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twitchbellTitle: Just an Ordinary Boy
Author: twitchbell
Fandom: Torchwood/Chronicles of Chrestomanci crossover
Rating: PG13
Pairing: none [gen]
Summary: Jack, Gwen and Ianto investigate an energy spike in the Rift and find the corpse of a young man, but nothing is quite what it seems.
Word count: 7775
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Torchwood is the creative property of the BBC. Chrestomanci belongs to Diana Wynne Jones.
Warnings: None so far as I know.
Spoilers: Takes place after Torchwood Season 2 and shortly after 'Journey's End', finale of Doctor Who Season 4. Spoilers for both. Takes place approximately two years after 'Conrad's Fate' in the Chronicles of Chrestomanci.
Author's Notes: Prior knowledge of Diana Wynne Jones' Chronicles of Chrestomanci series isn't necessary for reading, but some knowledge of Torchwood is advisable.
The apartment was probably much like every other in prestigious 'lifestyle' development, except Gwen Williams was almost certain they didn't feature a master bedroom decorated like a slaughterhouse.
Sharp medical tools were arranged in a neat row on top of a dresser. Snowy-white bed linen was crumpled and spattered with blood. And the naked corpse of a young man lay on the bed, twisted away from them, and shackled by one wrist to a shiny chrome headboard.
“Not what I was expecting,” Jack muttered, his mood thoroughly disturbed by their gruesome discovery. He moved around the far side of the bed to take a closer look.
“Me neither.” Gwen stayed back by the door, not feeling the need for a closer inspection. She wondered if this actually was a case for Torchwood or whether it was just-just!-an ordinary display of human viciousness.
"Odd. The handcuff's made of silver. Maybe it’s some kind of ritual killing.... " Then Jack’s voice changed abruptly. "Gwen, he's still alive!"
Gwen pulled her mobile phone out of her pocket, but Jack shook his head. "No, don't." He crouched by the side of the bed.
"Why not?" she demanded.
"He won't make it. Trust me, Gwen. And even if he did, I doubt he'd thank you: whoever tortured him has left him damn near eviscerated. "
"Oh." Gwen drew in a sharp breath, feeling sick. "Oh God."
She watched Jack gently raise the youth's head, and caught a brief glimpse of his face before she looked down at her mobile, biting her lip. Surely the hospital could do something. If Owen were still here, he might've - she cut off that redundant line of thought with a twist of pain.
There was a swift flurry of movement from Jack, and when Gwen looked up she saw him lay the youth back down just as gently as before. Only this time when she saw the young face, it was still and free of suffering, the mouth half-open, the eyes blank and lifeless.
"He was dying, Gwen. The only thing I could do was make it happen that little bit quicker." Jack stood up and stared grim-faced at Gwen almost as if he was challenging her to object.
Gwen put her phone away. She understood that Jack felt it was necessary, but that didn't mean she had to like it. She forced herself to speak evenly. "Do you think what’s happened here has something to do with the energy spike we’re chasing?”
“Could be. The spike was focussed here. It wasn’t a typical reading, but something may have come through.”
“But this isn't the kind of bloodbath that might happen if something fell through the Rift and acted out of fright and confusion," Gwen pointed out, looking around the room in revulsion. "For a start, those medical tools have been washed and put in a precise order. There's a horrible deliberation about all of it, as if it was carefully planned and executed right down to the last detail.”
“Looks that way," Jack acknowledged briefly. "We’d better get him-" Jack jerked his head briefly towards the body "-back to the Hub and into cold storage until I can call Martha to arrange an autopsy. He looks human enough, but we all know that doesn’t mean anything.”
“Could he be the owner of the apartment?” Gwen wondered aloud as Jack called up Ianto, who’d been questioning the building's commissionaire in the entrance foyer.
“Unlikely. He looked barely old enough to hold a driving license, never mind a fancy apartment. He was a good-looking kid, though.”
“Rent boy?”
“No evidence I could see of any- Ianto! What have you got?" Jack paused, phone to his ear, listening. "The apartment’s owned by Edgar Storith? Okay. Well, we’ve got one corpse here, male, approximately eighteen years of age, apparently human. Not Storith? Yeah, we pretty much figured he couldn't be. Ianto, we’ll need to get him back to the Hub. Gwen will clear it with the police.”
“Right,” said Gwen, by now resigned to her unofficial role as Torchwood's liaison officer. “And won't they just love having a bloodbath right in Cardiff's city centre declared off-limits and turned over to Torchwood.”
She performed her unwanted task to the best of her tact and ability, and then - doing all she could to ignore the corpse on the bed - turned her attention to the rest of the bedroom. She opened every drawer she could find in search of anything that might yield a clue about either the victim or the perpetrator, but there was no clothing whatsoever - or anything else for that matter. The wardrobe was equally devoid of contents. Apart from the bed and its grisly contents, the whole place was as pristine as a show house.
Jack had gone off to check the other rooms, so when Gwen heard a noise from behind her she knew damn well it wasn’t him. She whirled round, reaching instinctively for her gun, and then stopped dead in shock.
The corpse was no longer a corpse. The youth was trying to sit up, ashen and weak, but unmistakably alive. Under the blood-stains, his skin was unblemished, his flesh whole and unbroken.
Gwen found her voice. “Jack! Get in here! Now!”
