Ptorchwood Ptales & Ptimely Pthoughts

Owen, Ianto and Martha sat in the hospital cafeteria. Ianto looked at Martha, his eyes pleading.

“I know you want some pain medication, but I’d like you to eat something first so you don’t end up sick.” 

Ianto closed his eyes for a moment, trying to get control over the pain he felt pulsing through his right hand. ‘OK, just suck it up, eat this swill and then get the drugs,’ he reasoned. He took a bite of his sandwich, making a face. He couldn’t believe that Owen had got him tuna; he hated, hated tuna.

Owen laughed, “Oi, I see that look on your face; I can’t believe that you’re not enjoying this fancy lunch I bought you.”

Ianto made a writing motion toward Martha. “Oh sorry, I forgot I had your stuff.” She handed a pad of paper and pen to Ianto.

I HATE TUNA !

Ianto showed what he wrote to Owen.

“You want mine then, its ham.” Ianto nodded. Owen traded sandwiches with Ianto. 

Martha sighed, “Ianto, I’m sorry about the session, I told her you couldn’t speak.  I don’t know why she felt she had to see for herself.”

“Speaking of which, no pun intended,” interrupted Owen, “can you explain why Ianto can’t talk?”

Martha explained that they had done some MRI’s specifically on the area of the brain next to the skull fracture but couldn’t detect any damage. The more general brain scans hadn’t detected anything abnormal either. 

“Ianto, is it OK, if I speak for you? I know all the writing is hard.” Ianto didn’t look happy, but nodded yes. “Ianto says he can think how to speak, but he can’t get the words to form.  And yes, we already checked his larynx and vocal chords, they’re all undamaged. Our best guess is that some neural pathway in the brain has been damaged but we just can’t find it. It’s probably a very small bit of damage; we just have to hope that over time it regenerates.”

Ianto began to write something on his paper and showed it to Owen:

Can YOU buy a cell phone for me ? Lost mine. I HAVE money.

Owen didn’t understand why Ianto wanted a cell phone, he couldn’t speak after all. “Well sure, but…”

Can I borrow yours to show you ?

Owen took his Blackberry out of his pocket. Ianto put it on the table, hit a few keys and began to type rapidly with his good hand. When he finished, he handed it over to Owen. Owen read the text, smiled and handed it to Martha.

‘I can text message. A lot faster than I can write with my left hand. Oh and as a bonus, you can actually read it! So people won’t think I’m retarded in addition to being a gimp. I really want to be able to communicate directly with people. I want to speak for myself.’

Martha smiled, “That makes sense, but, come on Ianto, no one thinks you are stupid.”

Ianto grabbed the cell phone away from her.

‘Yeah, so remember when we came down here the other day and that doctor came over to talk to you. And then he looked at me and v..e..r..y s…l..o..w…l…y asked how I was feeling? Like I was an idiot!’

“You’re right, Ianto, I’m sorry….I was just trying to help.”

‘I know, but it doesn’t. I’m going to have to learn to do things for myself especially if my speech doesn’t return and I can’t use my right hand.’

“That brings me to some other things I need to discuss with you and Martha, so Ianto hang onto the cell phone in case you have anything you want to say.”

Owen explained to Ianto that his time in the hospital was coming to an end.

In 3 to 4 weeks, he would be moving over to a UNIT medical facility for his upcoming hand surgeries. Even Martha seemed surprised by this.

“I spoke to Brigadier Hamilton and he agrees that it would best.” Lowering his voice Owen explained that they had some alien technology at Torchwood Three that might be able to accelerate the healing of his hand between surgeries but it would be impossible to use at the hospital without arousing suspicions. And UNIT had excellent rehabilitation facilities, far superior to the hospital’s. Ianto typed his agreement with the plan.

“And of course the lovely Dr. Jones will be there to oversee your progress. I have a couple of housekeeping things to discuss with you but let’s go back to your room first.” 

They returned to the room, and Martha gave Ianto his pain medication as he got back into bed. They discussed getting a cell phone for Ianto. Ianto liked Owen’s Blackberry so Owen agreed to get him one with unlimited texting of course. Owen explained that Torchwood Three would be picking up the cost. When Ianto began to object, Owen told him not to worry about it or any other costs while he was getting well. “That’s on Torchwoods tab, by order of Her Majesty.”

‘Think she’d buy me a Maserati?’

“No, but she’s covering your rent and utilities until we get this all sorted out.”

Owen was a little nervous about the next item on his list. “You know you are going back to Cardiff eventually, to finish your rehab right? Good, so I checked and the lease on your flat is due for renewal in a few months. I’d like to put your furniture and anything else you don’t need right now in storage in Cardiff. We can go over to your flat, maybe next week and figure out what needs to be packed up, OK? Maybe we can get some of your friends to help.”

Ianto looked a bit upset.

‘I guess that’s OK.  I’ve been meaning to ask, has anyone called about me? I haven’t heard from my best friend. His name is Charlie Mackenzie. Or my mum or my sister.’

Martha glanced over Ianto’s head at Owen. Ianto could see from Owen’s tight lipped expression that he was in for some bad news.

Martha cleared her throat and took over the conversation. “Ianto, we did speak to your sister. She said she wanted to come but she’s got two little ones at home. And did you know your mother was living with your sister’s family?”

Ianto shook his head. “Right, your mum had a stroke about six months ago, she can’t take care of herself so your sister has taken her in.”

Ianto hadn’t cried at all since he was rescued from Canary Wharf. He didn’t think he had the right to. After all, he had survived when so many hadn’t. So he blinked back his tears and typed,

‘And Charlie?’

Martha thought her heart would break. The Brigadier’s office had done a very thorough investigation on Ianto to make sure they had all the relevant information on him. That included his personal life. So she was keenly aware of what had happened with Lisa as well as Ianto’s life since then. She spent an evening with the Brigadier and his attaché reviewing CCTV tapes of Ianto and Charlie going to clubs, Ianto and Charlie leaving the clubs with a variety of young women all of them laughing and having a good time, and the occasional tape of Ianto and Charlie stumbling out of a club drunk and alone. They were so alike in appearance, tall, dark hair, fair skin, and blue eyes, that they could have easily been mistaken for brothers.  More tapes of Ianto and Charlie playing chess in a park, playing rugby with friends, they were practically inseparable.

“Ianto, I’m so sorry, Charlie was killed in the attack.” Ianto couldn’t understand what Martha was telling him, after all, Charlie didn’t work for Torchwood.

“You must not remember but Charlie had the day off from work and you were going to meet him for an early lunch. He came down to the wharf and was waiting in the lobby for you when the Cybermen attacked. He got out of the building but didn’t leave the area. He was standing in the plaza just outside the building when one of the walls gave way. He was killed instantly. I’m sorry Ianto, really I am.”

‘He was waiting for me, wasn’t he?’

Martha sighed. “It would look that way. But it’s not your fault, Ianto, you can’t blame yourself for this.”

Ianto typed angrily on the cell phone practically throwing it at Martha.

“Hey,” Owen yelled at him, “you’re not a baby, stop throwing things.” Ianto burst into tears.

Martha handed the cell phone to Owen and moved to sit on the bed next to Ianto. She put her arms around him and held him while he cried. 

‘Right, I’m not to blame for anything,’ Ianto had typed. ‘My best friend died because of me, I took some pills so I couldn’t help him; I hadn’t called mum in almost a year so I didn’t even know she had a stroke, and I left Rhiannon and Cardiff and never looked back.’

If he could have make any sounds Ianto probably would have been sobbing or screaming, but as it was tears just ran down his face, the only sound being an occasional gasp for breath. Eventually, Ianto shuddered, took in a couple deep breaths and calmed a bit. Owen reached over and turned Ianto’s face toward him. He could see that Ianto’s pupils were dilated a bit; the pain medication was kicking in.

