Late Night Loss Chapter 14

[galadriel1010]

Jack stared at them and ran his hand through his hair, “The Battle of Helm’s Deep? You think he’s there?”

Bradshaw looked to Thursday to explain it, so she leant forwards and leaned her elbows on her knees, twisting her fingers together. She’d not known the captain long, but she’d come to like and respect him; it wasn’t hard to see how much he was hurting, how much his missed and feared for his partner, but he hadn’t been anything but professional and focussed, giving them as much information as he could and not letting his personal feelings get in the way.

“Here’s the deal: Ianto got drawn into the back story, somehow, and ended up at the Fords of Isen, in the aftermath of the battle. We understand that he was naked.” The captain blushed and she could guess why the young man was lacking in clothes. “He met Eomer and his men and rode with them, met Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli and returned to Edoras where Eomer was arrested. Hama believed that Ianto would be in danger if he stayed at Edoras and so had him ride to the Westfold to safety. Now the best bet we can make in this time frame is that the next place to meet him is at Helm’s Deep, when the whole of Rohan is gathered together.”

“Not a particularly safe place.” He sighed and rubbed at his face, “Is he in danger?”

“I don’t know him, but I would say not at the moment. When he gets to Helm’s Deep, that’s a different matter. You need to get him out before the battle starts.”

“And how do I do that?” He asked

Thursday gave him a piece of paper and a pen, “You need to write a description of your home, you read it and hold on to him and you’ll go back there.”

“But just in case it all goes wrong,” the Commander interjected, “are you able to fight?”

He managed a laugh at that, “Yeah, I can fight.”

“With a sword?”

“With a spoon. Trust me, I’m generally lethal.”

Thursday fanned herself jocularly, “That smile’s definitely lethal. So you think you can cope?”

“I know I can. Permission to go in alone?” He asked, and he was surprised to find that it was a request

“Granted.” Bradshaw smiled at him, “You’re on your own sonny, we can’t risk anyone else. What?” Jack had looked completely taken aback when addressed as ‘sonny’

The immortal shook his head with a smile, “Been a long time since I was young enough to be called that. Maybe two thousand years?”

“You’ll always be sonny to me sonny. Now write that damn description.”

Two hours later, Jack studied his description of the Hub and wondered how it could be so hard to write about a place he’d known for over two hundred years, but he’d lost a lot recently. Two thousand years could have that effect.

The Hub was never silent; computers whirred and beeped constantly, watching over the world from this underground base in Cardiff, and water dripped in the base. On the upper level, glass walls separated Jack’s office, the hot house and the boardroom from the main Hub. Vegetation pressed against the walls of the hot house, shielding it from prying eyes, a fact that he and Ianto had used to their advantage on more than one occasion. His office was more open, but still offered some security and sanctuary when they wanted to be alone together. The boardroom was completely exposed, sheet glass all the way from floor to ceiling with the Torchwood logo printed in the centre.

Metal railings ran around he edge of the walkway connecting the three upper rooms and the small kitchenette, set back into the very structure of the Hub, and ran on, almost meeting but not quite. On the lower level, the huge, metal pillar and its water filled basin formed the focus, with the Rift manipulator attached. Around it stood workstations with computers humming to themselves, papers in various states of disorder and photos of family and friends dotted around. The cog door was sealed half a level below the workstations, its lights and sirens inactive and half a level above the stations the lift was at its lower position.

At the far side of the Hub, two sets of stairs descended. One led to the autopsy bay where the table was clear and sterile and the instruments were set tidily aside. The drawers were all closed and neatly labelled, those little paper ones that slipped out and back in whenever they needed to be changed, which was frequently.

The other set of stairs led to the lower levels, the archives, laboratories and cells of the centuries old organisation. The vaulted brickwork passages stretched for miles under Cardiff bay, full in places of records and in other places completely empty, just echoing, echoing tunnels.

Jack scanned quickly over the passage twice before setting it aside, squirming at the almost romantic and whimsical picture he’d painted of his home, but Thursday seemed to approve of his work, “Nicely done, that should get you back home. So you’re ready?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be.” He smiled nervously, “Now can I go find my husband?”

She grinned, “Let’s get you kitted out Captain.”

He stood in the stores and looked down at himself, dressed in the garb of a man of Rohan. By his side hung a sword and shield, and in his pack was a long, dark, woollen coat. He sighed and gestured hopelessly, trying to encompass his whole situation in an over the top movement of his arms, “This is it, isn’t it? The last moment before the plunge.”

“Yeah, and you’re ready for it. Got your book?”

He picked it up off the table and flipped it open, skimming first through the section where Ianto had appeared so briefly, one line in particular making his heart constrict, “I just want to go home”, that made two of them. All he wanted was to have Ianto back safe and sound in his arms and, he smirked, in his bed. Sighing heavily he slid into one of the chairs again and flipped through to the right chapter, skimming down to the best description he could find. He looked around self consciously and, finding that he was alone, read the passage out loud, “The Deeping Wall was twenty feet high, and so thick that four men could walk abreast along the top, sheltered by a parapet over which only a tall man could look. Here and there were clefts in the stone through which men could shoot. This battlement could be reached by a stair running down from a door in the outer court of the Hornburg; three flights of steps led also up on to the wall from the Deep behind; but in front it was smooth, and the great stones of it were set with such skill that no foothold could be found at their joints, and at the top they hung over like a sea-delved cliff.