“Gwen?” Jack appeared in the doorway, and looked completely astounded at the sight that met his eyes. “That shouldn’t be happening.”
“Silver,” moaned the youth, tugging weakly at the chain attaching him to the bed. “Get it off me … I can’t …”
“Give me a moment, kid.”
Jack was in possession of enough gizmos - alien and human - to enable him to have the chain detached from the headboard in double-quick time. It didn’t seem to make much difference.
“No, get it off me!” The tone might have been peremptory, but the hoarse voice was tinged with genuine panic.
Jack complied, and this time the change was almost instantaneous. The youth expelled his breath in a long sigh of relief and finally stopped shaking.
“Better?” said Jack.
“Oh, much better, thank you. I have an unfortunate magi… I mean an extraordinary allergy to silver,” explained the youth, sounding to Gwen almost exactly like a posh public school boy, and way too full of life for someone who’d been messily dead just a few moments earlier.
“I’ll say it’s extraordinary,” Jack said. “Although, on balance, I’d say it’s not as extraordinary as your resurrection.”
“Ah, yes. That,” said the youth, looking vague and declining to add anything further.
“Okay. I think we’ll continue this fascinating discussion back at the Hub,” Jack said after a few seconds of silence ensued. “Up you get.” He took hold of the youth underneath his arms and tugged him up onto his feet.
It was, of course, inevitable that Ianto arrived in the bedroom doorway at exactly the same moment as Jack acquired an armful of naked young man.
“Your corpse?” Ianto enquired politely after a moment or two. “He looks rather blood-stained, true, but he also looks considerably less dead than I expected.”
“He was dead,” Gwen assured him. “Only now, well ….”
“I got better,” the youth told them with as much assurance as if this actually constituted an explanation. “My name is Christopher Chant, by the way. I prefer it to ‘corpse’.”
“I guess you would,” Jack said, shooting Gwen and Ianto a look of thinly-veiled amusement. “Since we’re exchanging pleasantries, my name’s Jack Harkness, this is Gwen Williams and Ianto Jones.”
“I’m delighted to make your acquaintance,” Christopher said, showing no inclination to remove himself from Jack's hold. “Tell me, do you work for the police? Or the government?”
“Neither. We’re Torchwood.”
“What’s left of it,” Ianto murmured, almost too quietly to hear.
“Ah. I confess that I’m unfamiliar with Torchwood,” Christopher admitted, looking blank.
“We’re a secret organization,” Jack told him. “We operate outside the government and beyond the police. And we need to get you back to the Hub.”
“That would be your, er … hub of activities, I suppose. Very well. But first would you be so good as to lend me your coat, Jack? I’ve noticed that I appear to be naked and rather bloody into the bargain. I don’t think it’s a good look for me.”
“It’s a whole lot better than the look you had a few minutes ago,” Jack observed, managing to move away from Christopher without revealing any more of the young man’s body than was already on display. He shrugged off his greatcoat and helped Christopher into it - there was more than enough material to wrap around himself to preserve what was left of his modesty. The overall effect wasn’t quite as ridiculous as it could have been; Christopher had the height to carry off the style, and the coat hid the bloodstains.
Ianto and Gwen went ahead, Ianto muttering, “Natural embarrassment aside, young Christopher seems awfully self-composed for someone dead and resurrected in short order.”
“The resurrection part didn’t seem to throw him at all, “Gwen said thoughtfully. “He’s probably blocking the dying part out - and I can see why he'd want to do that.”
Entry and exit to the apartment block was on the ground floor, served by a lift going directly to and from the residential levels. As they left through the main door, Christopher hesitated a moment, regarding his bare feet ruefully, and then negotiated his way cautiously over the street to where Ianto had parked the car. At the sight of the large black SUV with its tinted windows and flashing blue lights, Christopher's eyes lit up with appreciation and he paused to run one hand along the sleek black finish, his fingers tracing the letters on the side.
“Torchwood! What a charming idea to stencil the name of your secret organization onto your transport!”
“Just get in the car, kid,” said Jack with a roll of his eyes.
Christopher stared up and around at the Hub's interior in unfeigned interest, but Gwen could see that it was with something less than warm admiration. The Hub wasn't looking at its best, she conceded: essential repairs were taking a long time, made worse by the fact that they no longer had Tosh and Owen's skills to draw on.
“It’s impressively large and clearly very functional,” Christopher observed, adding flippantly, “But, dear me, it does seem rather in need of some repair and restoration.”
“I'm sorry our standard of decor doesn't meet with your approval,” Ianto said with a flash of anger. “That would be down to the death of two of our close colleagues, an invasion by Daleks, followed by the sudden, violent removal of the whole of planet Earth from its axis and its equally sudden and violent return. Have I missed anything out, Gwen?”
“That about covers it,” she said. Sobering to think that such devastating events could be summed up in one single sentence.
“Oh,” said Christopher, looking a little flustered for the first time. “I didn’t … I mean, I'm sorry. I have a deplorable tendency towards impertinence, so my guardian tells me. Usually at considerable length and volume. What are Daleks?”
“That's enough questions,” said Jack, directing Christopher ahead of him into the interrogation room and then fixing him with a daunting stare. “I want some answers from you first. Starting with how come you’re currently alive and kicking. I know you were dead.”
“I expect you do,” Christopher said. “Seeing as you killed me.”
