Fic: Past Imperfect. (6/7)
Oct. 21st, 2010 11:58 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
silver_sunTitle: Past Imperfect. (6/7)
Pairing/Characters: Jack/Ianto, team.
Rating: R
Warnings: Torture/interrogation scene in this part. (No sexual elements to torture.)
Temporary Jack death.
Summary: Waking up injured and with no memory of the past few days is only the start of Jack's problems as part of his forgotten past comes back to haunt him.
A/N: Set during in series two after Meat but before Adam. Okay I know it's been ages since I posted the last part and this was supposed to be a six part fic but part six got so long I split it into two - so this is the first 4.5k of it.
Story starts here.
Part six:
Post-it notes, each with a fragment of memory written on it are scattered across Jack's desk, their corners tattered from frequent reordering. Although from Jack's expression he's still less than happy with the current order of them.
“No luck then?” Ianto asks as he walks into the office, his coat over his arm.
“No. I must be missing something.” Jack sighs and rubs his eyes. More fragments of memories have surfaced over the last couple of days, but there hasn't been anything that tells him what is going on. The fact that some of the memories are clearly not from the missing days, but from other, early parts of his life, parts that he wishes he could forget, hasn't helped.
“You need to take a break. There's been no sign of them for three days, that's the longest they've gone without using the teleport.” Ianto sits down on the edge of the desk. “What if they've gone, Jack? You can't stay down here forever.”
“You think I don't know that?” Jack snaps. The idea that they might have left and that he might never get the answers he wants scares him. But the thought that because he has failed to catch them that they could come back at any time, that they could just take him, torture him for answers that he can't possibly ever give, fills Jack with feeling of dread that he can't seem to shake.
“When did you last sleep?” Ianto asks, placing his hand over Jack's.
Jack looks down, not meeting Ianto's eyes. “I don't need to sleep, remember.”
Sighing frustratedly, Ianto says, “Physically maybe. Mentally I'm sure it can't be good for you.”
Jack doesn't answer. He knows that Ianto has a point, and that maybe if he sleeps he'll get some more memories back, but sleeping is difficult at the best of times, and right now he feels far too on edge for it even to be a possibility.
“If you're not going to rest then you need to get out for a while, maybe eat something that isn't take away,” Ianto says, walking over to the coat stand in the corner of the office, and picking up the old tan coloured jacket that Jack has been using since the loss of his greatcoat. “I'm going to get some lunch, why don't come with me?”
Jack looks at the pile of dog-eared post-it notes, not wanting to admit defeat, but not sure what else he can do until he remembers something else.
“None of the places that they teleported into looking for you were crowded, and neither was the location where they took you from.” Ianto hands Jack the coat, his fingers lingering over Jack's, trying to reassure him. “They were obviously trying not to be seen. So as long as we keep to places that are busy I think it's unlikely that they, if they're still here, will try anything.”
“You're not going to take no for an answer, are you?” Jack says. Things had been a little strained between them immediately after Ianto had told the team about his use the mind probe. But Jack knows that Ianto had only done it for the safety of the team, and for that reason, amongst others, he's already forgiven him.
“I'm trying to help.” Ianto's hand closes over Jack's, his thumb rubbing along it's edge, as he adds quietly, “I don't know what else I can do.”
“You help. This helps. ” Dropping the jacket, Jack pulls Ianto closer to him. The kiss is brief, but still passionate. When it is finished, Jack rests his forehead against Ianto's, saying, “Don't ever forget that.”
“I'll try not to.” Ianto pulls back slowly and a little reluctantly.
Picking up the jacket that Jack has dropped, Ianto hands it back to him, saying, “As distracting as your kisses are, I've not forgotten about lunch.”
“I should hope not. You can't promise a guy a hot date then leaving him hanging.” Jack puts the coat on. It still feels strange not to be wearing his greatcoat, and he wonders if he should start to think about getting a replacement, or whether that would be admitting that he may never find out what had happened to him.
“This is not a date. Dates are things that happen outside of work.” Ianto straightens the collar of Jack's coat, hands lingering. “So, barring the end of world happening this afternoon how about going out tonight? Gwen told me about a place over in Pennarth, a family run restaurant, don't usually need to book more than a couple of hours in advance.”
“Sounds good,” Jack says, finding that he is actually looking forward to going out, and not just because most of their dates end up with them in Ianto's bed. “I'll meet you at the lift, just got a couple of things I need to finish up.”
“Don't take too long.”
As soon as Ianto is out of his office Jack opens the desk drawer and takes out his Webley.
He knows that Ianto won't be keen on the idea of him carrying a gun to go to lunch, but he can't bring himself to leave it behind; it feels like tempting fate to do so.
The holster is too bulky to go unnoticed without the greatcoat to conceal it, and Jack slips the gun into the inside pocket of his jacket.
Stopping at the door to his office, Jack watches as Ianto walks over to Tosh's workstation.
“You've finished?” Ianto asks sounding impressed.
“Apart from a couple of shielding and battery-life tests.” Tosh hands a mobile to him. “Are you and Jack going to be gone long?”
“We shouldn't be, we're just going to the coffee shop over on Mermaid Quay.”
Tosh thinks for a moment and says, “That's the one that does the chocolate-ginger biscotti isn't it.”
“Do you want me to bring you some back?”
“Would you?” Tosh asks, before adding. “I'm going to start work on Owen and Gwens' phones, and I've got the tracer program to update.”
“Of course. Is there anything else you want?”