Jack looked around nervously and found himself wondering how he would ever find his partner amidst the bustle. It was so… huge. It was everything he’d imagined it would be, which kinda went without saying he supposed. Horses brayed and their hooves clattered against the stone, the sounds ringing in his head and echoing along the deep incision in the rocks. He stood in a courtyard at the foot of the Hornburg and gazed up at the solid rock structure, able to believe the legend that it wouldn’t be taken whilst men still defended it. Shaking himself firmly he told himself that it was all his imagination making it like this, and if he weren’t such a dark and gloomy reader the fortress wouldn’t have been quite so imposing and the sounds wouldn’t have been quite so loud.

Soon a battle would be fought here, and he wanted to be out of the way long before it did. He’d read this section over and over and over, so he headed first to the caves where the horses were kept, hoping to find Ianto there, away from the main story. When Legolas and Gimli walked past he hid behind a pillar he reflected that the story had moved on faster than he had anticipated; he really needed to find Ianto. “Excuse me,” he approached a group of riders who’d just finished stabling their horses and they stared at him, understandable really he suppose, even in local garb he didn’t fit in, “I’m looking for… a friend. His name’s Ianto.”

They looked at each other with a look of understanding, “You mean the outlander? You should speak to Eomer, or Hama.”

He sighed, “I was hoping you wouldn’t say that. Thanks though.” No pockets, he had no pockets to shove his hands into, and that sword was really in the way. People always thought it would be so cool to be actually in a book, to meet the characters, but it was a pain in the ass. He didn’t want to mess the book up, he didn’t want to end up in the middle of a battle and he didn’t want to cross the main plot at any point.

A tall figure with blonde hair, who looked exactly like he’d imagined Eomer to look, crossed his line of sight heading for the Hornburg. With yet another heavy sigh, this time one of inevitability, he followed, moving with the confidence and grace that came with being a natural leader so nobody stopped him. Sure, he got some glances because he so obviously didn’t belong there, but he walked as if he owned the place and people believed that he did.

Inside the stone fortress he followed his instinct and found Eomer, Aragorn, Theoden and Hama in a wide, tall room, clustered around a table looking at a map of the area. He recognised this as a section of the story and waited out of sight until it had passed on, feeling the story passing over them. It was a strange sensation, the energy and colours brightened, sounds became defined to an almost painful clarity and then it was gone, it was like a drug high, but probably not quite as bad for you.

He realised that they were string at him with varying degrees of confusion evident on their faces, one they had his attention Aragorn pointed at him, “Outlander, right?”

“Right.” He smiled and came over to them, “What gives me away?”

“The hair. It doesn’t fit.” Eomer explained, “Do you know someone called Ianto?”

Jack’s heart skipped a beat, “I’m here looking for him, do you know where he is?”

“He’s in the Westfold still, Thursday told us you would come looking for him.” Hama told him, eyeing him up and down, “We expect him to arrive with Erkenbrand at dawn tomorrow.”

Jack sighed, “The waiting game again.”

“You should stay in the caves, it’s safe in there.” Aragorn instructed him

The captain shook his head, “Bugger that, I need the distraction. I’m armed and I’m in.”

He wiped sweat from his eyes and felt vaguely guilty about the thrill buzzing through him. He hadn’t slept properly since Ianto had gone, but right now he felt like he’d had about twenty-four hours; adrenaline thudded through him and he was filled with excitement as he stood on the Deeping Wall to watch Theoden ride out into the dawn. Down below him the three forces were easily distinguishable, Theoden’s riders, Erkenbrand’s men from the Westfold with Gandalf at their head and, between them, the mass of black orcs and Dunlanders. Somewhere in there, in that mass of warfare and death, was Ianto… Terror clutched at him and he wanted nothing more than to be down there with them, riding out at the end, but his horsemanship lacked a little (a lot) in skill or, for that matter, any ability at all. Once upon a time he’d ridden a lot, but not before he was buried alive for two thousand years. Come to think of it, he hadn’t ridden since he was kicked to death by a spooked mare just after she threw him. Bloody animals.

The wind drifted through his hair and he puffed upwards to get it out of his eyes again. The orcs had now fled into the forest, Gandalf and Erkenbrand were meeting with Aragorn and Theoden, Hama lay dead before the gates, it was over. He watched with impatience and waited for the forces to return to the Hornburg, waited for Ianto.

He sat on the steps by the gate to wait for them, excitement and anticipation building in him as the front riders drew nearer and nearer. He could hear their voices, could feel the buzz of the story coming closer and building, sweeping across him as they rode through the gates. The excitement was toxic, he felt like he was flying, soaring above the world, then Eomer met his eyes and shook his head slightly and everything came crashing down under yet another tidal wave of terror.