“Ianto, I want you to listen to me very carefully. You did not kill Charlie. We know about the pills. They showed up in your pre-surgical toxicology screening. Now maybe I’m wrong, but I’m betting you took those not to kill yourself but to keep yourself from panicking. You were trapped in the archives and there was nothing you could do…even if you hadn’t taken them. As for your family, Ok, you should have called your mum, but you’re not the first kid to leave home for a better life and forget about those he left behind. When you’re on your feet again, we’ll go for a few beers and I’ll tell you about a doctor I know who did the very same thing. And then will go sort things out with your mum and sister, OK?”

Ianto nodded. He felt so helpless. He leaned back on a pillow stared off into space. ‘When is this ever going to end? All this crap, the surgeries and rehab, the pain throbbing always throbbing in my hand. Am I ever going to be able to speak or work or even have a shag again?  Or dress myself, or drive a car…. All I want is normal life, why does shit keep happening to me?’ Finally, he felt the pain medicine begin to kick in. He sighed and let his eyes drift closed.

Martha and Owen stayed another half hour with Ianto making sure he was settled and asleep. They let the nursing staff know that Ianto had been told about some friends he had lost at Canary Wharf and that he might have a rough night.

Chapter 9 is here: http://aviv-b.livejournal.com/4080.html 

RATING: PG-13 for this Chapter for some swearing
WORDS: ~ 800
CHARACTERS: Ianto, Owen, Martha
SPOILERS: None, Not canon. This Chapter set during Series 1. 
SUMMARY:  Look who's talking...not.

Silence is as full of potential wisdom and wit as the unhewn marble of great sculpture - Aldous Huxley

 

Three weeks later Ianto came out of his coma. His lung had re-inflated on its own and the swelling associated with his skull fracture had dissipated. His right leg was healing well and his surgeon was confident that he would walk normally after some physical therapy. His hand which had been cleaned, debrided and stabilized was not showing signs of infection but would require several surgeries to restore even partial mobility. While he was in coma, there hadn’t been any way to assess any lasting brain damage, but now it was important to know exactly how severe the damage was. His doctors decided to wait another three weeks and see if they could wean him off some of the pain medication he was on so that it wouldn’t interfere with the testing.

On a beautiful August morning, Owen drove over from Cardiff to observe the testing. All things considered, Owen thought afterwards, it could have been worse. Ianto was visibly nervous, and the psychiatric social worker evaluating him had all the charm of a weevil. He sat outside the test area behind one way glass with the UNIT physician, Dr. Martha Jones. She had taken extra care in overseeing Ianto’s case and Owen told her how grateful he was.

“Dr Harper, I have to tell you that your young patient is quite a favorite around here. He’s having problems with his verbal skills, you’ll see that in a moment, but he still is able to communicate pretty well in his own way. And, he has a wicked sense of humor.”

Owen didn’t really understand what Dr. Jones was referring to, but he reckoned he see soon enough.

They turned their attention back to the test area as the social worker sat across a small table from Ianto, explaining that she was going to ask questions and he should answer as best he could. Ianto sat in his wheelchair and listened. He really didn’t want to be doing this. He was in a lot of pain due to reduction in his medication prior to these tests and the humiliation of having to be bathed, dressed, helped into the chair and wheeled to the session was almost unbearable.

“What’s your name?”  Ianto stared at her.

“Let’s try that again…. what’s your name?” There was a dry marker on the table and Ianto motioned to her to give it to him.

“I will be evaluating your written abilities later. Now again, what is your name?” Ianto tried to grab the marker away from the evaluator. “You’re not getting this, so stop reaching for it,” she snapped.

Frustrated Ianto slammed his left fist on the table and pointed to the marker. The social worker pushed back from the table. “We’re done here, you are obviously too emotionally upset to be tested.”

Ianto wasn’t paying any attention to her. As she stormed out of the room he grabbed the marker in his left hand, pulled the cap off with his teeth and scrawled on the Formica table top:

I M     IANTO   F KIN    JONES

The two doctors laughed as they read the upside down message. “Looks like he understands well enough.”

The evaluator confronted the two doctors as they left the observation room. “I’m a busy person. It’s unconscionable that you would even bother to have me come in to test someone who should be put in a psych ward…permanently as far as I’m concerned.”

Owen winced at that. The door to the test room was open and he knew that Ianto could hear every word. Owen and Martha pushed past the social worker to see how Ianto was coping.

Entering the room, they saw that Ianto had added something to his writing:

Is   it    somethin  I    said ?

Ianto grinned as both doctors laughed. Martha tried to put on a serious face but starting laughing again. “Ianto, you are a bad, bad boy,” she teased.

Ianto pointed at himself and raised one eyebrow. “Yes you. What ever are we going to do with you,” Martha quipped. Ianto pointed to his cheek. “Ok, I can’t resist.” She gave him a tiny peck on the cheek. 

Owen could see what Martha liked about him. Even after all he’d been through and all he had left to deal with, not to mention the pain he must be in, he hadn’t let it defeat him. 

“Yeah, Ianto, what are we going to do with you,” Owen repeated. Ianto pointed to his cheek again and winked at Owen. “Oi, what kind of guy do you think I am?”  Ianto gave him an exaggerated pout. “Ok, a hug, you can have hug, but don’t be trying anything funny.” Still laughing, he walked over to Ianto, gave him a hug and patted him on the back.

Turning to Martha and Ianto, Owen remarked, “Seriously mate, I think we need to see if we can’t figure out why you’re not able to talk.” 

Ianto nodded in agreement. 

Chapter 8 is here:  http://aviv-b.livejournal.com/3603.html

Ianto felt himself being lifted up out of the debris. The light burned his eyes as he tried to focus on his surroundings. He sensed blurry movement around him, but nothing he could see clearly. He closed his eyes, but the light still seared through his lids. Every part of him hurt, but the pain in his right hand was excruciating. Even the slightest movement sent waves of scorching heat coursing through his hand. He struggled to sit up, but pain exploded through his body and he felt a buzz rising up from his feet. Then darkness.

“Don’t let him move. Get him secured to that backboard. Immobilize the head, then the right arm and leg. Quick but careful, he’s running out of time.” The paramedics worked efficiently securing him safely in place. It was probably a blessing, thought one, that he’s not conscious. He’s got to feel like he’s been to hell and back.  

*****

The emergency personnel at the hospital rapidly assessed his condition. His heart, liver and bowel were undamaged. One lung was punctured, his skull was fractured, his right leg was broken and the right hand – well that might not even be salvageable. All agreed that the life threatening injuries had to be addressed first.

 Within an hour he was taken in for emergency surgery to insert a chest tube to remove air from thoracic cavity, check for other internal injuries and determine the extent of the cranial damage. In a way Ianto was lucky. The damage to his skull was a simple lateral fracture which could be secured with pins and screws. There was only minor swelling of the brain.  The surgeons however, concerned that once the skull was closed pressure could build up, decided to put him in a medically induced coma. The simple fracture to his tibia was set and his hand was stabilized. As bad as the hand had been damaged, it wasn’t immediately life threatening and would have to be addressed at a later time.  Seven hours later, Ianto was brought out of surgery alive.

