Timelord!Ianto: Trapped 3
May. 18th, 2011 09:43 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
galadriel1010Title: Trials of a Timelord
Chapter Title: Trapped by Torchwood part 3
Challenge/Fest: LongliveIanto cliché bingo
Prompt: Timelord!Ianto
Rating: G
Dedication:
Summary: A young Timelord crosses paths with Torchwood, and his life is forever changed.
Characters: Ianto Jones and OCs. Mentions of Jack and the Doctor
Contains:
Disclaimer: Torchwood and its environs, occurrences and persons belong to the BBC. The original characters have disowned me.
Brendan Andrews passed a screwdriver to his friend, charge and mentor and went back to resting his head on his arms. “Her ladyship still won't listen to you about the ghosts, then?”
“No.” The archivist glared at the device in his hands and poked at the wiring with the tip of his screwdriver. “Did you think she would?”
“Well no.” Brendan shrugged, an uncomfortable action in that position. “I'm not delusional. You think it's bad, though?”
“Very bad. Very bad indeed.” He trailed off and kept poking, then made a pleased noise and reached for a crochet hook. “Got it.”
“What is that thing? It looks like a...” He frowned. “Sort of like a digibox, actually. Does it receive TV?”
The Archivist smiled at him and hooked a loose wire out of the inside of the machine with the crochet hook. “It does, actually. Well done.”
“Oh...” He flushed and straightened up to lean forwards. “Where are the inputs and outputs, though? Is that these holes here?”
“Don't stick your finger in,” the Archivist snapped. “This is a very delicate piece of technology. When it's working, it will record everything.”
Brendan sighed mentally, but wouldn't let the Archivist see it. He was a nice guy, if a little stuck up and preachy. He'd been here at Torchwood for nearly twenty five years, though, so he'd probably earned it. “When you say everything?”
“Absolutely everything. From police radios and children with those handheld things...” He gestured with the crochet hook. “You know the ones. Up to TV and broadcast radio signals. Anything within ten miles. I just need to get it hooked up to my TARDIS for power...”
“You know I can't let you do that.” Brendan did sigh this time. It was an argument that every guardian had had with the Archivist, and the rules never changed. “We can't let you leave.”
“I could take you with me,” the Archivist offered, trying to sound nonchalant and failing hopelessly. He just sounded miserable. “Show you space from up close, rather than from down here.”
“Tempting, but the wife would miss me. And it's not like I'd be able to come back.”
“We could take her with us?” he offered.
“Not a chance.” Brendan hitched himself onto the edge of the table. “Speaking of which, where's the key?”
“What key?” The Archivist avoided looking at him. “The TARDIS key?”
“Of course the TARDIS key.” He sighed again. “We know you have it; we just don't know where you're hiding it. You can't use it, so what's the point?”
“The TARDIS is a sentient creature,” the Archivist snapped, “born in the depths of space, a being of pure time and energy encased in a ship more remarkable than the greatest minds on your planet could possibly comprehend. We were supposed to protect each other,” he finished sadly, all the anger draining out of him. “And we didn't, we're stuck here. So what if I want to keep a reminder of her with me? It's not like I'll ever get the chance to use it.”
“And if you do?”
“If I do, I will never come near this pathetic rock ever again,” he scoffed dismissively. “Can you imagine what it's like? I was born on a planet beyond your imagining, trained to travel in time and space to understand different peoples and places, brought up with the wonders of the universe. I looked into the Untempered Schism, the tear in the universe where all of time and space can be seen and I strove to understand it.” He shook his head. “And I'm stuck here, watching the first steps of one of the most glorious empires the universe will ever see, and all they ever do is fall over. You are the most frustrating...”
“Go ahead, Archivist,” Brendan muttered. “Tell me how you really feel.”
“Sorry.” The Archivist leaned heavily on the table with one hand and rubbed at his forehead with the other. “I have the most awful headache. Like... I don't know.” He picked the device up and changed the subject, “It's nearly time for the Ghost Shift. Can we get this locked away and sit in a dark room somewhere for a while?”