Ianto shot a look at Gwen, who just shrugged helplessly, trying to convey the fact that there was a lot more to it than the bare fact suggested.
“You know exactly why I did that,” Jack said.
“Yes, I do. Thank you.” Gwen caught a brief glimpse of remembered horror in Christopher's eyes before he successfully masked it.
“I'm glad you appreciate it," Jack said. "In return, you can start giving me some straight answers.”
“Of course.” Christopher ran one hand through his dishevelled dark hair, looking around the admittedly Spartan confines of the interrogation room. “Only first, could I at least clean myself up? And I’m really very hungr-"
Jack smiled, one of his perfectly pleasant smiles that somehow still managed to be intimidating. “When I have answers that satisfy me, I’ll gladly arrange a hot shower, some clothes and a three-course meal. Not until then.”
“Well, I can give you answers, but they won't be very straight and I know they won’t satisfy you.”
Jack folded his arms. “Try me.”
“Oh, very well, but don't say you weren't warned.” Christopher sighed and then he drew himself up, actually managing to look strangely dignified for a young man wearing nothing but bloodstains and a borrowed greatcoat. “I’m a nine-lifed enchanter. After my death, I took up my next life, and that’s why I’m alive now.” He stopped there, clearly scanning Jack’s face for reactions, but Jack merely produced one of his infuriatingly unreadable expressions.
"Magic," Gwen said flatly. "Surely that's just ... well, isn't any sufficiently advanced technology supposed to be indistinguishable from magic?"
Christopher lost no time in disabusing her of this notion. "You have that the wrong way round: any sufficiently advanced form of magic is indistinguishable from technology."
“So you're telling us you're some sort of wizard." Ianto's expression was sceptical in the extreme.
“No, I'm not telling you I'm 'some sort of wizard'. I'm telling you I'm an enchanter. Enchanters are no ordinary magic-users - and nine-lifed enchanters are the most powerful of all.”
“So powerful that they can be held prisoner and almost tortured to death?” Gwen felt a twinge of regret the moment the words left her mouth.
Christopher's lips tightened momentarily. “That was the silver. I wasn’t lying about the allergy, but it’s a magical allergy. It stops me working any magic.”
“You’re not restricted by silver at the moment,” Jack noted. “But I haven’t seen you work any magic yet.”
“And what magic, exactly, do you recommend I perform right now?” Christopher demanded. "I know this world of yours must be some bastard version of Twelve B so any minor magic I do, you’ll just dismiss as illusion or sleight of hand. Maybe instead I should turn you all into slugs, because that would really help me win friends and influence people around here, wouldn’t it?”
“You could always magic or enchant yourself back to wherever you came from,” Ianto suggested, not entirely without malice. “That would solve all your problems in one go.”
“No, no, it wouldn’t,” said Christopher, suddenly sounding close to despair. “Even if I knew how to get back, I can’t do that until I stop Edgar Storith."
"Edgar Storith being the person who tortured you," Gwen surmised.
"Yes. He’s from my world and I have a duty to prevent him creating havoc here - which, believe me, he's more than capable of doing.”
“Now that's very interesting," Jack began softly enough, but his expression was uncompromising, and Christopher was staring right back at him, now looking as if he was holding onto his composure purely by the skin of his teeth.
Gwen wondered just how far Jack was intending to push him - and how wise it would be to do so given that they didn't yet know whether his magical abilities were real or not. Christopher had just come through a traumatic experience - one which Jack, of all people, should be able to appreciate: it was probably unreasonable to expect him to remain calm and civil in the face of a formal interrogation. And he was a teenager (a rather annoying and superior one), and teenagers, in Gwen's experience, weren't renowned for being calm and civil at the best of times. Gwen, for one, didn't feel inclined to tempt fate and find herself starting a new life as a slug.
“Jack,” she said, and then louder: “Jack!"
Jack looked across at her for a long moment and then shrugged, as if belatedly acknowledging that Christopher might need some breathing-space. "Okay, we'll pick this up again later. Time for that shower and change of clothes.”
“And the three-course meal?" Christopher was quick to seek benefit from this let-up. "Picking up a new life can make me ravenous, I'm afraid."
“I lied about the three-course meal,” Jack said laconically. “There is no three-course meal."
"You can have pizza like the rest of us," Ianto told Christopher.
Christopher hadn’t been joking about being ravenous. As soon as he’d showered and dressed in the sweat pants, white tee-shirt and hooded top Ianto had dug out for him he'd joined them in the board room. There he'd inspected his pizza in faint bewilderment, shrugged expressively and then wolfed it down. He'd now started devouring what was left of everyone else's - after first regarding any anchovies with a look of distaste and then making them vanish with a flick of his fingers.
So that answered any question about the truth of Christopher's claim to do magic, Gwen thought. Not major magic, true, but Christopher seemed to perform it quite naturally with as little effort as she'd use to whisk away a troublesome fly.
“Did the anchovies do something to offend you?” Ianto asked eventually.
“They smell of fish,” Christopher offered as an explanation.
“That’s because they are fish,” Ianto said.
Christopher remained unsmiling. “When I was too young and stupid to know any better, my dear uncle had me collecting fishy parcels from Series Five. Eventually I found out that the fishy parcels contained the butchered remains of mermaids.”
“That’s … pretty disgusting,” Ianto said.