“No,” Tosh says a little distractedly as she looks at the results of a program that she has been running. “Have fun.”
“Anything I should know about?” Jack asks, looking at the phone, as Ianto walks over to him.
“Nothing urgent,” Ianto says, putting the phone into his pocket. “I'll tell you at the cafe.”
Despite Jack's reservations about leaving the Hub, they reach the coffee shop just off the Plas without incident.
The coffee shop is quiet, the lunch time rush having tailed off as mid afternoon approaches, and it's not difficult to find a table where they won't be overheard if they talk about Torchwood.
“So what was Toshiko doing with your phone?” Jack asks, when Ianto returns with their coffees.
“Installing a new tracking system.” Ianto sits down. “There are a couple more tests to do, but if it works it could be very useful.”
“Hey, it wasn't my fault you lost your last phone,” Jack says, not sounding sorry in the least.
“That wasn't the only thing I lost on that weevil hunt.” Ianto smiles back, a teasing look in his eyes. “I seem to remember I lost my tie, a sock and my underwear as well.”
“You were the one who suggested going to the beach,” Jack says, remembering an evening on what they'd both thought was a deserted stretch of sand dunes. “Surprised dog walkers and the tide coming in are all part of the fun.”
Ianto blushes slightly and drinks his coffee.
After a few moments, Ianto's expression becomes serious again, and he says, “Recovering misplaced phones isn't the reason for the tracker.”
“I know,” Jack replies, feeling tired with everything that has been happening, wishing that he could at least have little bit of time where the conversation isn't connected to his disappearance.
“We wanted to be sure we had something that worked before telling you,” Ianto says, sounding a little guilty for not telling Jack before. “The device Tosh is testing on my phone should work even if it's turned off or the battery is flat. It should be able to get through most types of signal scramblers and dampeners. We still need to test -”
Ianto is interrupted by the woman at the counter calling out that their food is ready.
“I'll let Tosh explain when we get back,” Ianto says getting up to go and get the food from the counter.
By the time they are ready to leave the coffee shop the light drizzle that had been falling as they'd arrived has turned into a torrential downpour. Hesitating at the door, Jack looks out at the rain-soaked and almost completely deserted street outside. It feels unsettlingly reminiscent of the CCTV footage of when he was taken.
“We can wait if you want,” Ianto says, seeing the apprehension on Jack's face.
“No.” Jack shakes his head, worried, although he'd never admit it, that if he starts letting himself be controlled by his fears that he might never stop. “Come on. I want to see if Tosh has managed to get Owen to hand over his new phone.”
“Tosh can be very persuasive,” Ianto says, holding the door open for Jack.
“And Owen can be very stubborn.”
“My money is still on Tosh.”
Walking quickly through the rain, it doesn't take them long to reach the edge of the Plas.
Stopping at the door to the tourist information office, Ianto asks, “Do you still want me to book us a table for tonight?”
“How about eight o'clock?” Jack suggests, moving back to give Ianto room to open the door.
“I was thinking a little earlier, then we could-” Ianto stops mid-sentence. Then without a sound he crumples to the ground.
“No!” Jack looks wildly around, but there is nobody else in sight. Drawing his gun, Jack kneels down beside Ianto, to check for a pulse.
Jack finds it quickly, but there isn't time to do anything else as there's a brief flare of pain on the back of his neck, then the world seems to spin and tip sideways, before everything goes dark.
* * *
Jack wakes with a throbbing headache and realisation that his arms are raised over his head, held there by handcuffs and a metal chain that's looped over a beam high above him.
Tugging against the chains, the harsh metal of the cuffs scraping his wrists, Jack tries to gather his thoughts.
Two men, wearing the same black jumpsuits and visors from the CCTV footage, stand guard, one at each door to the derelict warehouse.
“I see you are awake.”
Jack turns his head to see the interrogator from his fragmentary memories walk into the room. “Who are you?”
“We discussed this last time.”
“Yeah, well my memory hasn't been so great lately,” Jack says, trying to sound casual, although he can feel his heart beating faster, fear of what is to come setting in.
“Or so you would have me believe,” he says, leaning forward slightly, his yellow cat-like eyes narrowing. “My name is Hamilton Tahl, as you well know. ”
“The man who was with me, what-” Jack starts asks, trying to look round, although how he's chained makes seeing any more than half the warehouse difficult.
“Have I done with him? Nothing. He should be waking up soon,” Hamilton replies before Jack can finish his question. “My business doesn't involve him, so the sooner you tell me what I wish to know, the sooner he can be on his way.”
“And what do you want to know?” Jack asks, half hopeful that this will be the thing that finally triggers his missing memories, and half fearful of what will happen if it doesn't.
“What happened to Prince Gaetra after the fall of the Navarian Royal family, and his current whereabouts.”
“Never heard of him.” Which isn't completely true, as one of the fragments of memory had been Hamilton asking him the same question, but Jack doesn't think that that telling him that would be any help.
“Which is why I know you are lying.” Hamilton gestures to one of his men, who brings a metal case over to him. “Because I know you were there, I know you were the last person to be seen with him during the laser bombardment of the royal compound. So the question still stands, what did you do with him?”
“I don't remember.”
“Or so you would have me believe. First it's 'I've never heard of him,' now it's 'I don't remember.' You should really get you're story straight.” Hamilton places the metal case on the chair in front of him.