“Sure thing.” He squeezed his shoulder and went to retrieve the containment cases. “You pack this up; I'll make the tea and find the Vaughan Williams.”
They settled down in the little archives lounge with the rest of the small archival team and a large pot of tea. The Archives were locked down for the duration of the Ghost Shift as a precaution, although Yvonne insisted that no harm was likely. Lisa Hallet was the last in before they locked the doors, bursting with excitement. “Have you all heard?” she asked, clutching a stitch from running to get back in time. “He's here!”
“Who's here?” Brendan asked, passing Trish a mug of tea and the milk. “Not Harkness?”
“No,” she waved Harkness away, an unheard of occurrence, and collapsed into a chair. “The Doctor. Hartman has him up in her office.”
They all looked at the Archivist. He got up and turned on the TV in the corner, flicking through the channels for the CCTV. “I probably won't recognise him,” he reminded them. “I've not seen him for a long time, and he always went through faces fast.”
They crowded around the TV, settled in armchairs and on the floor to get a good view, and cycled through the different cameras. When they finally got to the top office, where the Ghost Shift was managed, Trish gasped in shock. “That's him. That's the Doctor who met Victoria!”
The Archivist raised an unimpressed eyebrow at the image on screen of the glass partition shattering. “Oh, he's not changed. I hope he has met Victoria. The paradox incurred if he hasn't would be devastating.”
Brendan watched his friend whilst the others started discussing the myths and legends surrounding the Doctor and Harkness in Cardiff. The Archivist looked drawn and tired, the headache he'd complained of clearly worsening rather than improving. He was tempted to tell the others to shut up and give him some peace, but the Archivist hated being the centre of attention.
Trish tapped his knee and gestured to the screen. “The Ghost Shift's got out of control, Brendan. Hartman just gave the order to stop it, but it won't.”
“It looks like the whole team is conspiring,” Lisa murmured. “Or worse... No look, see? All controlled.”
Brendan pushed through to crouch right in front of the screen for a better view. “Instigate full lockdown and evacuation, now,” he instructed sharply. “Trigger the fire alarm or something.”
Lisa flew to the computer and did as she was told, leaving Fred, Trish and Anton with nothing to do. “But we're trapped in here,” Anton whispered. “What happens if it goes really tits up?”
“It just did.” The Archivist drew their attention back to the screen, where robots had coalesced out of the ghosts. “Cybermen.”
“Does it matter what they are?” Fred snapped. “We're trapped. Will the lockdown keep them out?”
“Not a chance.” The Archivist squeezed Brendan's shoulder and tugged him to his feet. “I can keep you all safe, but you need to get me to my TARDIS.”
“I can't...”
“Yes you can,” he cut him off and shook him. “You know where she is. They will not get through her doors, and I can take us away.”
“We have to fight,” Brendan protested.
“We're not fighters,” Fred argued. “Archie's right, Brendan; we can't fight this.”
He looked around his team, at their fear and distress, and he nodded slowly. “It's two levels down, but it's not in the Archives...”
“We'll go through the air vents,” Lisa suggested. They stared at her and she shrugged. “Arch can probably memorise the route if we show him.”
He nodded. “Of course I can, but are they big enough?”
“Sure they are.” She grabbed a screwdriver and started grabbing boxes. “Anton, support me. Brendan, Arch, get the map up.”
They exchanged amused looks and scrambled for the computer and the maps. Brendan took the chair and keyboard. “It's here... and if we layer over the air ducts like so, can you see the route?”
“Got it,” he confirmed after a minute. The Archivist turned around to look at his team. ”Are you all okay with this?”
Fred shrugged, arms wrapped around his chest. “Not really, but we don't have an option.”
“No, we don't,” He agreed. “How are you doing up there, Lisa?”
“Nearly there.” She dropped another screw onto the floor and looked down. “Everyone ready to catch me?” They gathered around below her and she yanked on the grille, losing her balance and falling back into Brendan's arms in the process. “There we go.”