“So.” Jack leaned back comfortably in his chair. “Let’s see. Where were we? You’re a nine-lifed enchanter. Well, presumably eight-lifed now.”
“Actually I have only two lives left now.” Christopher looked a little shame-faced. “But no matter how many lives remain, I’m still a nine-lifed enchanter with all the powers that entails. And all the responsibilities. On my world … I’m assuming, by the way, that you accept the existence of other worlds and universes. Is that an accurate assumption?”
“Oh yes,” Jack said. “Go on.”
“Well, my world is Twelve A, the first world in Series Twelve. It’s a world where magic is common-place, unlike Twelve B where technology appears to have developed to take the place of magic. And I referred to your world as a bastard version of Twelve B because it doesn’t feel like any of the worlds I’ve visited before, for all its surface similarities. It seems to me that you may have split from Twelve B at some unspecified time in the past, but remained close enough to be ... masked by it, maybe? I don't know, not without more study. Anyway, I think Edgar Storith has stumbled, somehow, across an opening to your world that either shouldn’t exist or hasn’t been found by us before.”
“That opening is what we call the Cardiff Rift,” said Jack, “and I don’t know whether it should or shouldn’t exist, but it does.”
"That particular link might not have existed at all until the Earth was ripped out of orbit," Ianto observed. "All the connections the Rift had with other worlds and times were severed then and they've been gradually re-establishing themselves. What if a wrong connection was made?"
"It's possible," Jack said. "Tosh would've known."
There was an awkward silence, which Christopher broke - mercifully not by asking a question about Tosh. "From what I've seen, I don't even think time here is running parallel to Twelve A, so a wrong connection might have formed. However it happened, I think Storith is using your world as a hiding place. When he crosses over, we lose all trace of him.”
“And Torchwood gets unexplained Rift activity when he arrives here,” Ianto said.
“Who’s ‘we’?” Gwen asked Christopher.
“On my world, I’m in training to take over as the next Chrestomanci, which is a government appointed position. The Chrestomanci has the job of monitoring and controlling the use of magic in all the known worlds - with a fully-trained staff, of course."
"Of course," Ianto said dryly. "Just like Torchwood, in fact. Only with magic and not alien technology."
"Ah," said Christopher, assuming a vague expression - possibly in lieu of listing all the differences right down to the organizations' respective interior design - before continuing, "Well, my guardian, Gabriel de Witt, is the current Chrestomanci, and we are the only nine-lifed enchanters in existence. As you can imagine, people like Edgar Storith would much prefer that the position - and those who hold it - not exist at all."
“Were you in pursuit of Storith?” Jack asked. “Did you follow him through the Rift?”
“No.” Christopher ran his fingers restlessly through his hair. Gwen had noticed that he’d done something - either with magic or, more prosaically, Jack’s hair-styling products - to make it smoother. “Like I said, I'm still in training, and even I'm not rash enough to go after Storith on my own. From the point of view of everyone at the Castle, I've simply vanished during a day trip to London."
Castle? Ianto mouthed the word at Gwen, raising his eyebrows. She suppressed a tiny smile, imagining Christopher's governmental department working out of a magnificent edifice that was a cross between Westminster and Windsor, all the while having their every whim catered for by a team of footmen and butlers. A privileged existence would certainly help account for Christopher's rather lordly demeanour and upper-class accent.
Christopher appeared too intent on his narrative to have noticed their distraction; he had, after all, reached the most harrowing part of his account. Unsurprisingly, he didn't want to linger on it. "Storith set a trap specifically for me and I ended up … well, you saw where and how I ended up."
"Do you have any idea how long you've been here?" Gwen asked.
"It was daylight when I arrived at that apartment and daylight when you found me. In between there was a period of darkness." Christopher stared down at the table. "I don't know how many hours that comes to. It was long enough from his point of view. Too long from mine."
“Pretty bad place to find yourself,” Jack said.
“Actually, I think I'm still in a pretty bad place." Christopher's expression became guarded as he pushed the remains of the pizzas to one side. “Because I’m not entirely certain I can trust any of you. Yes, you’ve freed me, fed me, clothed me and generally been quite nice, but I know for a fact that you, Jack, picked up the silver handcuff and put it in your pocket, and I have to wonder why."
“Is that true, Jack?” Gwen demanded.
In response, Jack pulled the cuff out of his pocket and tossed it from one hand to the other. “I’m not going to apologise for it. Call it an insurance policy, if you like. You come back to life, kid, and this seems to be the only thing that has any effect on you. I'm sure you were thinking that our little heart-to-heart means I'm happy to open up Torchwood's resources to you, but I need to know a hell of a lot more before I can commit to any such thing. Now tell me all you know about Edgar Storith. Is he an enchanter too?”
Christopher's dark eyes flashed, but convincing Jack of his integrity appeared to win out over injured pride and he managed to make his response close to civil.
“My name is Christopher, not ‘kid’. And yes, Storith is an enchanter. I know only a little about him, but he's powerful and he’s not constrained by any morality. If you stand by and let him destroy me and my guardian, then there’ll be no-one left to stop magic-users like him wreaking havoc across all the worlds - yours included. And I don’t believe you can take out an insurance policy to cover that.” Christopher snapped his fingers at the pizza remains, and they vanished in a quick burst of green flame.
“All right, Christopher," Jack said. "If Storith wants you out of the picture, why did he leave you dying like that in the apartment? Why didn’t he finish the job before he left? Where did he go? Will he be able to find out where you are now?”
