FIVE
No one spoke much on the way back to the Hub. Jack drove, hard and mean, as if there was some urgency left.
Ianto was there waiting for them when the cog hatch rolled aside and they walked into the gloomy stone vault. He was about to speak, but then thought better of it. It wasn’t the tired, strung-out looks on their faces, or the bruises, the cuts or the torn clothing. It wasn’t that James was limping painfully, or that Owen was helping Tosh.
It was the stone-hard glint in Jack Harkness’s eyes. Ianto had only seen that once or twice before, but he knew it was something you didn’t speak in the presence of.
Jack went straight up to his office, carrying the containment box. Shortly afterwards, they heard the old, heavy safe door clang.
Owen sat down at his work station, popped two painkillers and knocked them back with a swig of flat coke from an open can on his desk. He winced as the cold metal touched his puffed, bruised mouth.
‘Right,’ he said, ‘med checks. Let’s get them done right now, before I stop giving a toss.’
‘You first, Tosh,’ said James, leaning back against the lip of his station to ease the weight on his leg. ‘You nearly got your head pulled off.’
‘You bar-dived a moving car,’ Toshiko countered. ‘You’ve probably broken something. And Gwen’s hands—’
‘Gwen’s hands are fine,’ said Gwen, rubbing at the raw places where the chain link had stripped the skin off her fingers and palms. ‘Gwen just needs some antiseptic spray, a stiff drink and a, oh I don’t know...’
She looked at the others.
‘... long holiday in the Maldives?’
Owen snorted, and wished he hadn’t, as snorting made his nose bleed again.
‘Christ alive,’ murmured James. ‘We’re a bit of a mess, aren’t we?’
They eyed each other up: the bruises, the lacerations, the swelling lips, the skinned knuckles.
‘Still,’ said James. ‘Look on the bright side. It’s not the End of the World.’
The four of them began to laugh. ‘Stop it,’ protested Toshiko, ‘it hurts my ribs.’ For some reason, this made it even funnier. Their combined laughter echoed out across the Hub.
‘I suppose it is real funny.’
Jack was standing in the doorway of his office. He wasn’t laughing.
‘I mean,’ he said, taking a few steps towards them, ‘given what we’re supposed to be. Real funny.’
‘Oh, come on, Jack,’ said Owen, ‘if you can’t laugh, what can you do?’
‘I dunno,’ said Jack. ‘Not perform like a bunch of clowns maybe? What happened tonight was just embarrassing.’
‘What?’ asked Toshiko, stunned. ‘Jack?’
‘You heard me, Tosh. Did you see the mess we left behind us tonight? Forty-plus civilians with their lives bent out of shape. At least three dead. Hardly a covert operation.’
‘We had to react fast,’ said Toshiko. ‘It was right on us. We had to improvise.’
‘And excuse me,’ said Owen, ‘but plus, we were getting our arses handed to us.’
Jack shook his head wearily. ‘I expect more. A lot more. This is Torchwood, not amateur theatre.’
He turned away.
‘Oi!’ cried Gwen.
‘Save your “oi” for sometime when I care,’ Jack told her over his shoulder, walking back into his office.
Gwen glanced at the others and then sprang up to follow Jack. ‘Oi!’
‘I’m not kidding around, Gwen,’ Jack said. ‘Don’t “oi” me just now.’
She marched into his office anyway. He was sitting down behind his glass-topped desk.
‘Where do you get off?’ she asked.
‘Wanna close the door?’ he asked.
‘No.’
‘Do you suppose I might want you to close the door?’
‘I couldn’t give a toss, frankly. Where do you get off?’
Jack looked up at her. ‘You tell me.’
‘We got beat to shit tonight. Beat to shit. I know Tosh is hurt worse than she’s letting on, and James must be banged up a treat. Owen too, but he’s playing it all macho.’
‘Good old Owen.’
‘What is your bloody problem?’
Jack sat back. ‘We should have been on top of that. We should have closed it down quick and clean, before anyone knew. In and out. That mess is going to be in the Western Mail tomorrow, Gwen. Mystery riot. Deaths. We can’t paper over it. Fast bug out. No time to wipe memories or fake deaths. Just a big old mess.’
‘We did the best we could, and—’
‘That’s what I’m saying. It wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough.’
‘I had an “and” then, by the way,’ she said.
‘So “and” me.’
‘And we won, I was going to say.’ said Gwen. ‘We stopped it. We got it contained, even though it nearly killed us.’
Jack shrugged and rose to his feet. He looked at her. ‘You know what I think? I think you’re pissed at me, Gwen Cooper, because I called you amateurs.’
‘Actually, no I’m not,’ Gwen replied. ‘I’m perfectly well aware of my amateur status. So’s Tosh and James and Owen. See, the thing is, as far as we’re aware, there are only amateurs in this line of work. ’Cept you, maybe. The things we have to deal with, Jack. The bloody things we have to deal with. We’re only ever going to be amateurs, Jack.’