“Good girl.” He put her down on the floor and clapped the Archivist on the shoulder. “You're the leader. After you.”
The Archivist grunted his disgruntled thanks and got up on the table to reach up to the hole in the ceiling. “Whatever happens, Brendan, you are coming with us. Because if you stay behind, I will never forgive you.”
He swallowed and nodded. “I'll find a way. You ready?”
“Yep.” He tightened his fingers around the edge of the hole and braced himself. “Be ready to catch me, just in case.”
It wasn't necessary in the end, as the Archivist hauled himself up with no problems and disappeared into the space above the ceiling. He moved around up there and eventually reappeared looking down at them. “It's dusty up here,” he commented. “Who's next?”
Lisa scrambled back onto the box and reached up. “Don't drop me, whatever you do.”
Brendan helped all of his team up and then found himself standing on a box and clinging to a hole in the ceiling. He could hear heavy footsteps and computerised voices outside the Archival Office, and he just hoped that the lockdown would hold them for long enough. If he fell, he was unlikely to make it back up. He tightened his grip and nodded reassuringly at Anton. “I'm ready. Just don't drop me.”
“As if.” Anton smiled reassuringly and tugged slightly. “Come on up, the water's fine.”
He laughed and hauled himself towards the ceiling, knocking the box off the table with his flailing legs as he went. Anton tightened his grip and dragged him up and in, until they lay side by side in the vent, panting. “Don't kiss me,” Anton whispered. “Someone might see.”
Brendan did it anyway, because he could and because it was really too dark for anyone to see, then patted Anton's arse to move him along. “Come on, how far ahead are they?”
“Not far enough,” Trish called back. “Arch has got to one of the downwards vents, and it's a bit risky.”
“Okay.” He waited until Anton had got past him fully before crawling along behind him. “Quiet as possible, guys.”
They crawled through the narrow tunnels to the point where a tunnel went down. The whole system was part of the emergency exit system of the building, and Brendan could hear clanging and distorted voices that he really hoped were from other Torchwood operatives. Anton squirmed around in the tight space to descent the ladder, and he grabbed Brendan's face and kissed him before he went. “Keep up,” he ordered. “If you die, we'll never speak to you again.”
He smiled and ruffled Anton's hair. “I have no intention of dying. Go on, we need to get there.”
They descended through the tunnel, surrounded by an eerie silence. They had no way of knowing what was happening outside the tunnel, no way of knowing if this was the end of the world and they were the only survivors, or if there was a battle being fought out there that they couldn't be a part of. It was too quiet for a battle, though. Too quiet indeed. Brendan felt something under his foot and heard a yelp from Anton. “Sorry,” he whispered down. “What's happened?”
“Screaming,” Anton whispered. “And Archie's reached the bottom.”
Brendan followed him down more carefully after that, feeling his way so as not to stand on Anton again. Eventually he felt the draught from another entrance behind him, and reaching around into it found Anton's leg. “How are we going?”
“Not sure,” Anton whispered back. “Some sort of holdup again.”
“Chinese Whispers,” he insisted. “Find out.”
Anton hissed at him, but he heard the whisper passing along the line and returning. “We've bumped into Human Resources. They're going to fall into line behind you.”
He nodded his agreement into the dark. “Let's go, then. We're not far off.”
Louis Shipton, head of Human Resources, had been resourceful enough to bring a torch as well, and he'd passed it on to Archie to light their way down the tunnel. Brendan could see it in the distance, and it lent just enough light for him to make out Louis as they passed his entrance. “I'm the last one,” he whispered. “Fall in behind me.”
“Archives has something?” Louis asked.
“We're going to his ship.” Brendan heard the excited whispers going down the tunnel. “How many have you got?”
“All fifteen of us,” he was told. “Got your message and locked us in. We got out just in time.”
“The Archivist says it's Cybermen.”
Louis shook his head. “Not at our end. We had Daleks.”