Jack loosed the series of questions like machine-gun fire, but Gwen found she couldn't object to any of them even though Christopher was beginning to look hounded again.
“I've really no idea of the extent and exact nature of Storith's power. And he certainly wasn't inclined to reveal his plans to me."
“Very shrewd of him, but I bet you've thought about them since. How about you share those thoughts with us?"
"I think Storith left me alive because he was using me in some way to bring my guardian here so he could dispose of him. The usual methods of summoning Gabriel don't appear to work in this world, otherwise he'd simply have called Gabriel to him - by repeating his title 'Chrestomanci' three times," Christopher elaborated when they looked blank. "As for why he left and where he went, I've no idea. Maybe he has accomplices somewhere that he needs to meet with."
“You haven't answered my last question.” Jack's voice sharpened considerably. “Will Storith be able to find out where you are now?”
“Probably, but this time it’s different. I’m not helpless now - not unless you choose to use that.” Christopher jerked his head towards the silver handcuff.
"It's different all right." Jack came to his feet, looking increasingly tense. “How about we cut to the chase, Christopher? If we're due for a visit from an evil enchanter - whose exact powers you don't know - then I’d sure as hell have appreciated knowing that little fact a whole lot sooner because we’re from a bastard version of Twelve B that doesn’t have any magic to defend itself with, remember?"
There was a nervous silence. When Jack put it like that, Gwen thought, it really didn't sound good.
"If you think I'm putting you in danger, then I'll leave." Christopher stood up, on the defensive, but also, Gwen felt, with a dawning sense of his oversight. "I'll ..." His voice trailed off and he swallowed, looking around apprehensively.
"But it's too late to run, isn't it?" Jack came round the table towards him, moving with a surprisingly turn of speed. "Because you're sensing that your evil enchanter's already on his way. What did you do? Put up spells to detect him? Think he hasn't noticed them?"
"I've no idea!" Christopher backed away from Jack. "I didn't have opportunity to research his skills before I came here! I'm doing the best I can!"
"Well, maybe your best just isn't good enough," Jack said grimly.
A sudden hollow sound dropped into the air, like a soft clap of thunder. At exactly the same time Christopher drew in a sharp breath.
Gwen saw a figure flash into existence across the other side of the table. A man, medium-height with short grey hair and ruddy cheeks, stood regarding them with a quizzical expression. There was a faint haze in the air where he stood rather as if he was surrounded by his own personal fog. Magic? Gwen wondered. The man wore a drab, slightly old-fashioned business suit; incongruously, his right hand gripped something resembling a long, shiny scalpel.
"Well now," he said, his voice unexpectedly soft and melodious. "I confess this isn't at all what I was expecting."
It wasn't at all what Gwen was expecting either because when she turned to look, she saw that Jack had one arm locked around Christopher and was pressing the silver handcuff to his neck with his free hand. Christopher was trying desperately to dislodge it, but seemed to lack any kind of strength to do so.
"Jack! What the hell are you-"
"I know what I'm doing, Gwen. Trust me." Jack directed his attention to the newcomer. "Edgar Storith, I presume."
Gwen stared across the table at Ianto, who responded with a slight shrug as if to suggest that he didn't know what was going on any more than she did and maybe it would be better just to watch and listen. Gwen wondered briefly if Jack had suddenly divined something about Christopher that she and Ianto had missed. The situation had veered off course so sharply that it was a wonder they weren't suffering from mental whiplash.
Storith nodded his head in Jack's direction and executed a small, polite bow. "I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage, Mister-?"
"It's Captain. I'm Captain Jack Harkness. These are my associates, Gwen Williams and Ianto Jones. I take it that this one doesn't need any introduction." Jack looked at Christopher. "You may as well stand still, kid. You're not going anywhere."
"Why are you doing this?" Christopher whispered, letting his hands drop to his sides. "I thought I could trust you." His shock was almost tangible. Gwen bit her lip.
"And that was your mistake," Jack said simply. "I know it's not your only one - given what you said before about your dear uncle - but it's probably your biggest. You see, my organization is supposed to keep the world - my world - safe from alien threats."
"I'm not a thre-"
"Shut up, kid. You say you're a powerful enchanter and, sure, you seem pleasant enough, but I can't even begin to count the number of times we've met supposedly benign, friendly people who really haven't been what they claimed to be. I've heard enough from you about your role as - what was it? - Chrestomanci-in-training, the abuse of magic and so on. Now I want to hear Mr. Storith's take on the subject."
"My, young Mr. Chant has been forthcoming with you, hasn't he?" Edgar Storith gave a faint smile. "You found out all that without having him bound by silver to tell the truth? That's a little side-effect of his weakness he may have omitted to mention, by the way. Captain Harkness, might I enquire as to why you are taking such an active interest in this matter?"
"I'll tell you what our interest is," said Jack. "We're tired, all of us. Bone-tired of picking up the pieces of disaster after disaster after disaster. We've tried to do the right thing, tried to help, and the result? Two of us are dead. Good people, who deserved better."
"How unfortunate," Storith said sombrely.
"Yeah," said Jack shortly. "You got that right. So my interest, Mr. Storith, revolves around whether or not we can be of use to each other so I can help my world and my people avoid more of the same. Tell me what you're trying to achieve here."