*****

His wallet was still miraculously on him when he was rescued so ID-ing him had been easy. Accessing his personnel file, Brigadier Hamilton asked his attaché to work on locating his emergency contacts even though it was already past 22:00 hours. First on the list was a Lisa Hallett, in London listed as a ‘friend.’ The attaché located her easily enough, but she made it clear that the information was outdated and while she was very sorry to hear about Ianto, she didn’t want to get involved. Next on the list was his mother who lived in Cardiff. Her phone number was no longer in service. The final name on the list was his sister, Rhiannon Davies. She was concerned, but explained that with two small children, and an invalid mother to care for, she couldn’t just drop everything for a brother she hadn’t spoken to in several years. But she said she try to make some arrangements and get to London to see him if she could.

The attaché sighed. The Brigadier passed by her office and saw the look on her face. ”Saundra, what’s wrong.”

“You’re not going to believe this. You know the Jones kid you asked me call about, well he’s got no one. I called his girlfriend; turns out she’s an ex-girlfriend and made it clear that she couldn’t be arsed about his situation. I couldn’t reach his Mum, but the reason I couldn’t is because she had a stroke last year and is living with her daughter in Cardiff. And Ianto’s sister, I don’t know what to say. She seemed upset, but not upset enough to make much more than a token promise to come to see him. He’s 23 years old. If he lives, he’s going to need a lot of support and he’s got no one. Not one living soul gives a damn whether he lives or dies.” 

“You mentioned Cardiff, is he from there?”

“Born and raised there. Came to London to attend University.”

The Brigadier smiled. “Saundra, I appreciate your help and try not to be too upset. He’s going to have lots of support. I have the perfect family for him there.” Saundra looked at him like he lost his mind.

“The medic who found him is from Torchwood Three. He’s very concerned about Mr. Jones’ welfare. Got a bit of a hero complex. I think Mr. Jones just found himself a new big brother. And Captain Harkness already knows that any survivors from Wales are under his jurisdiction, so assuming Mr. Jones survives, I think he’ll be just fine.” 

Saundra rolled her eyes. Hamilton nodded. “I know. They are a bunch of rogues aren’t they, but I honestly believe that Dr. Harper will be a great support to him. And who knows, Jones may just be what the doctor ordered.” He chuckled a bit to himself as he thought about tomorrow’s meeting. 

“Forward his file to my computer, I’m meeting the Captain Harkness and Dr. Harper first thing tomorrow and I want to have a better understanding of Mr. Jones’ background.

*****

The next morning Owen and Jack were waiting in the mess hall before 7:00 AM. The atmosphere was grim. Listening to conversations around them, it was obvious that these were the men and women who were going to the site to look not for the living but for casualties.

The Brigadier arrived; laptop and folders tucked under his arm and joined them at a table in a quiet corner. He told them that they had identified the survivor as Ianto Jones and did a brief review of his medical condition. “I have downloaded his detailed records to Torchwood Three, and alerted the staff at the hospital that you have UNIT’s approval to access any of his records.” Owen nodded his thanks.

“I have to ask you Dr. Harper about something you said yesterday that I’m still puzzling over….why did you refer to Mr. Jones as 'Gramps?' ”

Owen’s face stretched into a thin smile. “You know, the suit, the pocket watch. I didn’t get a good look at him, but I’m guessing he must be one of those employees you’d like to have retire, but they just hang on forever. I didn’t mean it disrespectfully.”

“Of course not. But I have to tell you for a doctor, you need to work on improving your patient assessment skills.” Jack could feel Owen bristling but caught the twinkle in the Brigadier’s eye.

“Owen, don’t go getting all defensive, let’s hear Brigadier Hamilton out.” Owen took a deep breath and prepared himself for the worst. Had he missed something crucial about Mr. Jones’ injuries, or endangered him by climbing into the wreckage?

As Brigadier Hamilton turned the laptop toward the men he announced, “Gentlemen, I give you the illustrious Ianto Jones.” Jack burst out laughing.

“Bollocks!” Owen was furious. “That’s really not funny Brigadier.”

“Actually it is.”

“Come on, you show me picture of a high school kid, and think I’m going to find that amusing?” 

Jack interrupted. “Lloyd, I know you’re not one to joke at a time like this. What’s going on?”

“This really is Mr. Jones. He’s 23 years old, recruited by Torchwood straight from college only six months ago.” Brigadier Hamilton leafed through the file. “I’ve downloaded his whole file to you so you can read it at your leisure. But here’s some highlights: born in Cardiff, grew up in a housing estate, thought to be bright but not terribly motivated, a shoplifting incident at age 15, attended London University on scholarship. He took the Torchwood screening tests on a dare from a classmate. Scored exceptionally high on the deductive reasoning tests, off the chart on the memory tests, and above average on empathic ability. Girlfriend in college, the relationship ended shortly after he joined Torchwood. 

He was promoted from junior archivist to artifact analyst within three months of starting at Torchwood. His supervisors raved about the quality of his work, and more than one refers to him as a ‘nice, polite, young man.’ The suits and pocket watch seem to be a bit of an eccentricity on his part.”

“You think,” smirked Jack. Owen looked at the Brigadier as they both bit back a smile. After all, Jack had his own eccentricity concerning a coat from a certain era.

“Otherwise, he seems to be a quiet, harmless individual, toiling away in the archives for queen and country and all that nonsense. Oh, and I guess I should mention that his only family are a mother who is incapacitated by a stroke and a sister, who seems a bit indifferent.”

Owen listened to Ianto’s narrative as his gut tightened. He insisted that he wasn’t going to return to Cardiff, not when there was no one to look out for Ianto Jones. Jack really didn’t want a scene in the front of the Brigadier. Fortunately, the Brigadier proposed a reasonable compromise. Owen would return to Cardiff and he’d assign a UNIT physician to oversee treatment at the hospital. Assuming Jones came out of coma; Owen could come back to London at that point and oversee the plans for the next part of Ianto’s rehabilitation. Jack and Owen both agreed that this was a logical way to proceed.

“And when you think about what’s down the road if things go well, it makes transitioning his care later on much easier. Don’t forget, once he’s stable, he’ll be transferred to Cardiff to continue his recovery and rehabilitation under Torchwood Three’s supervision.”

Jack and Owen looked at each other and realized that they would be involved with Ianto Jones’ recovery not just for the next few months, but perhaps for the rest of his life.

Chapter 7 is here: http://aviv-b.livejournal.com/3486.html

He who destroys a life destroys the whole world; he who saves a life, saves the world entire. (The Talmud)

The recovery team was furious when they discovered that Owen had climbed into the collapsed building structure. Jack and the Brigadier came out and ordered him to exit the space. Owen refused. “I don’t care if you retcon me or put me in front of a firing squad, I’m not leaving him. I found him and I’m going to see him out of here safely.”

Jack pulled Hamilton away from the others. “I know you’re going to think I’m crazy, but just let him stay down there. We can’t afford to waste time and I think he really needs to do this…even if it costs him his life.”

Brigadier Hamilton turned to the others. “All right, let’s get the survivor out. Be careful for the medic, but your first priority is to get the survivor out safely.”

Owen inched his way over to the trapped man. “I’m Dr. Owen Harper. And you are…” Owen coached. The man just stared at him. If he didn’t blink, Owen would have thought he was dead. “Right, so you know you’re at Torchwood One, what was, uh, is your job?” Owen knew he sounded like a lunatic but the man just continued to stare, expressionless.

Owen shined the torch in his eyes. He realized that the man’s pupils were totally dilated and non-reactive. That couldn’t be good. Shock or maybe he needed some daily medication, or maybe Yvonne managed to bring some Zombies along with the Daleks and Cybermen. 