They looked at each other fearfully until someone behind Louis hissed and Brendan remembered to get a move on. A clanging ahead of him was the Archivist opening the grill over the room where his TARDIS was stored. Brendan clenched his fists in delight and hurried forwards to catch up with Anton. Before long he was dropping down into a large room which contained just a...
“Archie,” Trish was saying, walking around it. “This is a wardrobe...”
“I know.” He hurried over to it and unlocked the doors, wrenching them open and beckoning her towards it. “In, all of you. Stay in the control room, don't go wandering off.”
“What...” Lisa bundled Trish into the wardrobe and Brendan heard both of them exclaim their shock.
He helped Louis down from the whole and gestured to the wardrobe. “In you go. We're going into the closet. Don't worry, it's bigger on the inside.”
The Archivist barked a laugh from the door. “How many more to get in, Brendan?”
“Fourteen more.” He glanced over. “Have we got time?”
“I hope so. They've done this area already.” The Archivist looked over at him and shook his head. “You don't want to know.”
Brendan helped Louis' secretary down and pushed her towards the wardrobe. “Keep moving guys. Jump and I'll catch you.”
At the door the Archivist hissed, “Faster. They're coming back.”
He swore. “Archivist, get in the wardrobe.” When he didn't move, Brendan tried again. “Archie, please...” the Archivist swung around at that and glared at him, hurt mingling with shock. “You need to keep them safe.”
More of the staff from Human Resources scrambled down whilst the Archivist waited, as tense as a coiled spring, at the door. John was the last one down, and he was scrambling towards the wardrobe before he'd realised what it was. He paused in shock, but Brendan pushed him and darted towards the Archivist. “Now, come on!”
“EXTERMINATE!” There was a flash of light and the Archivist reeled back from the door, clutching at his shoulder. Brendan caught him and half-dragged him through the doors of the wardrobe into the much, much bigger space inside.
The Archivist dragged himself to the console in the middle of the room and slammed buttons, muttering all the while. “Come on, beautiful. Come on, please...” the door slammed behind them, trapping them in, but the Archivist sank against the console, tears pouring. “Stay back,” he gasped. “I'm going to... ah!”
Brendan waved them all back into the corners of the dark, dusty room, but crouched closer to the Archivist. “I don't want to leave you alone.”
“Don't want to hurt you,” the Archivist gasped. “Back, stay back. You know.”
He nodded and retreated beyond a towering pillar to watch a gold light burn through his friend. It was bright enough to light the whole room, showing a vaulted ceiling reminiscent of a cathedral, supported by two long rows of delicate arches. Brendan shielded his eyes against it, but hurried forwards as soon as the light dimmed. Instead of the middle-aged, angular features he was so familiar with and fond of, the figure slumped despondently against the console was young, fresh faced and almost angelic in his despair. “Archivist?” he asked carefully.
“Not any more.” The Archivist, or not, rubbed the edge of the console. “She's dead, Brendan. I'm a Timelord without a TARDIS. I'm no one.”
Brendan sat next to him and waved the others away. “You'll always be our archivist.”
He sniffed and smiled weakly. “Can't be the Archivist any more, can I? And...” he dropped his voice and nodded at the door. “I don't think there's a Torchwood any more.”
“I think you're probably right,” Brendan followed his gaze. “What do I call you, then?”
“Jones.” He gestured at himself. “I'm Welsh, apparently. So Jones.”
“Need a first name to go with that, Jonesy,” he pointed out.
His friend dragged himself up and started flicking switches. “What's a nice Welsh name, then? Bryn, Ifan... Ianto?” He nodded and pulled a screen around to look at it. “There, we have visuals. But we're going nowhere, not without a living TARDIS.”
“Ianto Jones?” Brendan nodded and beckoned the rest of the teams out to gather around the console, the corpse of the Archivist’s closest friend. He shuddered at the idea and reached out to rest a supportive hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Suits you. Nice to meet you, Ianto Jones.”
Next chapter
Chapter Title: Trapped by Torchwood part 3
Challenge/Fest: LongliveIanto cliché bingo
Prompt: Timelord!Ianto
Rating: G
Dedication:
Summary: A young Timelord crosses paths with Torchwood, and his life is forever changed.