"Very well. The Chrestomancis have constrained the legitimate use of magic ever since the office was created. My only desire is to stop that from happening, to make sure that so much power is no longer invested in one or two individuals, but is freely available without any restriction or interference."
Christopher said tiredly, "But you mean to use it to control and-"
"I said shut up," Jack interrupted, giving him a slight shake. "I've already heard your side of it. Mr. Storith, you want people to be able to use magic freely? Now because we don't have any magic users here, on the face of it, your plans don't mean anything to us one way or the other. But ... if I could cut a deal with you ...."
"What kind of a deal did you have in mind, Captain Harkness?"
"I want Torchwood - and Torchwood only - to be your representative in this world. No-one gets through the Rift without our say so. And I want to be able to call upon you, or a magic user of your choice, for assistance. For an agreed fee, obviously."
Gwen wasn't comfortable with this. "Jack-"
"I can see his point, Gwen," Ianto interrupted. Playing devil's advocate, maybe. "Daleks and the rest? They wouldn't have any defences against magic because it's not part of our world. It would give us an edge and, God help us, we could do with one."
"I confess that your suggestion intrigues me," Storith said. "Might I ask what I have to gain from such an arrangement?"
"Well, there was the fee I mentioned for any assistance you offer us - your choice of our technology, for example. Plus you get your Chrestomanci-in-waiting back in one piece. Do you want to take the chance that you could use magic on me quicker than I could break the kid's neck?" Jack shifted his grip on Christopher to make his point. "Yes, he'd still have one life left, but I'm willing to bet that you don't want him dead at all: my hunch is you plan to work on stealing his magic once you've no other use for him - be a pity to let all those lovely powers go to waste, wouldn't it? When you left him back at the apartment, you didn't intend for him to die that quickly, did you?"
"I may have gone a little too far," Storith acknowledged.
"Or maybe not." Jack's expression was cold and dark. "Tell him what happened when I found you, kid."
"I was still alive," Christopher said, his voice small and subdued. "Captain Harkness killed me."
Storith blinked once, and then stared hard at Jack as if reassessing what he saw.
"You came through what we call the Rift," Jack said. "If no-one in your world can actually track the kid through it, your plan fails. But I have a Rift Manipulator which might just swing the odds in your favour."
"A generous offer, but I believe I can manage that side of things quite adequately myself."
"The Rift manipulator could also open up other worlds and times to your influence." Jack was now at his most smooth and persuasive. "Think about it. There's a whole bigger picture here if you just look closely enough."
Storith considered for a long moment, and then inclined his head. "It seems like we both have something to gain from cooperation. Very well. I accept your terms."
This wasn't good. It wasn't good at all. Part of Gwen was convinced that Jack was bluffing. Another part insisted that he meant every word of it. The problem was that a lot of what he'd said sounded horribly plausible. She tried exchanging meaningful looks with Ianto, but only got the impression that he was equally in the dark. God only knew what Christopher was making of it. His look of devastation had been replaced by an expression so empty it seemed as if he'd distanced himself completely from what was happening. He let himself be taken down the spiral staircase to the autopsy room without even a token resistance, like a lamb to the slaughter.
It felt all wrong. Gwen and Ianto halted as if by mutual accord at the top of the autopsy room, looking down over the guard rail. Did Jack intend them to just stand there and watch while Storith cut Christopher open?
On the autopsy table was the only place where Gwen saw Christopher put up any kind of struggle, and it was a weak rebellion, easily overwhelmed by Jack. Storith - who'd walked down the stairs like he was Satan descending into the pit of Hell - watched all this with a wet, avid expression that made Gwen want to throw up. The man was a sadist, eagerly awaiting the opportunity to put the knife in - literally - once more. And Jack actually seemed to be pandering to him when he said:
"If you open that top drawer over there, you'll find a selection of medical tools. Our late doctor, Owen Harper, made frequent use of them for alien dissections. He kept them well-sharpened."
"How very thoughtful of the late Doctor Harper," Storith said silkily. His interest caught, he turned away and reached for the drawer. He was all but salivating at the prospect of a whole new range of shiny knives to play with, Gwen thought bitterly. And then-
Jack drew the silver cuff away from Christopher.
And Christopher thrust out one hand towards Storith.
Gwen felt the sudden rush of magic. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled, the air felt almost electrically charged, and she knew it was magic because there was nothing else it could be.
Storith must have felt it too, and he did so fractionally before he should have done, maybe using some magical precognition. He was already on the move, his smug expression replaced with one of pure rage. The shiny scalpel-like weapon left his hand with all the fury of a thunderbolt thrown from a vengeful god and in its path, shielding Christopher, Jack took the full force directly in the neck.
There was a lot of blood: far, far too much of it, pumping between Jack's fingers as he clutched them round the deeply embedded scalpel. A thin scarlet rain sprayed across Jack, across Christopher. Jack grit his teeth against the agony, trying to stay upright, still protecting Christopher - who never once faltered, not even when Jack lost the struggle and collapsed to the floor.
Gwen could almost see the magic now, a cold, clean surge snaring Storith in a net of spells and pinning him there until his own magic began to whirl away like confetti. Storith himself seemed to be getting smaller and smaller - or maybe Gwen was just imagining that last bit because by now she was following Ianto down the spiral staircase and had to pay some attention to where she was going in case she fell headlong.