He lifted a water bottle to the man’s mouth. “Can you drink a little, its just water?” No response. Owen poured a little water onto his fingertips and reached over to rub them over the man’s lips. “Come on, just take a little water.” Something instinctual made Owen go through the motions of opening his mouth and bringing the water bottle to his own lips. Something changed in the man’s eyes. He opened his mouth but still stared straight at Owen. Owen smiled. “Ok, just a drop.” He dribbled a few drops in his mouth. “Careful, don’t want you choking on it.” A few moments later, the man opened his mouth again. Owen chuckled, “Good, I think we’ve got an understanding now.”

Owen could hear a whirring noise very close by. “Dr. Harper,” a voice yelled, if you can hear me can you tap directly over where you are positioned? Good, can you tap directly over your survivor’s head? The man reached up and scraped the ceiling. Owen tapped in the same place for good measure.

“We’re directly over the two of you. Can you tap overhead somewhere you are not under but within a foot of both of you?” Owen reached beyond both of their heads and tapped. “Cover your faces as best you can, this next cut will be through to you and will kick up some dust. Owen covered his face with one hand and the man’s face with his other.

The loud whine from a tool was emanating from just above beyond their heads. A hole about 5 inches in diameter dropped out of the concrete ceiling.  Concrete dust was floating in the small space temporarily blinding him. He could make out part of a face looking in at him. He could have reached out and touched the firefighter looking in.

It took another two hours to free the survivor from the concrete. Once they cut a hole big enough, they pulled Owen out so that a firefighter could slip into the space and assess how best to free the man’s right side. Using small drills, and yes a chisel the firefighter slowly chipped away pieces of concrete from around the trapped man. Finally, the firefighter was able to slide the man sideways from under the concrete that had held him. As carefully as he could he slid him over to the open section. Four sets of hands lifted the man out and set him on a backboard. The firefighters secured his head and limbs, lifted him and ran to the waiting helicopter. 

Owen wanted to go with them, but Jack wouldn’t let him. “Owen, you did your job, let the EMTs do theirs. We'll check on him later, I promise.”

Owen looked around and realized that it was the starting to get dark. Must be around 2100 hours, he thought. Two survivors found in two days. That brought the number up to 27. As bad it felt to realize how many had died, Owen couldn’t help but smile when he thought about his survivor, his patient. He said goodbye to Sam and Molly as they all made their way back to the tent.  Sam praised Owen for his bravery, calling him heroic.

“If anyone’s a hero, it’s Molly. I hope she’s going to get a special treat for her hard work.”

Sam laughed, “I think there could be a hot dog in Molly’s future. This has been quite an experience, the last few days, not what I was planning when I came down to see my family, but time well spent nonetheless.” The men shook hands for the last time and went their separate ways.

Jack and Owen drove back with Brigadier Hamilton to the nearby base. “We’ve decided that the chances of finding any more survivors are slim to none. So officially, the search for the living ends tonight.”  

Hamilton continued, “Dr. Harper, you are an insubordinate bastard, but you have my congratulations – you did a heroic job today. You’re free to return to Cardiff tomorrow. Unfortunately, you’ll have to find your own transportation back. You may just want to rent a car; Ms. Costello will be driving back here to assist with artifact recovery once you’re back at Torchwood Three. Your colleague Ms. Sato is doing an exceptional job with her face recognition software. We’ve go about half of the non-converted casualties identified already. ”

“But what about Gramps?” Owen snapped. Jack and the Brigadier both gave Owen a puzzled look. “You know, the survivor… I want to be able to see how he’s doing.”

“I’m going to brief both you and Captain Harkness on his condition tomorrow before you leave. And assuming he pulls through, I’ve arranged for the hospital to send you daily updates. But we really do need you back in Cardiff. Your Captain let me know that you are very talented with lab work and can process DNA samples much faster than our lab. I’m not going to ask how, but your assistance would be much appreciated.”

Owen told him he’d be glad to help. Jack smiled to himself. The Brigadier certainly knew how to handle Owen. He wondered how if he could charm a belligerent weevil as well.

“We’ll meet at 0700 hours in the mess for that briefing.” 

Jack and Owen headed over to the mess hall looking for some vending machines.

“My favorites,” smirked Jack. “Peanut butter on crackers and undrinkable coffee.”

Owen stared at his coffee and crisps. “A stiff scotch, no let me revise that, several stiff scotches was what I was hoping for.”

“You know, you really were a hero today, Owen. The firefighters were so angry when you climbed down in there, but I think you did exactly the right thing.”

“Yeah, well thanks. Hell, I’m really tired Jack, I’m going to turn in if that’s OK.” 

“I’ll see you in the morning.”

Owen went to his room, showered, put on sweat pants and a T-shirt. He was exhausted but didn’t think he’d sleep. He lay down on the small bed and looked at the ceiling. He thought about the randomness of fate. His fiancé gets parasitic aliens in her brain. That old guy from archives, his silly suit, pocket watch and fob; he should be home with his wife and kids, maybe even grandkids. Owen hadn’t cried since he lost Katie, but thinking about all the people lost at Torchwood One, not Yvonne Hartmann and her lackeys, but the other employees, the accountants, and lab technicians, the food service personnel, hell the girl who sorted the mail, all of them gone, he couldn’t help but cry at the loss, the waste.

He prayed that the old guy from the archives would live. Maybe if he did, the years of misery and self-destruction could end. He’d have paid his debt for letting Katie die and he could move on with his life.

Jack left the mess hall not long after Owen. He also showered and got into bed. He had never felt so proud of Owen. He knew there was great potential, maybe even genius that could flourish if Owen could just forgive himself. ‘Who knows,’ thought Jack, ‘this could be a new start for him. But if that guy from the archives dies, I don’t want to think about what will happen. I’ll have to be prepared either way.’ 

He smiled a little at that, ‘I’m always telling my team that the 21^st Century is when it happens and they’ve got to be ready. Maybe I should start teaching them that facing life everyday can be harder than an alien invasion, and you’ve really got to be ready for that as well.’

Chapter 6 is here:  http://aviv-b.livejournal.com/3190.html

Courage is not the absence of fear, but rather the judgment that something else is more important than fear - Ambrose Redmoon

Ianto lay completely in the dark. The initial elation of having been found was ebbing away as the hours passed. He was surprised that he wasn’t more afraid. He reckoned that it was because at least now his body would be recovered. That was something, wasn’t it? But he felt so tired. The effort to respond to the “London voice” was getting harder and harder.

Finally, the voice told him that they were going to begin to remove the above ground debris and to not be frightened by the noise. He could hear the sound of a motor, then some gears being shifted. ‘Must be the crane,’ he thought. After some time Ianto heard a loud boom and thought he would have jumped out of his skin, if he could have moved at all to do so. As it was, he shook uncontrollably. 

“That was a large slab of concrete being removed from the top of the debris pile and it made a bit of noise when they put it down out of the way. They’re going to be removing some smaller pieces next. Just hang in there.”

The layers of destruction were slowly and carefully peeled away. It was now early afternoon and while the scraping continued, Owen was sure that the time gaps between his request and the S.O.S. response were getting longer. They were already past the critical 24 hour point. He knew that the survival rate for serious crush injuries decreased rapidly after 24 hours. Shock, hypothermia, organ failure all took their toll. A punctured lung, or a small amount of internal bleeding that could easily be dealt with initially, became a much more serious issue as time passed.

The crane came down to lift another huge piece of concrete. It strained under the weight and for a moment Owen was afraid that the crane might tip and drop the slab back down on the survivor. The crane finally lifted the concrete and slowly turned to remove it. Once the piece was out of the way, he and Sam came and looked once more. Molly, who had been silent through the whole process, began pulling on Sam and circling the area frantically. She barked twice and sat down. They both tried to look for any openings into the interior.

