few “acquisitions” (PIRACY, demanded the Doctor in thunderous tones, then said OW when Donna trod on him), heard sounds of kidnap and tracked Branning and his daughter to their citadel. Jack, throughout this, stood by with the expression of a Christmas puppy turned Boxing Day football. Ianto’s heart was actually starting to ache.

“You have a daughter?”

The Doctor had the grace to look embarrassed. “Yes. Well – yes. Accidentally. Pretty amazing accident, though,” he added, grinning down at her. “Genetic splicing device, er, thingy. Clone wars. You should see her do backflips. Right, shall we go?”

“So Donna’s not her mom?”

Donna glowered. “Do I LOOK old enough to have a daughter her age? Shut up, alien.” The Doctor sensibly closed his mouth. Jenny beamed.

“No, Donna’s my dad’s best friend, she’s amazing! We did so much running together! It was great! Dad, do you remember?”

“Yes! When we ran down that corridor on that planet! And encouraged the two races to live peacefully as one! And then you got shot but now you’re back, isn’t that great?”

“Do they ever get a bit wearing?” Lewis asked, under his breath. Donna just smiled. The Doctor, still looking like all his birthdays had come at once (which was really saying something), started, once again, towards the TARDIS, parked on a zombie pile-up by the farthest door.

“Allons-y!”

“What, that?” Owen looked sceptical, then disturbed as the Doctor practically bounced.

“Oh, I love it when they say that, love it love it love it. Chameleon circuit. Jenny, where’s your ship, if you give me the coordinates we can bring it along.” He started ushering them off; Chloe and Imogen went eagerly (both were sick of being missing persons, and Chloe had an essay), Tosh apathetically and Owen and Lewis with furrowed expressions of doubt. Donna and Jenny were already at the doors when the Doctor remembered.

“Jack?”

Jack just stood there, looking lost. He tried for a smile, the broken-but-cheerful lopsided-GI look actually helped by the zombie grime and lingering nosebleed. “Never thought I’d see you as a family man.”

Over Jenny’s shoulder, Donna saw the Doctor tense. He nodded towards Ianto, standing close by. “I could say the same to you.” His face cracked into a careful smile. “Didn’t need to go and find a clone of yourself after all.”

Ianto gaped. “What?” Jack rolled his eyes. “Long story. Thanks a bunch, Doctor. C’mon, Ianto.”

He began to move, leaving a speechless Ianto to shake his head and trying, yet again, to suppress his fury. The others began piling into the phone box, Imogen sparing only a brief glance for her apparently dead father. She was shaking, though, and Chloe hugged her again, hurrying them inside.

It’s worth pointing out, though, that Sheridan Branning wasn’t actually dead. In fact, for the past ten minutes, he hadn’t even been unconscious.

Not that he'd been in any hurry to reveal this - til now.

Ianto could hear the others exclaiming over whatever was inside the phonebox, and – head turned – began to follow them, picking his way around decapitated zombies and dead robots.

Jack was way ahead, having reached a patch of the carpet relatively unstained with heads or juice.

Branning had managed to retrieve his gun. He was resting up on one elbow, and pointing the weapon directly at Jack, more than halfway down the room and in his eyeline. The Doctor saw, and cried out a warning.

Everybody turned, Jack’s face full of terror. Except the Doctor, only one other person had registered what was happening, and his face was white. A second later, Branning fired his gun straight at Jack; without a moment’s hesitation, Ianto Jones saw this and threw himself into the line of fire, between Jack and the bullet.

It him in the chest, and after a moment, he collapsed.

The Doctor’s daughter was already moving; a flash of the red laser hit Branning in the chest and he fell back, the gun bouncing uselessly away. Ianto saw the beam flash across his head and for a second thought he’d been shot again; then Jack was there, turning him over with horribly shaking hands. Lewis could see his terror; the older man was almost keening, then retching when he saw Ianto’s wounds. The younger man’s eyes were glassy, his lips and nails already white; his teeth were chattering and his whole body beginning to shake.

“Get him into the TARDIS, we have to go now,” the Doctor bellowed, face terrible. Ianto’s eyes were huge and terrified above sealed lips that suddenly slackened with the pain of being moved; a horrible clotted mess slid out of him and suddenly Lewis’s shirt was splashed with froth and foam. Ianto’s eyes were fixed on Jack with a terrible pleading; Jack was almost weeping and it was to Lewis’s surprise that he was able to lift the younger man, hugging him close and not speaking again until there was time to think on the TARDIS floor.

The Doctor sent Jenny to the controls then ran straight back, Donna bringing a medical kit that Owen and he both ripped open at once. Jack was rocking Ianto, holding him across his lap; the latter was still, impossibly, conscious, although Lewis would gladly not have seen his face, looking young and scared as he gasped out his last few breaths, pleading with his eyes that they save him.

“Keep him upright,” Owen muttered, looking as if he wanted to be sick. He and the Doctor fought to seal the wound and stop the bleeding; the sight when they ripped open Ianto’s shirt made it horribly clear that they weren’t dealing with any human gun. This was no puncture wound, just ripped and blackened flesh. Tosh had to cover her mouth for a second, but then she too was beside Ianto’s head, helping to hold him up, smiling despite her fear.

Everyone was touching him. He could feel their hands rubbing his arms, holding his hands; he could hear Jack telling him to look at him, stay awake.

“I’ll call an ambulance,” Lewis croaked, reaching for his mobile. The Doctor looked up.

“Use mine. Donna –“ Donna threw it across. “Call the JR, tell them we’re coming. I’m coming. Hospitals know me,” he added, grim, before getting back to work.

Jack was stroking his face, holding Ianto against his chest, the younger man now barely conscious of his warmth, the strength of the leaner body against his own. He could just hear Jack’s voice, begging the Doctor to help, promising Ianto he would live and murmuring words of love that disappeared into a steady silence. The girls were there, too, and that was a satisfaction; he wanted to find Lewis and congratulate him, but movement was impossible, although he could hear a quiet voice that might have been his; perhaps, then, Lewis was there, to watch him bleed to death. It was as if the pieces of his vision and his life were being picked up, one by one, and put into an envelope beyond reach. He knew Jack was trying to speak to him but that he, Ianto, couldn’t answer. He knew that Jack was crying but wanted to tell him that it didn’t matter, because there was no why and no retribution in Jack’s immortality – you couldn’t look at Jack and see an immortal, just someone you loved about to die a death that was real, and all he had seen when Branning fired the gun was Jack dying, not an alien or a mistake, but a man.

He thought dimly of his family, of Gwen and her baby, of Jim’s secretive hands and of all the memories he had created, separate cards destined for reshuffle at a moment like this. But there was only Jack’s face, the last thing visible, its handsome lines cut and his tears running into dirt and blood as he held Ianto against his heart. Ianto’s lung collapsed and he felt scared as the blood rushed up to his throat; his head jerked backwards, and he shuddered, and the cards reshuffled and came up with nothing and there was nothing any more, not even Jack.

Go to the next (and final) chapter.