Changing the subject, he says, “There had been rumours that you'd been mixed up with a stolen Chula transport and some scheme involving nanogenes before you disappeared. Given the state of you just a few days ago to how you are now I think that rumour may very well be correct. This isn't the most medically advanced of planets after all.”
Jack doesn't say anything. Experience has taught him not to reveal the fact that he doesn't stay dead to anybody unless he can help it, otherwise they tend to get creative where torture is concerned.
“My employers are getting anxious, time is money, and you are costing them a great deal of it.” Hamilton removes a syringe and two bottles from the case, carefully placing them on the chair where Jack can see them. “They aren't patient people. New governments never are in my experience. But then I'm not a patient person either, Captain.”
“You proved surprisingly resilient last time.” Hamilton fills the syringe from the first bottle. “I think I shall have to be a little more creative in my approach.”
Knowing that there is no chance to get away, Jack tenses as the needle breaks his skin. The cold rush of the drug into his veins hurts, and he can't suppress a groan of pain, as it takes effect.
The room seems suddenly hot and airless, the flickering bare bulb above him, too bright, and Jack closes his eyes, trying to fight the wave of dizziness that threaten to overwhelm him.
“Feeling it already?” Hamilton asks, sounding vaguely amused as Jack starts to shiver. “We're just getting started.”
Jack doesn't bother to answer. Keeping his eyes tightly closed, he grits his teeth, trying to concentrate and fight off the effects of the drug.
It doesn't work. And a moment later Jack feels a second needle slide into the skin at the base of his neck.
“It doesn't have to get any worse than this,” Hamilton says, almost sympathetically. “If you talk now you can save yourself a great deal of discomfort.”
“There's nothing to tell.” The room seems to blur and spin as Jack opens his eyes, hot and cold flashes racing through him.
Opening a different compartment in the case that had held the drugs the Hamilton removes a short, silvery metal rod. “There is always something to tell, captain.”
Jack tenses his muscles, expecting a blow.
The blow doesn't come, and Hamilton presses the rod against Jack's stomach, the pressure only just enough for Jack to feel where it makes contact. For a moment nothing happens and then there's pain. Intense and all encompassing Jack screams, until Hamilton removes it.
Shaking and gasping, the muscles it had been pressed against still twitching and spasming painfully, Jack hangs weakly in the chains as Hamilton steps back.
“Fascinating piece of technology, doesn't you think?” Hamilton holds the rod up close to Jack's face. “It was developed as an exercise aide, it stimulates muscles and nerve endings. I've modified this one of course, but it still causes no permanent damage.”
Jack blinks, Hamilton and the room around him seeming to blur in and out of focus, leaving him feeling sick and disorientated.
“I take no pleasure in doing this. All I want is answer.” Hamilton says, as he runs the rod lightly down Jack's stomach. “Are you ready to talk?”
“There's nothing to tell. I don't know.”
“Your loyalty is impressive.” Hamilton starts to move the rod in a stroking motion. “If totally misplaced. You owe them nothing.” His expression changes, curiosity showing for the first time. “Or do you? What hold do they have over you? You can tell me.”
“I don't know them!” Memories of the Master asking him a similar question, trying to torture the location of his team out of him during the year that never was fill his mind, and for a moment all Jack can see and hear is the manic eyes and laugh of the man who'd been his tormentor for a year.
“You may have been able to convince yourself that is the truth, but I know differently,” Hamilton admonishes. His tone is still pleasant as he adds, “You really only have yourself to blame for this.”
Wave after wave of increasingly severe cramps follow in its wake, as Hamilton presses the rob harder against Jack with each stroke, until he is writhing in the chains unable to find any relief.
Jack is conscious just long enough feel the humiliation that the cramps have caused him to lose control of bodily functions, before Hamilton presses it hard against his spine and he blacks out.
A minute later, Jack gasps back to consciousness as a bucket of cold water is thrown over him by one of the guards.
Coughing and spluttering, his whole body cramping painfully, Jack fights for breath.
“It hurts, doesn't it?” Hamilton puts a hand on Jack's shoulder, patting it. “I can make it stop. Just tell me where he is and all this goes away.”
“I. Don't. Know.” Shivering, nauseous and aching, Jack stresses every word, desperately hoping that Hamilton will believe him, or at least leave him alone for a while.
“Wrong answer.” Hamilton picks up the rod again.
Jack knows that he's lost count of the number of times that Hamilton has asked him where the prince is, and how long the interrogation has been going on. Not caring about the ache in his arms and shoulders, Jack hangs limply in the chains, letting his mind drift, hoping that Tosh will realise that they've been gone for too long and will check the tracer program in Ianto's phone.
“All men break given time, Captain. I do not have time to waste though. I hadn't wished to resort to this, but you have given me little choice.” Hamilton turns to one of the guards, saying, “Bring him in.”
Turning back to Jack, Hamilton says, “You had quite the reputation when you were a Time Agent, or so my sources tell me. Ruthless, professional, except when it came to one thing: your men. You always seemed to care more for their well being than you ever did for your own.” His yellow eyes are cold as he adds, “Shall we see if that still holds true?”
A moment later, the two jump-suited men return with Ianto struggling between them, looking very annoyed, but otherwise unharmed.
Seeing Jack, his expression turns furious. Kicking one of the guards hard in the knee, Ianto twists round until the man is forced to release him.
Ianto only gets a few steps towards Jack before Hamilton draws a gun, and aims it at him. “I wouldn't do that if I were you.”
The guards take the opportunity to grab Ianto again. Dragging him over to a chair they, push him down onto it, before tying his wrists to its arms.