Characters: Ianto Jones and OCs. Mentions of Jack and the Doctor
Contains:
Disclaimer: Torchwood and its environs, occurrences and persons belong to the BBC. The original characters have disowned me.
Brendan Andrews passed a screwdriver to his friend, charge and mentor and went back to resting his head on his arms. “Her ladyship still won't listen to you about the ghosts, then?”
“No.” The archivist glared at the device in his hands and poked at the wiring with the tip of his screwdriver. “Did you think she would?”
“Well no.” Brendan shrugged, an uncomfortable action in that position. “I'm not delusional. You think it's bad, though?”
“Very bad. Very bad indeed.” He trailed off and kept poking, then made a pleased noise and reached for a crochet hook. “Got it.”
“What is that thing? It looks like a...” He frowned. “Sort of like a digibox, actually. Does it receive TV?”
The Archivist smiled at him and hooked a loose wire out of the inside of the machine with the crochet hook. “It does, actually. Well done.”
“Oh...” He flushed and straightened up to lean forwards. “Where are the inputs and outputs, though? Is that these holes here?”
“Don't stick your finger in,” the Archivist snapped. “This is a very delicate piece of technology. When it's working, it will record everything.”
Brendan sighed mentally, but wouldn't let the Archivist see it. He was a nice guy, if a little stuck up and preachy. He'd been here at Torchwood for nearly twenty five years, though, so he'd probably earned it. “When you say everything?”
“Absolutely everything. From police radios and children with those handheld things...” He gestured with the crochet hook. “You know the ones. Up to TV and broadcast radio signals. Anything within ten miles. I just need to get it hooked up to my TARDIS for power...”
“You know I can't let you do that.” Brendan did sigh this time. It was an argument that every guardian had had with the Archivist, and the rules never changed. “We can't let you leave.”
“I could take you with me,” the Archivist offered, trying to sound nonchalant and failing hopelessly. He just sounded miserable. “Show you space from up close, rather than from down here.”
“Tempting, but the wife would miss me. And it's not like I'd be able to come back.”
“We could take her with us?” he offered.
“Not a chance.” Brendan hitched himself onto the edge of the table. “Speaking of which, where's the key?”
“What key?” The Archivist avoided looking at him. “The TARDIS key?”
“Of course the TARDIS key.” He sighed again. “We know you have it; we just don't know where you're hiding it. You can't use it, so what's the point?”
“The TARDIS is a sentient creature,” the Archivist snapped, “born in the depths of space, a being of pure time and energy encased in a ship more remarkable than the greatest minds on your planet could possibly comprehend. We were supposed to protect each other,” he finished sadly, all the anger draining out of him. “And we didn't, we're stuck here. So what if I want to keep a reminder of her with me? It's not like I'll ever get the chance to use it.”
“And if you do?”
“If I do, I will never come near this pathetic rock ever again,” he scoffed dismissively. “Can you imagine what it's like? I was born on a planet beyond your imagining, trained to travel in time and space to understand different peoples and places, brought up with the wonders of the universe. I looked into the Untempered Schism, the tear in the universe where all of time and space can be seen and I strove to understand it.” He shook his head. “And I'm stuck here, watching the first steps of one of the most glorious empires the universe will ever see, and all they ever do is fall over. You are the most frustrating...”
“Go ahead, Archivist,” Brendan muttered. “Tell me how you really feel.”
“Sorry.” The Archivist leaned heavily on the table with one hand and rubbed at his forehead with the other. “I have the most awful headache. Like... I don't know.” He picked the device up and changed the subject, “It's nearly time for the Ghost Shift. Can we get this locked away and sit in a dark room somewhere for a while?”
“Sure thing.” He squeezed his shoulder and went to retrieve the containment cases. “You pack this up; I'll make the tea and find the Vaughan Williams.”