Owen’s flashlight caught a reflection of something as he moved his torch methodically over the area. He backtracked and slowly moved the torch over its previous path. There it was. He inched forward to get a better look. A small opening leading to what? He shined the torch directly into the hole and saw only debris. Frustrated he backed up and realized that initially he was looking into the space from a completely different angle. Getting down on his stomach he angled the light through the hole to try to see more the interior. 

“Hey, can you hear me?” The wait was interminable. “Hey can you hear me?” He heard what could be a faint scratch, but he wasn’t sure. “OK, if you can see my torch light, scratch twice. Another wait. And then he heard it – two faint scratches. “Mate, scratch again, every few seconds while I try to find you.” Owen focused on the sound as he swept the light slowly into the small hole. He almost missed it, but his light picked up the reflection again. He saw a small round gold circle suspended out of the ceiling.   No, not the ceiling, but from an object stuck just below the top of the area. 

He carefully moved his light up a bit. It took him a moment to recognize that it was a person. The gold circle was hanging from the person. Looking harder Owen could see that he (was it a he?) was lying on his back trapped between what looked like two more slabs of concrete. From their angles, it looked like the pieces had trapped his entire right side, leaving only his left arm and head with a little space to move. But the person wasn’t moving at all at the moment. “I see you, just hang in there..don’t give up.” Owen saw the survivor’s head shift slightly and the eyes open. He was alive, though he looked in a pretty grim state. 

He shouted to Sam who radioed the base about their discovery. The engineers ran to the site and examined the situation. “We’re going to have to use hand tools – concrete saws, maybe even chisels to get him out. If we try to lift that last piece of concrete directly off him, something’s bound to shift. We’ll radio for the firefighters; they have the tools and the most experience with this type of situation.”

Owen, looked at the survivor again. ‘He’s just staring,’ Owen thought. ‘Don’t tell me we got this far only to lose him.’ Owen saw the person blink and let out a sigh of relief.

“We’re going to cut the last pieces away with hand tools, OK? The noise will be close to you but we’re getting you out. You’re going to be fine.”    He turned to the engineers and saw they were preoccupied with organizing the firefighters who had been at the base.

He looked at the hole again. He was pretty sure he could get through there and crawl on his belly across another cement slab until he was directly next to the survivor. He knew he shouldn’t but damn it he wasn’t going to lose this guy now. As he began to creep toward the opening, Sam made eye contact with him. He knew what Owen was doing but did nothing to stop him or alert the others. ‘You daft fool’, he thought. ‘But I’d do the same if I could fit through there.’

Owen squeezed his body through the hole, and crawled along the small space toward the survivor. Man, woman, Owen wasn’t sure. As he got closer he could see the left hand pretty well. He thought it was a man based on hand size. He looked at the face, caked in dirt, dark black eyes just staring at him. His lowered his torch and illuminated the dangling round object. A pocket watch. He could see the man was wearing what has been a suit. He smiled to himself.

He looked directly at the trapped man. “Gramps, it’s your lucky day.”

Chapter 5 is here: http://aviv-b.livejournal.com/2977.html

After Owen headed out with his search and rescue team, Brigadier Hamilton asked Jack to accompany him to their temporary morgue. Set up in a nearby warehouse, row upon row of corpses covered the floor. Several soldiers were methodically walking down each row, taking pictures of each body and their accompanying tags before zipping them into a body bag.

“We’re trying to identify as many as we can. If the body has ID, or is intact and the face reasonably undamaged, it shouldn’t be that hard. The Unit Coroner has been able to determine the cause of death fairly easily in most cases. Mostly, severe trauma to the body, though we had about a dozen who died from fire, chemical burns or smoke inhalation where one of the labs exploded. We had several victims where the cause of death wasn’t apparent – our pathologist has determined heart failure as the cause. Those we can’t identify outright we’ll do our best with dental records and DNA testing.”

Jack didn’t want to ask, but knew Hamilton was waiting to see if he would. “And Yvonne Hartmann?” 

“One of the first to be killed and fully converted.”

“And the converted bodies, what about those?”

The Brigadier shook his head and walked over toward the far end of the warehouse, motioning for Jack to follow. As they approached this area, Jack could see that it was cordoned off with large movable drywall-like partitions and plastic sheeting. Jack could hear the sound of power tools, as well as detect the smell of blood.

“Since we’re telling the public it was a terrorist attack, we can’t have hundreds of missing bodies. Some we really won’t ever find, but it’s better to be able to give the families something. It keeps them from getting suspicious, and they can have some closure. You don’t have to go in if you don’t want to.”

Jack indicated that he would take a look. Brigadier Hamilton pulled back the plastic sheeting. Jack thought he had never seen anything quite so gruesome, even during war. People in biohazard suits were dissecting corpses that had been partially converted. Saws were being used to cut off converted parts and the floor was littered with metal covered arms and legs. 

“It’s exactly as you explained to Owen. If the conversion process hasn’t been too extensive, we can remove the converted parts, pretty up what remains and ship them off to the families. Obviously, if the conversion was near completion, there’s nothing to be done. We’ll do DNA testing for our own records but they will be incinerated and recorded as missing. I’m going to owe some serious time off to the medics and support staff doing this work…cleaning up Torchwood’s mess.”

Jack winced at that statement. The Brigadier walked with Jack back outside the area.

“I’m sorry Jack, I know it’s not your fault, but I’ve been in combat and this….

“I know. What a total disaster. I don’t think Torchwood Three’s going to be of much use to you with the clean-up, but we do have some facial recognition software that might help with ID-ing the bodies.”   Jack went on to explain that they had enhanced a commercial scanner with a few bits of technology that had come through the rift. It was far superior than anything available to UNIT. 

“Actually, that would be a big help. We need to identify these bodies as fast as we can – we can’t have a warehouse or cold storage facility stuffed with corpses for an indefinite period.”

“Ok, I’ll contact my resident tech genius, and have her contact your liaison. “

“That would be Ms. Toshiko Sato,” the Brigadier stated, not asked. Jack grimaced as he realized that UNIT would, of course, know everything about Tosh. Jack confirmed that the Brigadier was correct and was surprised that he seemed to think that using her computer skills was a good idea.

As they left the warehouse and began to walk the short distance back toward the base area Hamilton explained that UNIT would also be contacting the dozen or so personnel who weren’t physically at Torchwood One during the attack due to illness or time off. They would be offered positions with UNIT or a government agency; they could also take the retcon option and be set up in a new life. 

Brigadier Hamilton told Jack that he would have one additional task for him to help with if necessary. “In one way, it’s a blessing there are only a handful of survivors, Jack. We’re going to have to watch them carefully. So far, two who were not badly injured have agreed to come to work with UNIT, we have about a dozen more that have said they want retcon, but we’re giving them a little time to make sure that’s what they want. I’m just not sure what to do with the rest. A lot of these folks have not only extensive physical injuries but not surprisingly, some pretty severe psychological trauma. Do we retcon them into menial jobs, lock them in secure psychiatric facilities, or what? My instinct as a UNIT Brigadier is to get them out of site, but after seeing what they’ve been through, I just don’t know if that’s even humane.”

Jack told Hamilton that he thought his first thoughts were right – retcon or remove them from society. What other choices were there really?

The Brigadier said he wanted to consult with his medical staff as well as Dr. Harper and see if they had any alternative ideas.

“And Jack, if any of the survivors are from Wales, they are going to fall under your jurisdiction. I’ll expect you to follow whatever guidelines we develop as a team. So far, there aren’t any, they’ve all been living in England for many years, with the notable exception of one survivor who relocated a year ago from Scotland. Archie from Torchwood House has agreed to be responsible for him.”

Jack nodded and sighed to himself. He had worked so hard to build bridges with UNIT. And while Brigadier Hamilton was being more than polite, Jack held no delusions that the Battle of Canary Wharf wasn’t going to drastically impact the operation of Torchwood Three.