When she next looked, it was to see Christopher half-fall onto the floor and slump against the autopsy table, his hands gripped around a tiny wooden box. There was no sign of Storith.
"Where's Storith?" Gwen demanded, hurrying to his side. Ianto was by Jack's body, checking him for signs of life. Given the way he'd bled, she didn't hold out much hope.
"I went with the slug option," Christopher muttered, lifting the box up a fraction. "I conjured him in here. Don't worry. I've bound him properly. He gets to go back to Twelve B and stand trial for all he's done. Jack's dead, isn't he?"
"Yes," Ianto confirmed, straightening up. He stared in revulsion at the bloody scalpel-thing he'd removed from Jack's neck before dropping it on the autopsy table. "But-"
"Jack was right: my best wasn't good enough." Christopher looked close to tears. "I got him killed in spite of everything."
"So you were both working to a plan," Gwen said. She'd assumed - hoped - that Jack knew what he was doing, but it had all been pretty opaque.
"Not exactly. I thought he really was betraying me at first, which was pretty bad." Christopher paused and Gwen could see by his expression that that moment must have been just about as bad as it got. "But then it became obvious what he was doing."
"Right." Gwen hoped she didn't sound as doubtful as she felt. At times it hadn't looked all that obvious from where she and Ianto were standing.
"I didn't know anywhere near enough about Storith to defend myself against him, let alone take him prisoner," Christopher said. "And no matter how much I tried to hide that fact, Jack knew it."
"He was gulling Storith, throwing him off guard," Ianto said, wiping Jack's blood from his hands with a handkerchief.
"Yes. He was trying to give me time explore Storith's strengths and weakness - which was made a lot easier by the fact he assumed I was helpless."
"About that," said Ianto. "Jack had that silver handcuff rammed up against your neck. Why weren't you helpless?"
"Because he didn't always have the silver handcuff rammed up against my neck; he was just able to make it look as if he did. When we came down the stairs, for example, I was able to get some sense of what I would need to do to overpower Storith."
"He never noticed?" Gwen asked.
Christopher shook his head slightly. "By that stage, he was fixated on how much fun he was going to have taking me apart for the second time. Which was ... vile, but enabled me to try and fathom his magic without him knowing it." He stared down at the box, and then rubbed one hand tiredly across his face, smearing the blood spatters without even appearing to notice. "I'm so very sorry, about Jack, I mean."
"Ah, yes, Jack," Gwen said. "There's-"
"Please. There's nothing you can say to me that I'm not already saying to myself. I'm really sorry." Christopher was looking more wretched by the second.
"Stop talking," said Ianto firmly. "And listen. Jack's not dead. Well, I mean, he is. But, like you, he'll get better. Unlike you, his lives are unlimited."
Christopher, rather remarkably, appeared lost for words at that revelation. He stared at Ianto as if he was unhinged.
"I mean it," said Ianto. "When Jack died the first time, he was brought back to life and now he never stays dead."
"That doesn't mean Jack's an enchanter," Gwen clarified.
"Oh, I know that." Christopher stared in fascination as Jack drew the first, painful breath of his returning life. "I mean, I sensed something different about him straight away, but I had no idea what it was."
"I'm a freak of nature, that's what it is," Jack said, sitting up and wincing. Silently, Ianto passed him the handkerchief and he began to mop up some of the blood. "I'm an anomaly. A fixed point in time and space that shouldn't exist."
"Well, I'm very glad that you do," Christopher told him in heartfelt tones. Then he considered Jack's words a moment before adding, "And I would say rather that you're a force of nature."
Jack considered this and then grinned. "Have to say I like that a whole lot better than 'freak'." He stared in curiosity at the box Christopher was holding. "Is that what's left of Edgar Storith?"
"It is," Christopher confirmed. "And what's left of Edgar Storith is a small slug. I thought he'd be more manageable in that form until I can get him back to my world."
"Yeah, about that," Jack said. "The Rift Manipulator actually got shot to hell when the Earth was pulled out of orbit."
"In other words, it's not working," Gwen translated.
"As opposed to sporadically working, for a given value of 'working'," Ianto added.
"Well, it's lucky it may not be needed, then," Christopher said, not sounding too thrown by the revelation. "Storith wasn't very interested in the offer of your Rift Manipulator; he seemed confident he had that part of his plan under control.
"I think you're right," Jack said. "Storith already knew a rescue mission was in hand, and that's why he didn't want my help. When he left you at the apartment, it could even have been to check on the progress being made in tracking you down."
"And one thing Storith appears not to have known is that Gabriel holds my last life under lock and key, and that he should be able to use that to find me, even here."
Christopher had kept that quiet, Gwen thought. "In other words, your people are coming to get you," she said.
"I hope so," said Christopher in heartfelt tones. "Please don't take this the wrong way, but I really would like to go home now."
"I can't think why," said Gwen dryly. "Are you quite sure you don't want to stay on for a few days and see the sights?"
"Of Cardiff or the Hub?" Ianto asked. "And where would he sleep? In the cells? With me and Jack? Oh, I was forgetting: there's always the Torchwood en suite guest bedroom."
"Gabriel is always telling me that sarcasm is the lowest form of wit," Christopher said, looking between them. "You don't have a Torchwood en suite guest bedroom, or cells, and Jack and Ianto aren't sleeping together."