Hamilton walks slowly around Ianto, his yellow eyes cold and calculating, as he pulls a gag over Ianto’s mouth.
“Don't you touch him,” Jack says, the scene in front of him stirring up unpleasant memories. Ones of Jack's childhood friend who'd followed him to off war and had been tortured and killed while he been forced to watch, helpless to stop it.
“You can stop this at any time,” Hamilton says, his tone pleasant, even friendly. “All you need to do is tell the truth.”
“I've told you the truth!” Jack starts to struggle against the chains again.
Hamilton shakes his head, and turns back to Ianto.
“Such nice fingers.” Hamilton strokes them. “So straight and smooth.” His hand tighten into a fist around one of Ianto’s fingers, before he pulls it back sharply, until with an audible crack, it breaks.
The gag chokes back the scream, leaving Ianto pale and shaking, staring at Jack with shocked, pain filled eyes.
Hamilton is still smiling faintly as he turns to Jack. “Now, Captain, are you going to give me the information I want or do I need to continue?”
“Leave him alone!” Jack yells, struggling against restraints, the metal cuffs chaffing his wrists, until blood runs down his arm. “He doesn't know anything. I don't know anything. I don't remember.”
“Wrong answer.” Hamilton takes hold of another of Ianto’s fingers, and Ianto closes his eyes. There is no scream this time as the finger breaks, just a muffled groan as Ianto bites the gag.
Hamilton breaks two more fingers, only turning back to Jack once Ianto has passed out from the pain.
“I very much doubt he has the ability to heal as quickly as you do,” Hamilton says, watching Jack intently. “I can make his life very short and very unpleasant one, and you will have to watch, unless you talk.”
“I don't remember,” Jack slurs, the room is blurring in and out of focus as he fights to keep conscious, everything around him feeling like it's fading away. “You knew I was with them. Time Agency, they took it. Took it all. All my memories. I did something, I must have, something wrong, I don't know. ”
“Perhaps we're finally getting somewhere.” Hamilton smiles, predatory and triumphant. Picking up the metal rod, he spins it slowly through his fingers, as he approaches.
“I don’t know, it's the truth,” Jack manages between gasping sobs for breath as Hamilton presses the baton to his back again, sending agonising shock waves up his spine.
“Either you are the best actor I've met, or you’re telling the truth.” Hamilton walks slowly around Jack, before leaning in close to his ear. “Which is it?”
“The truth. Not lying, I promise, I don’t know.” Jack hangs his head, his voice is choked with tears, he can’t hold them back any longer. Between the drugs, and the mental and physical pain, there’s no resistance left in him.
“Let him go. Please, just let him go.” Jack looks across at where Ianto sits, still tied to a chair, face ghostly pale in the dimly lit warehouse. “I’ll do what you want. Anything you want.”
“I do believe you would.” There is a faint smile on the Hamilton’s lips as he walks over to Ianto and unties his wrists. “He’ll live Captain, he’s young, strong.” He strokes Ianto’s hair. “One day he may even thank me for this. After all, what doesn’t kill you only makes you stronger.”
Hamilton turns to one of the guards, saying, “Take him away, leave him near their base.”
Once the guard and Ianto are gone, Hamilton draws his gun and walks back over to Jack. “You might not believe this Captain, but I actually feel sorry for you.”
He sounds amused as he releases the chain and watches as Jack falls to his knees. “It must be a terrible thing to die, not knowing what it's for, yet still being aware that it is all for nothing.” He releases the safety catch on the gun.
There's no possibility of getting away, and Jack closes his eyes.
There's a deep, rumbling growl of a large engine being revved outside, and a moment later the front of the SUV bursts through the doors of the warehouse.
The surprise intrusion throws of Hamilton's aim, the bullet striking Jack in the stomach rather than the chest.
A moment later Gwen and Owen get out of the SUV, guns drawn.
Hamilton turns towards them, annoyance clear on his otherwise impassive face, and raises his gun.
He doesn't get a chance to shoot, as Gwen's bullet hits him high in the chest. Hamilton staggers for a moment then collapses to the ground, his gun falling from his lifeless fingers.
Although obviously shaken by what she's just done, Gwen turns and points her gun at the Hamilton's henchman who's just about to draw his own weapon, “Don't even think about it.”
Glancing over at Owen, she says, “You see to Jack, I've got this.”
Taking one quick look towards where Gwen has got the guard to kneel on the floor, his hands on his head, Owen hurries over to Jack.
“Shit.” Owen swears, then kneels down next to him, trying to access the extent of his injuries. “Jack, hold on.”
Everything seems to be happening through a pain-filled fog, and Jack groans as
Owen presses down on the wound, trying to staunch the blood flow.
“Stop. Find Ianto.” Jack's hands scrabble uselessly at Owen's arms, trying to push him away. “He's hurt, my fault. Find him.”
“We got him, he's with Tosh,” Owen reassures him, carefully pushing Jack's hands away. “He's going to be alright.”
Relief seems to block out everything else just for a moment, and Jack manages the ghost of a smile, before the pain returns.
Realising that keeping pressure on the wound isn't helping, and that all he's doing is prolonging Jack's pain for a few more minutes rather than giving him time to heal, Owen moves his hand.
Everything seems cold and distant, except Owen's hand with his is now holding his own. Too cold and exhausted to fight any more, Jack closes his eyes.