He was about to ask Brigadier Hamilton about the search for files and alien technology when he heard some shouting coming from the operations base area. They both ran over to see what was going on. As they arrived they saw a couple of people running out toward one of the search and rescue teams.

They listened to a dispatcher tell the team that some structural engineers were on their way over and to let them know if they needed additional medical support. Jack could hear Owen’s voice over the comm. “You should probably have a stretcher with a backboard ready, but I won’t know anything more until, I can get a better look.”

The dispatcher looked at Jack. “Your Dr. Harper thinks he found a live one.”

As much as Jack wanted to run over and see, he knew he’d just be in the way. He could tell Brigadier Hamilton was thinking the same thing. “Well,” said Hamilton, ‘we should probably see if there’s anything around here to eat; it looks like we’ll be here well into the evening hours.”

****

As the structural engineers ran toward him, Owen continued to crouch on the ground and talk to the where the scraping noise was coming from. He had no idea if he could be heard but figured that talking might help the victim stay alive and calm.

The engineers borrowed Owen’s stethoscope, listened a little, and walked around the immediate area looking at building plans. They thought the survivor was probably trapped in the archives, but couldn’t tell exactly where. They discussed what was probably under the huge piece of concrete wall that was covering the top of the site.

“I’m concerned that if we start removing the top layer that debris lower down could shift and kill him. Perhaps we should wait for some back-up to take another look.”

Owen just stared at them, suddenly realizing how tired and angry he felt. “If you don’t get him out now, whoever is down there will die for sure either from shock or dehydration. They’ve been under there for what, 20 hours; given the injuries of other survivors, I don’t think they could last another night. And I don’t care if you’d feel better with a second opinion, get some equipment over here and at least try to get the poor sod out.”

The two engineers looked at the plans again. They realized that they might just have gotten a lucky break on this rescue. The archives were underground and constructed to be bomb proof. That meant that the special reinforced concrete shouldn’t have crumbled under the attack.

“Dr Harper, here’s what we’re thinking. We believe that your survivor is trapped in the secure archives. Given the strength of construction of that area, it’s possible that the rest of the floors coming down didn’t crush the ceilings of the archives completely. Our best shot is to have heavy equipment lift the above ground debris straight up off the area and see if we can access the lower levels.”

Owen asked for a moment to think. “Hey, are you in the archives?” he shouted toward the survivor. Tap once for no, twice for yes.” After a pause that seemed to last forever, two scratches were heard. 

The engineers radioed what equipment would be needed before they headed back to base. Powerful lights, a crane and other equipment were promised within an hour. As the engineers returned to base to oversee the process, they suggested that Owen and Sam join them and get something to eat. Owen was hungry, but he knew that he was the only lifeline the survivor had. “Send something back for me, will you. I’m staying with my patient.”

Sam nodded in agreement. “Molly and me, we’re staying too.”

Owen couldn’t say how relieved he felt when Jack and the Brigadier came over with sandwiches and coffee. Owen ate one, but didn’t think he could keep a second one down.   Owen held up the sandwich for Sam to see. Sam nodded yes and Owen tossed the sandwich to Molly. It was gone in two bites. “At least someone still has an appetite.”

Owen explained what he had heard to Jack and Brigadier Hamilton. 

“Oi, I haven’t spoken to my patient in a while, I better see if he’s still with us.” Handing the stethoscope to Jack he crouched down in his former position. “You still with us mate? Can you give us a little SOS tap?” Jack thought his heart might break when he heard the faint scratches – 3 short, 3 long, 3 short. Brigadier Hamilton listened as well.

The three men looked at each other and knew they were going to do everything to get the survivor out.

As the crane moved into position, the Brigadier told Owen and Sam that they would have to pull back to base while the debris was being lifted. They both protested loudly. Finally, with a little finesse from Jack and a lot of swearing by Owen, they agreed that once the crane had turned to deposit its load away from the area, they could go in and do a quick check to see if they could still hear scraping.

Chapter 4 is here: http://aviv-b.livejournal.com/2771.html

Captain Jack Harkness, head of Torchwood Three was saddened but not surprised when he received the call from UNIT Brigadier Lloyd Hamilton. Torchwood One had fallen. Yvonne Hartmann and her insane ghost shift experiments had finally reached a disastrous end. He listened to the Brigadier describing the Cybermen invasion, the Dalek counter-attack and the intervention by The Doctor.

Most of the 2200 people working at Torchwood One were dead, but Brigadier Hamilton thought there might still be survivors.

“I’m sending a helicopter for you and your medic. Technically this is still a search and rescue operation at this point. But put the rest of your team on alert – we’ll need them down here in a few days to help retrieve any alien technology. And Captain, UNIT will be taking control of anything that even remotely resembles a weapon.”

Jack began to object. “Sorry, Captain, we’ve always had good working relations with you, but given what Torchwood One’s messing about has caused, we’re not going to let anyone from your organization have control over alien weapons”.

Jack was fuming, but he could understand the Brigadier’s position. “OK, we’ll be ready for the helicopter pick up at 01400 hours.”

Moving quickly, he scanned the Hub for his team. Suzie, Owen and Tosh were just returning from lunch through the tourist office entrance. They came in laughing and joking. Jack winced a little; this was not going to be easy to tell them.

He leaned over the railing outside his office. “Guys, I need you in my office now….its an emergency.” The three stopped laughing and looked up at Jack. Owen sensed that something was really wrong. “What, Jack, are you OK?” He ran up the stairs at full speed, Susie and Tosh following close behind.

“Time is of the essence, so I’m going to be quick and direct. Torchwood One has been destroyed. I don’t have many details but there are massive casualties and none of their facilities have survived intact. UNIT is sending a helicopter to take Owen and me to the site.  There still may be survivors so they need every medic with security clearance on deck. I’ll be coordinating with UNIT the retrieval of any surviving confidential files and technology. Owen, I need to you pack whatever medical supplies you think you’ll need.”

 “Tosh, look through your files and see if there’s anything in our archives that might be helpful and bring it up here. Yes, I know they’re in total chaos, but just do your best.” 

“Owen, give Suzie your house keys so she can go and pack up some clothes for you.” Owen grimaced to himself. “Great, just what I need, Suzie riffling through my stuff.” Out loud, he smiled at Suzie, “just pack what you think I’ll need; I can’t even focus on it.” 

Suzie took Owen’s keys and headed out of the Hub. “Guess I’ll finally find out whether Owen is a boxer or briefs kind of guy…just kidding.”

Within an hour Suzie had returned with duffel for Owen, Jack had a small flight bag packed and they had a small case of alien equipment to compliment Owen’s medical kit.

“Suzie, I’ll need you to take command here while I’m gone. Be prepared to come to London to help with the tech clean-up once the search and rescue is finished. That could be as early as tomorrow.   And Tosh, monitor the comms, we may need to contact you on a moments notice.” 

Tosh had been monitoring reports from Canary Wharf while they were waiting.   The casualties from the ‘terrorist attack” already exceeded a thousand people. Visibly shaken she admonished Jack. “Please be careful, I want both of you back in one piece.” Jack gave her a quick hug. “We’ll be fine, you just be careful too. Don’t take any unnecessary risks; work with the Cardiff police if needed; just retcon them afterwards.”

Jack and Owen went to a nearby soccer field to wait for pickup by the UNIT helicopter. The flight to Canary Wharf was tense. There was not much said beyond an exchange of names and occupations. The other three passengers were a pathologist, and two soldiers on leave who said that they were called back as part of the clean-up operation.