‘That’s what I’m afraid of,’ Jack said.
Gwen sighed and shook her head. ‘Sometimes...’ she said.
‘Sometimes what?’
‘Sometimes you can be the biggest arse imaginable.’
‘That all you got?’ Jack asked, sitting back down. ‘You done?’
‘I think I am.’
‘I think you are too. Walk away and check on the others. Don’t come back until my headache’s gone.’
‘How will I know when your headache’s gone?’
‘I won’t be armed.’
‘Funny. Ha ha.’
‘Look at my face.’
‘Rather not,’ she said, and swept out.
Halfway up the stairs to the medical area, she stopped in her tracks. Rather not? What was she, six?
‘Just bruising,’ said Owen, swinging the med-light away.
‘Just bruising?’ Toshiko echoed.
‘OK, nasty, nasty bruising, but just bruising all the same.’ Owen took another look at her throat. The pale skin was discoloured with brown fingermarks. ‘Big bastard did a number on you.’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Can I put my top back on now?’
Owen glanced back at her with a grin. ‘Unless there’s anything else you want me to examine?’
Toshiko shook her head and reached for her sweater. ‘Check James, please.’
‘If you wouldn’t mind,’ said James. He had stripped down to his jeans and was lying back on the exam bed. Owen had covered the stainless-steel surface with clean paper roll, but still he felt vulnerable. ‘I feel like I’m waiting for my Y-shaped incision,’ James complained.
Owen adjusted the lights. He palpated the green-black bruises and contusions on James’s white torso.
‘You really took a knock, didn’t you, mate?’ Owen said.
‘Ow! Will I – ow! – live?’
Owen didn’t reply. He waved his Bekaran deep-tissue scanner over James’s torso and stared at the graphic displays.
‘You’ve cracked a rib on the left side. I’ll bond it for now, but go easy. No heavy lifting. Oh, and your left elbow’s knackered up. Nothing fractured, but you’ve got serious tissue swelling. Hang on.’
He played the device over James’s arm. ‘Get that packed in ice and don’t tit around with it.’
‘Yes, Doctor.’ James sat up.
They heard the metal creak of a locker opening. Gwen was up by the sink, going through the drug store for something to put on her hands.
‘Let me do that,’ Owen said.
‘I can do it,’ Gwen replied. ‘Check yourself over.’
‘Me?’ asked Owen. ‘I’m fine. I’ve had worse on an average Friday night off duty.’ He sat down on a swivel chair, rode its castors across the tiled floor to the lower lockers, and leaned over. He winced, paused to take the side-arm out of his waistband and set it on the cabinet top, and then leaned over again and opened a drawer under the instrument rack. He produced a bottle of Scotch, screwed off the top, and took a swig.
‘Medication, that’s what I need,’ he said, enjoying the burn.
‘You should put that back in the Armoury,’ said Toshiko, nodding at the gun.
‘I will,’ said Owen, ‘though it’s scragged anyway. Broken.’ He looked at James, who was buttoning up his shirt.
‘Sorry about, you know, pointing it at you,’ Owen said.
‘No sweat. You weren’t yourself.’
Owen frowned. ‘Still, bugger only knows how you disarmed me. Very kung fu.’
‘It must’ve felt like it to you,’ said James, ‘but I was just flailing around. I think the thrall of the Amok made us all a bit slow. I only realised I’d knocked it out of your hand when I saw it on the ground.’
Dressing her hands, Gwen leaned on the rail and looked down at them. ‘My head still hurts like a bastard,’ she said.
‘Mine too,’ said James. Toshiko nodded.
‘All in all, that wasn’t nice, was it?’ Gwen asked.
‘Scale of one to ten?’ asked James.
‘Twenty-seven,’ they all answered.
‘What’s up with Jack?’ asked Owen, taking another swig from his bottle.
‘Who knows?’ replied Gwen. ‘And right now, who cares?’
‘Coffee?’ asked Ianto.
Jack had walked upstairs to the Boardroom, and was sitting in darkness, looking down into the Hub.
‘That’d be good,’ he replied quietly.
‘Rough night?’
‘End of the World.’
‘Analogously?’
‘No, just almost.’
Ianto set the coffee down on the table beside Jack.
‘They’ve been through the wars,’ said Ianto.
‘I guess. They’re gonna have to get used to it.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘More wars coming,’ said Jack.
Ianto left him alone. Jack Harkness took the small, black tile out of his lap and looked at it. It was a piece of exotic technology that had been in his possession since the day he’d joined Torchwood.
The display hadn’t changed. It had been blinking the same read-out for six weeks.