They settled down in the little archives lounge with the rest of the small archival team and a large pot of tea. The Archives were locked down for the duration of the Ghost Shift as a precaution, although Yvonne insisted that no harm was likely. Lisa Hallet was the last in before they locked the doors, bursting with excitement. “Have you all heard?” she asked, clutching a stitch from running to get back in time. “He's here!”
“Who's here?” Brendan asked, passing Trish a mug of tea and the milk. “Not Harkness?”
“No,” she waved Harkness away, an unheard of occurrence, and collapsed into a chair. “The Doctor. Hartman has him up in her office.”
They all looked at the Archivist. He got up and turned on the TV in the corner, flicking through the channels for the CCTV. “I probably won't recognise him,” he reminded them. “I've not seen him for a long time, and he always went through faces fast.”
They crowded around the TV, settled in armchairs and on the floor to get a good view, and cycled through the different cameras. When they finally got to the top office, where the Ghost Shift was managed, Trish gasped in shock. “That's him. That's the Doctor who met Victoria!”
The Archivist raised an unimpressed eyebrow at the image on screen of the glass partition shattering. “Oh, he's not changed. I hope he has met Victoria. The paradox incurred if he hasn't would be devastating.”
Brendan watched his friend whilst the others started discussing the myths and legends surrounding the Doctor and Harkness in Cardiff. The Archivist looked drawn and tired, the headache he'd complained of clearly worsening rather than improving. He was tempted to tell the others to shut up and give him some peace, but the Archivist hated being the centre of attention.
Trish tapped his knee and gestured to the screen. “The Ghost Shift's got out of control, Brendan. Hartman just gave the order to stop it, but it won't.”
“It looks like the whole team is conspiring,” Lisa murmured. “Or worse... No look, see? All controlled.”
Brendan pushed through to crouch right in front of the screen for a better view. “Instigate full lockdown and evacuation, now,” he instructed sharply. “Trigger the fire alarm or something.”
Lisa flew to the computer and did as she was told, leaving Fred, Trish and Anton with nothing to do. “But we're trapped in here,” Anton whispered. “What happens if it goes really tits up?”
“It just did.” The Archivist drew their attention back to the screen, where robots had coalesced out of the ghosts. “Cybermen.”
“Does it matter what they are?” Fred snapped. “We're trapped. Will the lockdown keep them out?”
“Not a chance.” The Archivist squeezed Brendan's shoulder and tugged him to his feet. “I can keep you all safe, but you need to get me to my TARDIS.”
“I can't...”
“Yes you can,” he cut him off and shook him. “You know where she is. They will not get through her doors, and I can take us away.”
“We have to fight,” Brendan protested.
“We're not fighters,” Fred argued. “Archie's right, Brendan; we can't fight this.”
He looked around his team, at their fear and distress, and he nodded slowly. “It's two levels down, but it's not in the Archives...”
“We'll go through the air vents,” Lisa suggested. They stared at her and she shrugged. “Arch can probably memorise the route if we show him.”
He nodded. “Of course I can, but are they big enough?”
“Sure they are.” She grabbed a screwdriver and started grabbing boxes. “Anton, support me. Brendan, Arch, get the map up.”
They exchanged amused looks and scrambled for the computer and the maps. Brendan took the chair and keyboard. “It's here... and if we layer over the air ducts like so, can you see the route?”
“Got it,” he confirmed after a minute. The Archivist turned around to look at his team. ”Are you all okay with this?”
Fred shrugged, arms wrapped around his chest. “Not really, but we don't have an option.”
“No, we don't,” He agreed. “How are you doing up there, Lisa?”
“Nearly there.” She dropped another screw onto the floor and looked down. “Everyone ready to catch me?” They gathered around below her and she yanked on the grille, losing her balance and falling back into Brendan's arms in the process. “There we go.”
“Good girl.” He put her down on the floor and clapped the Archivist on the shoulder. “You're the leader. After you.”
The Archivist grunted his disgruntled thanks and got up on the table to reach up to the hole in the ceiling. “Whatever happens, Brendan, you are coming with us. Because if you stay behind, I will never forgive you.”