“You better bloody well come back,” Owen says as he holds Jack's hand tight, until Jack's pained and erratic breathing slows and then stops.
Part seven
Pairing/Characters: Jack/Ianto, team.
Rating: R
Warnings: Torture/interrogation scene in this part. (No sexual elements to torture.)
Temporary Jack death.
Summary: Waking up injured and with no memory of the past few days is only the start of Jack's problems as part of his forgotten past comes back to haunt him.
A/N: Set during in series two after Meat but before Adam. Okay I know it's been ages since I posted the last part and this was supposed to be a six part fic but part six got so long I split it into two - so this is the first 4.5k of it.
Story starts here.
Part six:
Post-it notes, each with a fragment of memory written on it are scattered across Jack's desk, their corners tattered from frequent reordering. Although from Jack's expression he's still less than happy with the current order of them.
“No luck then?” Ianto asks as he walks into the office, his coat over his arm.
“No. I must be missing something.” Jack sighs and rubs his eyes. More fragments of memories have surfaced over the last couple of days, but there hasn't been anything that tells him what is going on. The fact that some of the memories are clearly not from the missing days, but from other, early parts of his life, parts that he wishes he could forget, hasn't helped.
“You need to take a break. There's been no sign of them for three days, that's the longest they've gone without using the teleport.” Ianto sits down on the edge of the desk. “What if they've gone, Jack? You can't stay down here forever.”
“You think I don't know that?” Jack snaps. The idea that they might have left and that he might never get the answers he wants scares him. But the thought that because he has failed to catch them that they could come back at any time, that they could just take him, torture him for answers that he can't possibly ever give, fills Jack with feeling of dread that he can't seem to shake.
“When did you last sleep?” Ianto asks, placing his hand over Jack's.
Jack looks down, not meeting Ianto's eyes. “I don't need to sleep, remember.”
Sighing frustratedly, Ianto says, “Physically maybe. Mentally I'm sure it can't be good for you.”
Jack doesn't answer. He knows that Ianto has a point, and that maybe if he sleeps he'll get some more memories back, but sleeping is difficult at the best of times, and right now he feels far too on edge for it even to be a possibility.
“If you're not going to rest then you need to get out for a while, maybe eat something that isn't take away,” Ianto says, walking over to the coat stand in the corner of the office, and picking up the old tan coloured jacket that Jack has been using since the loss of his greatcoat. “I'm going to get some lunch, why don't come with me?”
Jack looks at the pile of dog-eared post-it notes, not wanting to admit defeat, but not sure what else he can do until he remembers something else.
“None of the places that they teleported into looking for you were crowded, and neither was the location where they took you from.” Ianto hands Jack the coat, his fingers lingering over Jack's, trying to reassure him. “They were obviously trying not to be seen. So as long as we keep to places that are busy I think it's unlikely that they, if they're still here, will try anything.”
“You're not going to take no for an answer, are you?” Jack says. Things had been a little strained between them immediately after Ianto had told the team about his use the mind probe. But Jack knows that Ianto had only done it for the safety of the team, and for that reason, amongst others, he's already forgiven him.
“I'm trying to help.” Ianto's hand closes over Jack's, his thumb rubbing along it's edge, as he adds quietly, “I don't know what else I can do.”
“You help. This helps. ” Dropping the jacket, Jack pulls Ianto closer to him. The kiss is brief, but still passionate. When it is finished, Jack rests his forehead against Ianto's, saying, “Don't ever forget that.”
“I'll try not to.” Ianto pulls back slowly and a little reluctantly.
Picking up the jacket that Jack has dropped, Ianto hands it back to him, saying, “As distracting as your kisses are, I've not forgotten about lunch.”
“I should hope not. You can't promise a guy a hot date then leaving him hanging.” Jack puts the coat on. It still feels strange not to be wearing his greatcoat, and he wonders if he should start to think about getting a replacement, or whether that would be admitting that he may never find out what had happened to him.
“This is not a date. Dates are things that happen outside of work.” Ianto straightens the collar of Jack's coat, hands lingering. “So, barring the end of world happening this afternoon how about going out tonight? Gwen told me about a place over in Pennarth, a family run restaurant, don't usually need to book more than a couple of hours in advance.”
“Sounds good,” Jack says, finding that he is actually looking forward to going out, and not just because most of their dates end up with them in Ianto's bed. “I'll meet you at the lift, just got a couple of things I need to finish up.”
“Don't take too long.”
As soon as Ianto is out of his office Jack opens the desk drawer and takes out his Webley.
He knows that Ianto won't be keen on the idea of him carrying a gun to go to lunch, but he can't bring himself to leave it behind; it feels like tempting fate to do so.
The holster is too bulky to go unnoticed without the greatcoat to conceal it, and Jack slips the gun into the inside pocket of his jacket.
Stopping at the door to his office, Jack watches as Ianto walks over to Tosh's workstation.
“You've finished?” Ianto asks sounding impressed.
“Apart from a couple of shielding and battery-life tests.” Tosh hands a mobile to him. “Are you and Jack going to be gone long?”
“We shouldn't be, we're just going to the coffee shop over on Mermaid Quay.”
Tosh thinks for a moment and says, “That's the one that does the chocolate-ginger biscotti isn't it.”
“Do you want me to bring you some back?”
“Would you?” Tosh asks, before adding. “I'm going to start work on Owen and Gwens' phones, and I've got the tracer program to update.”
“Of course. Is there anything else you want?”
“No,” Tosh says a little distractedly as she looks at the results of a program that she has been running. “Have fun.”