Jack Harkness didn’t know exactly what the read-out meant, but he didn’t need a doctor to know it wasn’t in any way good.
They made last orders in a bar on Mermaid Quay. James got them in, but Toshiko and Owen had to carry the drinks because James was busy with the rubberised ice-pack around his elbow.
‘Here’s to the End of the World,’ said Owen.
‘Let’s hope tomorrow’s quiet,’ said James.
‘Let’s hope tomorrow’s POETS,’ said Gwen.
They all looked at her.
‘Oh, come on,’ she said. ‘“P. O. E. T. S.”? “Piss Off Early Tomorrow’s Saturday”? The weekend approaches, people.’
‘Speaking of which...’ said James significantly.
‘It hasn’t?’ asked Owen.
‘It most surely has,’ said James.
‘Arrived?’ asked Owen.
‘At long last, as promised,’ said James.
‘The whole deleted series?’ asked Toshiko.
‘Oh yes,’ said James, wiping beer froth off his upper lip. ‘Came in the post this morning from my pal Archie in Burma. Three DVDs. The whole thing, unavailable in the West.’
‘Bloody hell,’ said Owen.
‘So, I’m thinking,’ said James, ‘Saturday afternoon, three o’clock-ish, my place. I’ll supply the in-flight nibbles. Owen, booze?’
‘My middle name.’
‘Tosh, some proper food, maybe, for half-time? Those Dragon Rolls and the tempura you made last Christmas, pretty please?’
Toshiko smiled and nodded.
‘I can bring some nuts,’ Gwen volunteered.
‘They’ll already be there,’ grinned James.
‘Do we ask Jack?’ Gwen asked.
Owen frowned. Tosh shrugged.
‘He pretends he doesn’t like Andy, but he really does,’ said Gwen.
‘Of course he does!’ James exclaimed. ‘Everyone likes Andy.’
‘Let’s see what he’s like tomorrow,’ said Toshiko. ‘Then decide if he gets an invite.’
Owen and Gwen nodded.
‘But if he comes around makin’ trouble,’ said James in a beaky voice, ‘I ain’t gonna get in no flap.’
‘I ain’t gonna get in no flap!’ echoed Owen, laughing.
‘No, it’s more nasal,’ said Toshiko. ‘Up in the nose. Listen to how James does it.’
‘Hello?’ said Owen. ‘Punched in the face?’
‘Oh!’ said Gwen suddenly
‘Oh what?’ asked James.
‘I just remembered. I promised I’d go to the pictures with Rhys this Saturday. Pirates of the Caribbean 3.’
‘Can’t you get out of it?’ asked Toshiko. ‘I mean, we’re talking unseen Andy.’
Gwen pulled a face. ‘Christ knows, I’ve blown him out twice this last week. I think we’ll have issues if I muck him around again.’
‘But it’s Andy,’ Toshiko protested.
‘I know, I know...’
‘You should just chuck him and have done,’ said Owen.
‘What?’
‘Rhys,’ Owen said, sipping his drink. ‘You should just chuck the bugger and have done. He cramps your style.’
‘Owen!’ Toshiko scolded.
‘I can’t just chuck him!’ Gwen said, outraged. ‘I—’
‘You what?’ asked James quietly.
Gwen looked at James, and made a small smile. ‘I live with him,’ she said.
‘Well, just make it if you can,’ James said. ‘It’s going to be a blast. Thirteen episodes. Thirteen whole episodes.’
‘I know,’ said Gwen. ‘I know.’
She got back in just after one, creeping like a mouse into the flat in Riverside. The flat was dark, but she could hear the telly still playing from the lounge-diner.
Gwen realised she was very hungry. Her head was still throbbing. She went into the lounge-diner. The TV was playing News 24, but there was no sign of Rhys. Some magazines lay on the couch. A pizza box.
It was empty.
She scurried into the kitchen area, and opened the fridge. Cheese appealed, and grapes. She found some bread in the bread bin.
Her bandaged hands were making heavy weather of slicing the cheese when a voice said, ‘You’re home, then?’
Rhys stood in the landing doorway, his hair tousled, his eyes heavy with sleep.
‘Yes,’ she said, as brightly as she could muster.
‘What are you doing?’
‘Making a snack. I didn’t get anything earlier. Want something?’
Rhys shook his head, but then helped himself to a slice of the cheese she’d cut. She sliced some more.
‘How was your day?’ she asked.
He shrugged. ‘OK. I taped How Clean Is Your House? for you. Aggie finds a rat in the kitchen.’
‘Oh, yeah?’
‘You’re late,’ Rhys said.
‘Work,’ she replied. She took a bite of her sandwich. Cheese fell out. ‘What are we doing then, on Saturday?’
‘I thought it was the pictures,’ Rhys said, scratching his head. ‘You get a better offer?’