Brigadier Hamilton met the helicopter as it landed near Canary Wharf. Jack introduced Owen and wasn’t surprised to hear Hamilton tell them that Owen might not have much to do. 

“There have only been a handful of survivors; most have serious crush injuries and concussions, and they are all thoroughly traumatized. The last of them was transferred to hospital an hour ago.”

Owen felt a little sick, he could deal with dead aliens, but he really hoped they wouldn’t ask him to help out the pathologists. “How many?”

The Brigadier just shook his head.  “Living – we’ve pulled 25 people out but 3 have already died after being air-lifted to hospital. There may still be people alive and trapped under the debris but given the severity of the injuries we’re seeing and the difficulty of moving debris, we’ll be lucky if we find any more survivors.

“And dead?” asked Jack. 

“We’ve recovered about 1,300 bodies, not to mention numerous…uh, body parts.” That doesn’t include the five hundred or so fully or partially converted Cybermen who will, for the most part, be tallied as missing.”

“Missing?” Owen questioned.  Jack had explained to Owen about Cybermen and Daleks as they waited for their transport, but Owen didn’t understand how converted people could be missing. Jack shook his head; he knew what was happening.

“Dr. Harper, I know this is going to be hard to understand but once a human is converted to a Cyberman, even if it’s only a partial conversion, they could become active and endanger the planet. We have to euthanize them.”

“What, like an overdose? So why aren’t you giving the bodies back to the families?”

Jack sighed, looking at the Brigadier who nodded to him. “Owen, the danger is too great, there isn’t time to use sedatives; they are being shot. Where the conversion was minimal they can fix them up for the families, but you can’t expect them to return bodies that aren’t even human anymore.”

“You’re executing them, in cold blood.”

“Yes.”

“That’s inhumane Jack. How can you possibly sanction that?”

“Yes it is inhumane, but the takeover of the planet by Cybermen would be even worse.”

They stopped when they realized they had reached the site of Torchwood One. As bad as Jack and Owen had imagined the destruction at Canary Wharf would be, nothing could have prepared them for what they saw. An area about the size of a square block had been flattened. Jack was reminded of the Blitz thinking that he hadn’t seen anything this bad since then. There was literally not even a piece of a structure standing; everything had been destroyed. A few areas had small fires burning; firefighters were methodically extinguishing them. 

The Brigadier interrupted their thoughts and explained that search and rescue dogs and their handlers were being organized to systematically sweep the area and he’d like Owen to accompany one of the teams. “And if any converted Cybermen are found, you’ll radio it in and we’ll have our clean-up crew take care of them.”

“I just spent an hour riding in a helicopter with two executioners and a body snatcher, could this day get any better?” thought Owen.

Jack and Owen followed Brigadier Hamilton over to a large tented base area where operations were being coordinated. Owen was assigned to work with Sam Shuster, a soft-spoken middle aged man and his golden retriever Molly. Owen grabbed his medical kit while Sam put on a small backpack with food and water bottles for himself and the dog.

Owen and Sam talked a bit as they walked to the assigned area. Owen noticed Sam’s accent was not from the London area. “Ay, I live in Yorkshire, just in town visiting my brother and his wife. Heard about the terrorist attack and thought we’d come down and see if we could help. UNIT was pretty reluctant but Molly’s got lots of experience finding missing persons. Mind you, nothing like this of course, but she’s found a number of missing children, even a group of girl guides that managed to get themselves lost within a 20 minute walk of their campsite.

“So what happens if we find something?” 

“If we get lucky and find someone alive, we’ll radio back to base so they can have an engineering team analyze how to extract the person. We don’t want to go rushing around and trying to move things ourselves since the debris could shift and further injure the survivor or us. And we probably won’t have to worry about bodies, because Molly’s trained only to react to live scent. But if do find a casualty, we will mark the area for later excavation.  Once our teams are done, they’ll sweep the site with cadaver dogs.” 

They searched until there wasn’t enough light to see but found nothing. Another team had managed to locate and extract another survivor. She was in critical condition but it gave everyone hope that maybe a few more people could be found in time.

Jack had had an equally unfruitful afternoon, trying to sort through file access and encryption codes with the Brigadier. Everyone was exhausted when the work was halted for the night.

Jack and Owen were offered accommodations at a nearby base which they gratefully accepted. They were simple, but certainly no worse than the Hub.   Each had a small room with not much more than a bed, a tiny shower, and three hangers in an open closet. The rooms suited the men just fine. There were sandwiches and coffee in a mess hall nearby, neither of them ate very much.

The next morning they got up before dawn. Owen joined up with Sam and Molly again and they began their slow search of a new area.       

*********

Ianto struggled to wake up. He couldn’t see anything and he couldn’t move at all. Every part of him hurt; he had dirt and debris in his eyes, nose and mouth, and for a moment he thought he must be dead.  Then he realized he wasn’t. “Fuck, I’m trapped.” He had no idea that all of Torchwood One had been destroyed, how long he’d been trapped or whether anyone was looking for him.

He listened carefully and heard some voices in the distance. He tried to call out, but he wasn’t able to make any sound above a whisper. He struggled as hard as he could to move and was rewarded with white hot pain coursing through his body. He gasped at the pain as darkness closed around him again.

He came to some time later. Ten minutes, ten hours, he couldn’t tell. He heard some voices, soft, but close by. “Molly, what is it?” 

Ianto heard a dog whining almost directly overhead. He tried to call out again, but this time he couldn’t even whisper.   “Think, dammit, this may be your only chance to get out.” He tried to move but only his left hand wasn’t trapped. Maybe he could wave it and get someone’s attention but then realized he was fully underground and no one would see him. He began to panic a little, until an idea occurred to him. It was pretty crazy, but worth a try. He reached up with his left hand and began to scratch his fingernail on the concrete above him.

Molly whined again. Owen and Sam looked around the area trying to see what she was sensing. They used their torches to look into openings in the rubble but couldn’t make out anything.

Owen thought he heard something that sounded like the dog scratching but it was coming a foot or so away from where Molly was standing. “Sam, I think I hear something - can you get Molly to be still?” Sam signaled the dog, and she sat down and was quiet. Owen pulled out his stethoscope and began placing it on debris listening carefully. He gradually worked his way over to where he thought he heard the scratching and continued listening. 

“Sam, call it in, we’ve got a live one.”

“Are you sure?”

“Listen for yourself.”

Sam took the stethoscope and listened carefully. “Jesus, you’re right.” Sam backed away from Owen so he could relay the information to the base.

Owen listened again. Three short scratches, three longer scratches, three short scratches then a pause before the series repeated. Owen smiled as he thought, “S.O.S. You are one smart and lucky bastard whoever you are.” He didn’t know whether the survivor would be able to hear him but he yelled, “We hear you, we’re going to get you out, keep tapping, just keep tapping.”

Chapter 3 is here: http://aviv-b.livejournal.com/2505.html

RATING: PG-13 for this Chapter for some swearing and sexual references
WORDS: ~ 1700
CHARACTERS: Ianto/Lisa, OC - Charlie Mackenzie
SPOILERS: None, Not canon. This Chapter set pre-Series 1. Ianto will eventually be involved with members of Torchwood Three - but not quite in the same way as the series..

SUMMARY: How Ianto joined Torchwood One and what happens to him during The Battle for Canary Wharf.


Within six months after being hired by Torchwood One, Ianto’s world was irreparably altered. Twice.
 