“Anything I should know about?” Jack asks, looking at the phone, as Ianto walks over to him.
“Nothing urgent,” Ianto says, putting the phone into his pocket. “I'll tell you at the cafe.”
Despite Jack's reservations about leaving the Hub, they reach the coffee shop just off the Plas without incident.
The coffee shop is quiet, the lunch time rush having tailed off as mid afternoon approaches, and it's not difficult to find a table where they won't be overheard if they talk about Torchwood.
“So what was Toshiko doing with your phone?” Jack asks, when Ianto returns with their coffees.
“Installing a new tracking system.” Ianto sits down. “There are a couple more tests to do, but if it works it could be very useful.”
“Hey, it wasn't my fault you lost your last phone,” Jack says, not sounding sorry in the least.
“That wasn't the only thing I lost on that weevil hunt.” Ianto smiles back, a teasing look in his eyes. “I seem to remember I lost my tie, a sock and my underwear as well.”
“You were the one who suggested going to the beach,” Jack says, remembering an evening on what they'd both thought was a deserted stretch of sand dunes. “Surprised dog walkers and the tide coming in are all part of the fun.”
Ianto blushes slightly and drinks his coffee.
After a few moments, Ianto's expression becomes serious again, and he says, “Recovering misplaced phones isn't the reason for the tracker.”
“I know,” Jack replies, feeling tired with everything that has been happening, wishing that he could at least have little bit of time where the conversation isn't connected to his disappearance.
“We wanted to be sure we had something that worked before telling you,” Ianto says, sounding a little guilty for not telling Jack before. “The device Tosh is testing on my phone should work even if it's turned off or the battery is flat. It should be able to get through most types of signal scramblers and dampeners. We still need to test -”
Ianto is interrupted by the woman at the counter calling out that their food is ready.
“I'll let Tosh explain when we get back,” Ianto says getting up to go and get the food from the counter.
By the time they are ready to leave the coffee shop the light drizzle that had been falling as they'd arrived has turned into a torrential downpour. Hesitating at the door, Jack looks out at the rain-soaked and almost completely deserted street outside. It feels unsettlingly reminiscent of the CCTV footage of when he was taken.
“We can wait if you want,” Ianto says, seeing the apprehension on Jack's face.
“No.” Jack shakes his head, worried, although he'd never admit it, that if he starts letting himself be controlled by his fears that he might never stop. “Come on. I want to see if Tosh has managed to get Owen to hand over his new phone.”
“Tosh can be very persuasive,” Ianto says, holding the door open for Jack.
“And Owen can be very stubborn.”
“My money is still on Tosh.”
Walking quickly through the rain, it doesn't take them long to reach the edge of the Plas.
Stopping at the door to the tourist information office, Ianto asks, “Do you still want me to book us a table for tonight?”
“How about eight o'clock?” Jack suggests, moving back to give Ianto room to open the door.
“I was thinking a little earlier, then we could-” Ianto stops mid-sentence. Then without a sound he crumples to the ground.
“No!” Jack looks wildly around, but there is nobody else in sight. Drawing his gun, Jack kneels down beside Ianto, to check for a pulse.
Jack finds it quickly, but there isn't time to do anything else as there's a brief flare of pain on the back of his neck, then the world seems to spin and tip sideways, before everything goes dark.
* * *
Jack wakes with a throbbing headache and realisation that his arms are raised over his head, held there by handcuffs and a metal chain that's looped over a beam high above him.
Tugging against the chains, the harsh metal of the cuffs scraping his wrists, Jack tries to gather his thoughts.
Two men, wearing the same black jumpsuits and visors from the CCTV footage, stand guard, one at each door to the derelict warehouse.
“I see you are awake.”
Jack turns his head to see the interrogator from his fragmentary memories walk into the room. “Who are you?”
“We discussed this last time.”
“Yeah, well my memory hasn't been so great lately,” Jack says, trying to sound casual, although he can feel his heart beating faster, fear of what is to come setting in.
“Or so you would have me believe,” he says, leaning forward slightly, his yellow cat-like eyes narrowing. “My name is Hamilton Tahl, as you well know. ”
“The man who was with me, what-” Jack starts asks, trying to look round, although how he's chained makes seeing any more than half the warehouse difficult.
“Have I done with him? Nothing. He should be waking up soon,” Hamilton replies before Jack can finish his question. “My business doesn't involve him, so the sooner you tell me what I wish to know, the sooner he can be on his way.”
“And what do you want to know?” Jack asks, half hopeful that this will be the thing that finally triggers his missing memories, and half fearful of what will happen if it doesn't.
“What happened to Prince Gaetra after the fall of the Navarian Royal family, and his current whereabouts.”
“Never heard of him.” Which isn't completely true, as one of the fragments of memory had been Hamilton asking him the same question, but Jack doesn't think that that telling him that would be any help.
“Which is why I know you are lying.” Hamilton gestures to one of his men, who brings a metal case over to him. “Because I know you were there, I know you were the last person to be seen with him during the laser bombardment of the royal compound. So the question still stands, what did you do with him?”
“I don't remember.”
“Or so you would have me believe. First it's 'I've never heard of him,' now it's 'I don't remember.' You should really get you're story straight.” Hamilton places the metal case on the chair in front of him.
Changing the subject, he says, “There had been rumours that you'd been mixed up with a stolen Chula transport and some scheme involving nanogenes before you disappeared. Given the state of you just a few days ago to how you are now I think that rumour may very well be correct. This isn't the most medically advanced of planets after all.”