‘No, no,’ she said. ‘There’s a work thingy, but I can just not go.’
‘Be nice to spend some time.’
‘It would.’
‘Important work thingy?’
‘Oh, no. Just some... some stuff that’s come in from Burma.’
‘Top secret, eh?’
‘Deleted.’
‘Ah,’ Rhys said. ‘What’s up with your hands, babe?’
‘I hurt them. It’s nothing.’
‘How d’you hurt them?’
‘Work.’
Rhys was silent for a moment. ‘You know, there comes a point...’ he began.
‘What sort of point?’ Gwen asked.
‘The sort of point when “work” ceases to mean anything, or be an answer for anything. It’s the ultimate excuse, the ultimate get-out-of-jail-free card. It’s like faynights.’
‘What?’
‘Faynights. You never say that in the playground? You’re it! Faynights. You’re tagged! Faynights. To cover all excuse. Diplomatic immunity.’
‘Have you had a drink, babe?’ she asked him. She’d lost her appetite. The sandwich went down on the counter.
‘You say “work” the same way. You do.’
‘Rhys, I’ve had a bugger of a day and I don’t fancy a row right now.’
‘A row? How could we have a row? Everything I say, you’d just answer “work”. Where have you been? “Work”. Why haven’t I seen you this week? “Work”. Why are you out so late? “Work”. Why haven’t we had a shag in a month? “Work”.’
‘Oh, give over! It’s not like that!’
‘It bloody is! It bloody is, Gwen!’
Gwen’s head was kicking off again. She threw the butter knife into the sink and pushed past Rhys.
‘Gwen?’
‘Shut up!’
‘Where are you going?’
She looked back at him. ‘You know, this evening, someone I have very little regard for suggested I should chuck you.’
‘Why don’t you then?’ Rhys roared back.
She glared at him. ‘I have no bloody idea,’ she replied. She turned and headed for the front door.
‘Where the hell are you going now?’ he yelled after her.
‘Work!’ she replied, and slammed the front door after her.
It was only after fifteen minutes of wandering the streets looking for a taxi that Gwen began to cry.
High above the city of Cardiff, Jack Harkness stood in the cold breeze and looked out at the stars. Sirens whooped in the amber streets below him.
Up high, he had time to think. To clear his mind. Being up high always put him in an expansive mood. He looked down at the city, the lit thoroughfares like interlocking bars of light in the black continuum below. He heard the throb of the late traffic, the wail of emergency vehicles plying the streets, their chopping lights moving like cursors along the bars.
His mind was easing a little. Tough night. Rough night. One of the worst, and it still wasn’t over. Today, or the next day, or the next, the night was going to last forever. Even so, he began to relax a little. He felt safe and powerful up there, confident that he was the only being in Cardiff who could ascend so high and regard so much without being seen.
In both particulars, Jack Harkness was entirely wrong.
Mr Dine waited, crouching down below a parapet. He could feel the pull. He resisted. He had to check first. Be sure. It might just have been a false alarm.
He stood up and stepped into space.
Twenty metres below, he landed effortlessly, and began to run across the slanted roofs.
Owen Harper poured himself another measure of Scotch, and toyed with the glass. By his own standards, he was falling down drunk. Luckily, he was in his own apartment overlooking the Bay.
He gazed out at the lights.
‘I used your soap, is that all right?’ the girl said, coming out of the en suite.
Owen looked around. ‘Yeah, sure.’
What the hell was her name again? Lindy? Linda? The only thing he was sure of was that she had the most tremendous rack in the history of tremendous racks.
‘What are you doing?’ she asked.
He stared at her. She wasn’t wearing anything, and that helped to remind him why he’d brought her home with him in the first place. He took a sip of Scotch.
‘Looking at you,’ he said.
The bath was neck-deep and warm, and suffused with fragrant oils. Toshiko Sato turned the lights down until only the candles made a glow, and slipped off her bath robe.
She sank into the bath. The warm water enveloped and embraced her, soothing her bruises and her tired, weary body.
She lay back, and reached for her glass of wine.
James Mayer paused the television remote and cocked his head. Someone was definitely tapping on his door.
He got up, gingerly, feeling the pain in his body, and padded barefoot to the door.
‘Hello,’ said Gwen.
‘What are you doing here?’ he asked.
‘Is me being here a problem?’ she asked him.
‘Hell, no, I was just surprised. I didn’t expect—’ He looked at her. ‘You know today is Friday, just, don’t you?’
‘Yeah.’
‘And you know the Andy Pinkus Marathon doesn’t start until Saturday?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Gwen?’
‘Are you telling me I can’t stay here until Saturday?’ she asked.
‘No,’ James replied. ‘Have I ever?’
Her mouth met his. He pulled her into the flat.
Later, during a brief intermission, she got up, naked, closed the door, and turned the deadbolts.