 He had been hired straight from University after earning a degree in Software Engineering with a specialty in information architecture systems design. While he hadn't been the most diligent of students, he managed to snag an interview with a Torchwood on-campus recruiter.  He had performed only adequately during his interview and normally would have not been asked to Torchwood for a round of intelligence and performance tests.  But the recruiter sensed something unusual about Ianto and invited him to come to Torchwood for further testing.  Her instincts were rewarded as he had shown astonishing aptitude on some of them. His ability to synthesize bits and pieces of information into a coherent framework scored in the 99^th percentile. Memory capabilities tested at near perfect recall. He also showed above average empathic ability, which could be developed by Torchwood later in his career.

He could hardly believe it when Torchwood One offered him a job as a Junior Archivist. He wasn’t quite sure what actually went on at Torchwood, but he knew it was secret government business and that he was about to enter a very exclusive ‘club.’ He used most of his savings to buy a couple of nice suits, several dress shirts and ties along with a pair of dressy black oxfords.

Every morning he painstakingly prepared for work. The carefully pressed suit, the fresh shirt and tie and his polished shoes let the world know he was a professional, ready to make his mark on the world. He felt so proud to be working for Torchwood, even if he didn't fully believe that aliens existed.
 
His girlfriend, Lisa, however, was not impressed. She felt he could have done better. From her standpoint, he was nothing more than a glorified clerical employee. And in addition to being quite attractive, Lisa was a very ambitious woman. She was going on to graduate school and was sure she’d continue on to her doctorate degree in Applied Mathematics.

The academic world despised all things government in general and Torchwood in particular. When she told her graduate advisor that her boyfriend worked for Torchwood, he had looked at her over his reading glasses and sighed, “Ah yes Torchwood, we’re always hearing rumors about experiments and scientific discoveries going on there, but apparently they can’t be bothered to publish their results in respectable journals.” Lisa shuddered every time she thought about that conversation. Lately, she had taken to having lunch with Professor Whitman, a highly respected Associate Professor in line for a full Professorship in a year or two. He was much more in line with what she was looking for in a future husband.

Lisa planned her breakup with Ianto as carefully as she planned everything else in her life. She invited him out to dinner (her treat) at a quiet, rather posh restaurant figuring that the atmosphere would prevent him from getting too emotional and making a scene. She dressed rather severely for an evening out; after all she didn’t want his mind to be focused on other things. Nursing a glass of wine she gave him her most sympathetic smile and told him that she didn’t think things were working out in their relationship. She was quite surprised when Ianto told her that he agreed, wished her well, stood up and walked out of the restaurant.

Ianto smiled to himself, “Good thing Charlie told me about her messing about with that Professor. I’d be a right mess if she had caught me unawares.” In fact, he had had a bitter argument with his best friend at college Charlie Mackenzie, accusing him of making up the story because he was jealous of his relationship with Lisa. But later, Ianto couldn’t deny that Lisa had seemed cold and distant lately, and their lovemaking had become almost mechanical.

It didn’t take long for Ianto to confirm that Charlie was right. After an evening of watching a video at Ianto’s flat, Lisa had declined to stay over saying she had an early class the next morning. In her haste to leave, she forgot her cell phone on his coffee table. Feeling a little guilty, he checked her cell phone logs and found numerous calls to a number belonging to a Professor Whitman (she had him on speed dial no less). Many of the calls were made late at night. In fact, a few were made at about the time Lisa would have gotten home after declining several times recently to stay at Ianto’s.

He called Charlie and told him what he had found. Charlie knew Ianto was probably heartbroken; Lisa had been his first serious girlfriend and they had dated for over a year. “No, no, I’m OK, really. I guess I knew even before you told me, I just didn’t want to believe it.”

As he walked home from the restaurant, he realized that it really was OK. He had cried some the night he found the phone logs, but when he woke up the next day, he felt like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. And now, he felt, well, happy, and more than ready to try his luck with dating again.

He called Charlie when he got home, telling him what had happened and agreeing to go clubbing with him over the weekend. “You just wait and see Ianto, the girls are going to be all over you.” Ianto laughed.

Ianto had been somewhat shy when he started college, and the teasing he came in for over his Welsh accent hadn’t helped. His first year had been pretty lonely. But gradually his quick wit and dry humor had won his classmates over; he joined a chess club and played rugby with some of them on weekends. His dating life had improved as well.  He matured physically, his gawky, too thin body adding some muscle and grace. Lisa had met him just as his popularity was rising, and they quickly became an item. And Lisa made sure that nobody interferred in her relationship with Ianto.

Now, as Ianto nervously re-entered the dating world he was astonished to find that Charlie was right. Dressed in slim black jeans and a plain black T-shirt that accentuated his pale skin, he attracted the attention of quite a few women (not to mention a few men as well). His remaining touch of shyness just added to his charm. Whether they wanted to mother, romance or just fuck themselves senseless with Ianto, he never seemed to be without admirers.

Charlie was happy for Ianto. He had never liked Lisa and was glad that Ianto was getting a chance to just have some fun without getting serious again with someone right away. And most of women Ianto met were very impressed that he worked for Torchwood. It made quite a nice change, really.

One thing that Lisa was right about was that his job as junior archivist was mostly clerical in nature. He was charged with describing alien artifacts and logging them into the data system so that more experienced employees could analyze how they might relate to other items already in the system. It didn’t take long for his supervisors to realize that Ianto could look at an item and with almost without exception see the similarities between it and anything else he had logged in.

Within three months (and a week after Lisa broke up with him) he was promoted to Artifact Analyst I. After the junior archivists logged an item, Ianto’s job was to search the entire database and compare the items to everything in the archives. To be successful, he spent hours studying not only the database logs but the items themselves. Something about the rows and rows of strange looking gadgets fascinated him. Having always been interested in understanding how things worked and fit together, he’d lose himself for hours in the archives, walking the aisles, reading item descriptions, thinking about how they could be related to each other.

His obsession with alien artifacts was what saved him. He was alone in the lower level of the archives the morning the Cybermen attacked. He heard people running and screaming, large items crashing around, and instinctively moved to a remote corner of the vast space. Horrible inhuman voices shouted out strange commands; it seemed to go on for hours. Just as suddenly he felt something shift, almost like time had stopped. He could still here people screaming and sobbing, but the sound of machinery and voices yelling “Upgrade” and “Exterminate” were gone.

He tried to leave the archives only to find both exits blocked by debris. He smelled smoke and began to panic. There was no way out. He paced the archives and yelled for help as his mind raced with terrible thoughts. He was sure no one would find him before he was crushed or burned to death. “Shit,” he thought, “I don’t want to burn to death, anything but that!”

He yelled for help again but no one came. He had a bottle of sleeping pills on him that he had picked up at the pharmacy that morning. All the talk about ghost shifts by his coworkers had made him edgy and he’d had trouble sleeping the past few weeks. Rationally he knew that 10 pills wouldn’t be enough to kill him, but maybe he could drug himself enough so that he wouldn’t be aware when the smoke or fire or crushing weight of the building finally ended his life. Ianto pulled the bottle out of his pocket and palmed the tiny white tablets.

He sat down on the floor and stared at them. Tears fill his eyes when he thought about his Mam and Lisa. Would his body ever be found? Would his Mam at least be able to have a funeral? Would Lisa even care? “Oh, that’s a good one Ianto,” he thought, “she dumped you like yesterday’s garbage and you’re worrying about how she’ll feel when she hears you’re dead. You’re an idiot.”

Ianto could feel that he was beginning to lose control of his emotions. If he was going to do this, it had to be now. Quickly, he tossed the pills in his mouth and choked them down. He sat down, back against a storage closet, pulled his knees up toward his chest and wrapped his arms around his legs. A little while later, as he was beginning to feel foggy, he heard something in the building give way and the ceiling of the archives began to fall on him. Something smashed down directly on top of him; it hurt like hell but he couldn’t react except to think “this can't be good.”