Jack doesn't say anything. Experience has taught him not to reveal the fact that he doesn't stay dead to anybody unless he can help it, otherwise they tend to get creative where torture is concerned.
“My employers are getting anxious, time is money, and you are costing them a great deal of it.” Hamilton removes a syringe and two bottles from the case, carefully placing them on the chair where Jack can see them. “They aren't patient people. New governments never are in my experience. But then I'm not a patient person either, Captain.”
“You proved surprisingly resilient last time.” Hamilton fills the syringe from the first bottle. “I think I shall have to be a little more creative in my approach.”
Knowing that there is no chance to get away, Jack tenses as the needle breaks his skin. The cold rush of the drug into his veins hurts, and he can't suppress a groan of pain, as it takes effect.
The room seems suddenly hot and airless, the flickering bare bulb above him, too bright, and Jack closes his eyes, trying to fight the wave of dizziness that threaten to overwhelm him.
“Feeling it already?” Hamilton asks, sounding vaguely amused as Jack starts to shiver. “We're just getting started.”
Jack doesn't bother to answer. Keeping his eyes tightly closed, he grits his teeth, trying to concentrate and fight off the effects of the drug.
It doesn't work. And a moment later Jack feels a second needle slide into the skin at the base of his neck.
“It doesn't have to get any worse than this,” Hamilton says, almost sympathetically. “If you talk now you can save yourself a great deal of discomfort.”
“There's nothing to tell.” The room seems to blur and spin as Jack opens his eyes, hot and cold flashes racing through him.
Opening a different compartment in the case that had held the drugs the Hamilton removes a short, silvery metal rod. “There is always something to tell, captain.”
Jack tenses his muscles, expecting a blow.
The blow doesn't come, and Hamilton presses the rod against Jack's stomach, the pressure only just enough for Jack to feel where it makes contact. For a moment nothing happens and then there's pain. Intense and all encompassing Jack screams, until Hamilton removes it.
Shaking and gasping, the muscles it had been pressed against still twitching and spasming painfully, Jack hangs weakly in the chains as Hamilton steps back.
“Fascinating piece of technology, doesn't you think?” Hamilton holds the rod up close to Jack's face. “It was developed as an exercise aide, it stimulates muscles and nerve endings. I've modified this one of course, but it still causes no permanent damage.”
Jack blinks, Hamilton and the room around him seeming to blur in and out of focus, leaving him feeling sick and disorientated.
“I take no pleasure in doing this. All I want is answer.” Hamilton says, as he runs the rod lightly down Jack's stomach. “Are you ready to talk?”
“There's nothing to tell. I don't know.”
“Your loyalty is impressive.” Hamilton starts to move the rod in a stroking motion. “If totally misplaced. You owe them nothing.” His expression changes, curiosity showing for the first time. “Or do you? What hold do they have over you? You can tell me.”
“I don't know them!” Memories of the Master asking him a similar question, trying to torture the location of his team out of him during the year that never was fill his mind, and for a moment all Jack can see and hear is the manic eyes and laugh of the man who'd been his tormentor for a year.
“You may have been able to convince yourself that is the truth, but I know differently,” Hamilton admonishes. His tone is still pleasant as he adds, “You really only have yourself to blame for this.”
Wave after wave of increasingly severe cramps follow in its wake, as Hamilton presses the rob harder against Jack with each stroke, until he is writhing in the chains unable to find any relief.
Jack is conscious just long enough feel the humiliation that the cramps have caused him to lose control of bodily functions, before Hamilton presses it hard against his spine and he blacks out.
A minute later, Jack gasps back to consciousness as a bucket of cold water is thrown over him by one of the guards.
Coughing and spluttering, his whole body cramping painfully, Jack fights for breath.
“It hurts, doesn't it?” Hamilton puts a hand on Jack's shoulder, patting it. “I can make it stop. Just tell me where he is and all this goes away.”
“I. Don't. Know.” Shivering, nauseous and aching, Jack stresses every word, desperately hoping that Hamilton will believe him, or at least leave him alone for a while.
“Wrong answer.” Hamilton picks up the rod again.
Jack knows that he's lost count of the number of times that Hamilton has asked him where the prince is, and how long the interrogation has been going on. Not caring about the ache in his arms and shoulders, Jack hangs limply in the chains, letting his mind drift, hoping that Tosh will realise that they've been gone for too long and will check the tracer program in Ianto's phone.
“All men break given time, Captain. I do not have time to waste though. I hadn't wished to resort to this, but you have given me little choice.” Hamilton turns to one of the guards, saying, “Bring him in.”
Turning back to Jack, Hamilton says, “You had quite the reputation when you were a Time Agent, or so my sources tell me. Ruthless, professional, except when it came to one thing: your men. You always seemed to care more for their well being than you ever did for your own.” His yellow eyes are cold as he adds, “Shall we see if that still holds true?”
A moment later, the two jump-suited men return with Ianto struggling between them, looking very annoyed, but otherwise unharmed.
Seeing Jack, his expression turns furious. Kicking one of the guards hard in the knee, Ianto twists round until the man is forced to release him.
Ianto only gets a few steps towards Jack before Hamilton draws a gun, and aims it at him. “I wouldn't do that if I were you.”
The guards take the opportunity to grab Ianto again. Dragging him over to a chair they, push him down onto it, before tying his wrists to its arms.