He swallowed and nodded. “I'll find a way. You ready?”
“Yep.” He tightened his fingers around the edge of the hole and braced himself. “Be ready to catch me, just in case.”
It wasn't necessary in the end, as the Archivist hauled himself up with no problems and disappeared into the space above the ceiling. He moved around up there and eventually reappeared looking down at them. “It's dusty up here,” he commented. “Who's next?”
Lisa scrambled back onto the box and reached up. “Don't drop me, whatever you do.”
Brendan helped all of his team up and then found himself standing on a box and clinging to a hole in the ceiling. He could hear heavy footsteps and computerised voices outside the Archival Office, and he just hoped that the lockdown would hold them for long enough. If he fell, he was unlikely to make it back up. He tightened his grip and nodded reassuringly at Anton. “I'm ready. Just don't drop me.”
“As if.” Anton smiled reassuringly and tugged slightly. “Come on up, the water's fine.”
He laughed and hauled himself towards the ceiling, knocking the box off the table with his flailing legs as he went. Anton tightened his grip and dragged him up and in, until they lay side by side in the vent, panting. “Don't kiss me,” Anton whispered. “Someone might see.”
Brendan did it anyway, because he could and because it was really too dark for anyone to see, then patted Anton's arse to move him along. “Come on, how far ahead are they?”
“Not far enough,” Trish called back. “Arch has got to one of the downwards vents, and it's a bit risky.”
“Okay.” He waited until Anton had got past him fully before crawling along behind him. “Quiet as possible, guys.”
They crawled through the narrow tunnels to the point where a tunnel went down. The whole system was part of the emergency exit system of the building, and Brendan could hear clanging and distorted voices that he really hoped were from other Torchwood operatives. Anton squirmed around in the tight space to descent the ladder, and he grabbed Brendan's face and kissed him before he went. “Keep up,” he ordered. “If you die, we'll never speak to you again.”
He smiled and ruffled Anton's hair. “I have no intention of dying. Go on, we need to get there.”
They descended through the tunnel, surrounded by an eerie silence. They had no way of knowing what was happening outside the tunnel, no way of knowing if this was the end of the world and they were the only survivors, or if there was a battle being fought out there that they couldn't be a part of. It was too quiet for a battle, though. Too quiet indeed. Brendan felt something under his foot and heard a yelp from Anton. “Sorry,” he whispered down. “What's happened?”
“Screaming,” Anton whispered. “And Archie's reached the bottom.”
Brendan followed him down more carefully after that, feeling his way so as not to stand on Anton again. Eventually he felt the draught from another entrance behind him, and reaching around into it found Anton's leg. “How are we going?”
“Not sure,” Anton whispered back. “Some sort of holdup again.”
“Chinese Whispers,” he insisted. “Find out.”
Anton hissed at him, but he heard the whisper passing along the line and returning. “We've bumped into Human Resources. They're going to fall into line behind you.”
He nodded his agreement into the dark. “Let's go, then. We're not far off.”
Louis Shipton, head of Human Resources, had been resourceful enough to bring a torch as well, and he'd passed it on to Archie to light their way down the tunnel. Brendan could see it in the distance, and it lent just enough light for him to make out Louis as they passed his entrance. “I'm the last one,” he whispered. “Fall in behind me.”
“Archives has something?” Louis asked.
“We're going to his ship.” Brendan heard the excited whispers going down the tunnel. “How many have you got?”
“All fifteen of us,” he was told. “Got your message and locked us in. We got out just in time.”
“The Archivist says it's Cybermen.”
Louis shook his head. “Not at our end. We had Daleks.”
They looked at each other fearfully until someone behind Louis hissed and Brendan remembered to get a move on. A clanging ahead of him was the Archivist opening the grill over the room where his TARDIS was stored. Brendan clenched his fists in delight and hurried forwards to catch up with Anton. Before long he was dropping down into a large room which contained just a...
“Archie,” Trish was saying, walking around it. “This is a wardrobe...”