Hamilton walks slowly around Ianto, his yellow eyes cold and calculating, as he pulls a gag over Ianto’s mouth.
“Don't you touch him,” Jack says, the scene in front of him stirring up unpleasant memories. Ones of Jack's childhood friend who'd followed him to off war and had been tortured and killed while he been forced to watch, helpless to stop it.
“You can stop this at any time,” Hamilton says, his tone pleasant, even friendly. “All you need to do is tell the truth.”
“I've told you the truth!” Jack starts to struggle against the chains again.
Hamilton shakes his head, and turns back to Ianto.
“Such nice fingers.” Hamilton strokes them. “So straight and smooth.” His hand tighten into a fist around one of Ianto’s fingers, before he pulls it back sharply, until with an audible crack, it breaks.
The gag chokes back the scream, leaving Ianto pale and shaking, staring at Jack with shocked, pain filled eyes.
Hamilton is still smiling faintly as he turns to Jack. “Now, Captain, are you going to give me the information I want or do I need to continue?”
“Leave him alone!” Jack yells, struggling against restraints, the metal cuffs chaffing his wrists, until blood runs down his arm. “He doesn't know anything. I don't know anything. I don't remember.”
“Wrong answer.” Hamilton takes hold of another of Ianto’s fingers, and Ianto closes his eyes. There is no scream this time as the finger breaks, just a muffled groan as Ianto bites the gag.
Hamilton breaks two more fingers, only turning back to Jack once Ianto has passed out from the pain.
“I very much doubt he has the ability to heal as quickly as you do,” Hamilton says, watching Jack intently. “I can make his life very short and very unpleasant one, and you will have to watch, unless you talk.”
“I don't remember,” Jack slurs, the room is blurring in and out of focus as he fights to keep conscious, everything around him feeling like it's fading away. “You knew I was with them. Time Agency, they took it. Took it all. All my memories. I did something, I must have, something wrong, I don't know. ”
“Perhaps we're finally getting somewhere.” Hamilton smiles, predatory and triumphant. Picking up the metal rod, he spins it slowly through his fingers, as he approaches.
“I don’t know, it's the truth,” Jack manages between gasping sobs for breath as Hamilton presses the baton to his back again, sending agonising shock waves up his spine.
“Either you are the best actor I've met, or you’re telling the truth.” Hamilton walks slowly around Jack, before leaning in close to his ear. “Which is it?”
“The truth. Not lying, I promise, I don’t know.” Jack hangs his head, his voice is choked with tears, he can’t hold them back any longer. Between the drugs, and the mental and physical pain, there’s no resistance left in him.
“Let him go. Please, just let him go.” Jack looks across at where Ianto sits, still tied to a chair, face ghostly pale in the dimly lit warehouse. “I’ll do what you want. Anything you want.”
“I do believe you would.” There is a faint smile on the Hamilton’s lips as he walks over to Ianto and unties his wrists. “He’ll live Captain, he’s young, strong.” He strokes Ianto’s hair. “One day he may even thank me for this. After all, what doesn’t kill you only makes you stronger.”
Hamilton turns to one of the guards, saying, “Take him away, leave him near their base.”
Once the guard and Ianto are gone, Hamilton draws his gun and walks back over to Jack. “You might not believe this Captain, but I actually feel sorry for you.”
He sounds amused as he releases the chain and watches as Jack falls to his knees. “It must be a terrible thing to die, not knowing what it's for, yet still being aware that it is all for nothing.” He releases the safety catch on the gun.
There's no possibility of getting away, and Jack closes his eyes.
There's a deep, rumbling growl of a large engine being revved outside, and a moment later the front of the SUV bursts through the doors of the warehouse.
The surprise intrusion throws of Hamilton's aim, the bullet striking Jack in the stomach rather than the chest.
A moment later Gwen and Owen get out of the SUV, guns drawn.
Hamilton turns towards them, annoyance clear on his otherwise impassive face, and raises his gun.
He doesn't get a chance to shoot, as Gwen's bullet hits him high in the chest. Hamilton staggers for a moment then collapses to the ground, his gun falling from his lifeless fingers.
Although obviously shaken by what she's just done, Gwen turns and points her gun at the Hamilton's henchman who's just about to draw his own weapon, “Don't even think about it.”
Glancing over at Owen, she says, “You see to Jack, I've got this.”
Taking one quick look towards where Gwen has got the guard to kneel on the floor, his hands on his head, Owen hurries over to Jack.
“Shit.” Owen swears, then kneels down next to him, trying to access the extent of his injuries. “Jack, hold on.”
Everything seems to be happening through a pain-filled fog, and Jack groans as
Owen presses down on the wound, trying to staunch the blood flow.
“Stop. Find Ianto.” Jack's hands scrabble uselessly at Owen's arms, trying to push him away. “He's hurt, my fault. Find him.”
“We got him, he's with Tosh,” Owen reassures him, carefully pushing Jack's hands away. “He's going to be alright.”
Relief seems to block out everything else just for a moment, and Jack manages the ghost of a smile, before the pain returns.
Realising that keeping pressure on the wound isn't helping, and that all he's doing is prolonging Jack's pain for a few more minutes rather than giving him time to heal, Owen moves his hand.
Everything seems cold and distant, except Owen's hand with his is now holding his own. Too cold and exhausted to fight any more, Jack closes his eyes.
“You better bloody well come back,” Owen says as he holds Jack's hand tight, until Jack's pained and erratic breathing slows and then stops.
Part seven