“I know.” He hurried over to it and unlocked the doors, wrenching them open and beckoning her towards it. “In, all of you. Stay in the control room, don't go wandering off.”
“What...” Lisa bundled Trish into the wardrobe and Brendan heard both of them exclaim their shock.
He helped Louis down from the whole and gestured to the wardrobe. “In you go. We're going into the closet. Don't worry, it's bigger on the inside.”
The Archivist barked a laugh from the door. “How many more to get in, Brendan?”
“Fourteen more.” He glanced over. “Have we got time?”
“I hope so. They've done this area already.” The Archivist looked over at him and shook his head. “You don't want to know.”
Brendan helped Louis' secretary down and pushed her towards the wardrobe. “Keep moving guys. Jump and I'll catch you.”
At the door the Archivist hissed, “Faster. They're coming back.”
He swore. “Archivist, get in the wardrobe.” When he didn't move, Brendan tried again. “Archie, please...” the Archivist swung around at that and glared at him, hurt mingling with shock. “You need to keep them safe.”
More of the staff from Human Resources scrambled down whilst the Archivist waited, as tense as a coiled spring, at the door. John was the last one down, and he was scrambling towards the wardrobe before he'd realised what it was. He paused in shock, but Brendan pushed him and darted towards the Archivist. “Now, come on!”
“EXTERMINATE!” There was a flash of light and the Archivist reeled back from the door, clutching at his shoulder. Brendan caught him and half-dragged him through the doors of the wardrobe into the much, much bigger space inside.
The Archivist dragged himself to the console in the middle of the room and slammed buttons, muttering all the while. “Come on, beautiful. Come on, please...” the door slammed behind them, trapping them in, but the Archivist sank against the console, tears pouring. “Stay back,” he gasped. “I'm going to... ah!”
Brendan waved them all back into the corners of the dark, dusty room, but crouched closer to the Archivist. “I don't want to leave you alone.”
“Don't want to hurt you,” the Archivist gasped. “Back, stay back. You know.”
He nodded and retreated beyond a towering pillar to watch a gold light burn through his friend. It was bright enough to light the whole room, showing a vaulted ceiling reminiscent of a cathedral, supported by two long rows of delicate arches. Brendan shielded his eyes against it, but hurried forwards as soon as the light dimmed. Instead of the middle-aged, angular features he was so familiar with and fond of, the figure slumped despondently against the console was young, fresh faced and almost angelic in his despair. “Archivist?” he asked carefully.
“Not any more.” The Archivist, or not, rubbed the edge of the console. “She's dead, Brendan. I'm a Timelord without a TARDIS. I'm no one.”
Brendan sat next to him and waved the others away. “You'll always be our archivist.”
He sniffed and smiled weakly. “Can't be the Archivist any more, can I? And...” he dropped his voice and nodded at the door. “I don't think there's a Torchwood any more.”
“I think you're probably right,” Brendan followed his gaze. “What do I call you, then?”
“Jones.” He gestured at himself. “I'm Welsh, apparently. So Jones.”
“Need a first name to go with that, Jonesy,” he pointed out.
His friend dragged himself up and started flicking switches. “What's a nice Welsh name, then? Bryn, Ifan... Ianto?” He nodded and pulled a screen around to look at it. “There, we have visuals. But we're going nowhere, not without a living TARDIS.”
“Ianto Jones?” Brendan nodded and beckoned the rest of the teams out to gather around the console, the corpse of the Archivist’s closest friend. He shuddered at the idea and reached out to rest a supportive hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Suits you. Nice to meet you, Ianto Jones.”
Next chapter
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Date: 2011-05-18 11:37 pm (UTC)Poor Archivist/Ianto. No TARDIS. Guess she just couldn't survive without her friend. *is sad*
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Date: 2011-05-19 10:30 pm (UTC)Rxxx
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Date: 2011-05-19 06:33 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-05-19 10:55 pm (UTC)Gxxx
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Date: 2011-06-06 09:32 pm (UTC)great chapter