"We don't have an en suite guest bedroom, but we do have cells," Gwen said, thinking that this Gabriel didn't exactly sound like a barrel of laughs.
"And Ianto and I are sleeping together," Jack threw in, adding - off Ianto's darkly sardonic look - "And no, I'm not interested in opening it up into a threesome: you're a little too young for my tastes, Christopher."
"And you're a little too male for mine," Christopher countered swiftly. "Meaning no offence, of course."
"None taken. Come visit when you're older, and I'll be only too happy to help you reconsider your preferences." Jack grinned widely.
Christopher assumed a particularly vague expression, which Gwen was now pretty sure meant he was paying sharp attention and processing new information at speed. They'd obviously given him something to think about: maybe the "quaint little categories" of human sexuality were even more strictly defined in his world than they were here.
"Do you live here too, Gwen?" Christopher asked delicately, perhaps wondering about a different kind of Torchwood ménage a trois. Gwen saw Ianto suppressing a smirk.
"No. No, I don't," Gwen said quickly. "In fact, I have a home and a husband to get back to. Which I'll be doing quite shortly. I hope."
The master bedroom at the apartment was still decorated like a slaughterhouse, and stank almost as badly as one, too. Christopher took one look at the bed and flicked his fingers sharply at it. Before Gwen could even blink, the sheets were back to being snowy-white, all neatly arranged on the bed, and there was a faint smell of lavender in the air. She also noted with relief that the sharp medical tools were no longer in evidence.
They'd come straight back to the apartment, not even needing to give Jack time to change out of his blood-soaked clothes: Christopher had cleaned up both himself and Jack using magic. Gwen had thought idly that it must be nice not to have to waste time on laundry, and then remembered that Christopher probably didn't have to deal with such mundane matters anyway; the servants in the Castle would take care of all that.
Christopher had begun pacing around the room, a particularly vacant expression on his face as he stared around. Finally he looked over at them. "There are no spells set here. Storith must have come straight after me as soon as he found I'd gone."
"He was probably going to do the spells once he'd got you back," Gwen said.
"Oh yes. He'd have bound me into them in some way for most effect, I'm sure."
Christopher sat carefully on the end of the bed, probably hoping to convey slightly more sang-froid than he actually achieved. Gwen approved the attempt, though: it took nerve to try and look composed when deliberately sitting in the place where you were tortured and killed. But she guessed Christopher had something to prove, and she was quite sure it wasn't to them.
A light draught of air fluttered across their faces, coming from the direction of the window. Jack moved away and Gwen turned her head so that she could see properly. In front of the drawn blinds, a patch of air shimmered slightly with a heat-hazed quality and then a figure stepped into view as if through a door that couldn't be seen.
Gwen had formed an image in her mind of what Gabriel de Witt would be like from the comments Christopher had made; she was interested to see that her impression was actually not too far off the mark. De Witt was a tall, thin man dressed in a black frock coat and neat pin-striped trousers. Elderly he undoubtedly was, but his sharp, dark eyes quickly put paid to any notion of frailty. Words like avuncular and grandfatherly didn't immediately spring to Gwen's mind. Words like intimidating and stern did.
"Christopher. Are you all right?" A rather formal enquiry, Gwen thought, but then decided that de Witt was probably holding back while he magically checked the area - and them - to make sure all was safe.
"Perfectly fine, thank you," said Christopher, equally formally.
De Witt fixed him with a piercing stare. "Another life lost, I see."
"That was hardly his fault," said Gwen sharply.
"I think I should be the judge of that, young lady," de Witt returned, sparing her a quick glance before he resumed glaring at Christopher. "Going after Edgar Storith was an incredibly foolish and dangerous thing to do, even by your standards."
"I agree. Which is why I did no such thing."
"Actually, I think we're better placed to judge Christopher's behaviour than you are," said Jack. "Unlike you, we were there at the time."
De Witt looked at him. "I don't believe we've been introduced, sir."
"My apologies," said Christopher quickly. "This is Captain Jack Harkness, and these are Ianto Jones and Gwen Williams. Jack, Gwen, Ianto - this is my guardian, Gabriel de Witt."
"So, Captain Harkness, perhaps you would be so good as to explain what you believe happened here."
"What happened here is that your ward has managed to capture Edgar Storith, Mr. de Witt. And this in spite of the fact that Storith first kidnapped him, overpowered him using silver, then tortured and-"
"Killed me," Christopher finished quickly.
He omitted to say exactly who had done that particular deed, Gwen noted. She imagined that he didn't think it would be helpful for his guardian to know the exact details, and she had to agree.
"Jack, Gwen and Ianto found me here," Christopher continued, "and I then confused them completely by coming back to life."
"Yes, I can see how that would be a little disconcerting for them," de Witt said and frowned, perplexed, as Ianto and Gwen exchanged amused glances. "I apologise, Christopher. It seems you are finally developing some much-needed maturity, after all."
As apologies went, it was hardly the most gracious, Gwen thought, but it didn't seem to dismay Christopher unduly; presumably he was used to it.
"I believe I might be," Christopher said dead-pan. "Maybe you'll find yourself able to leave the care of the magical world in my hands sooner than you thought."
De Witt's lips twitched, which could possibly be the closest he came to a smile. "Maybe," he conceded. "So you captured Edgar Storith, did you? I assume you have him in that box you're holding. Please may I see?"
When Christopher handed the box over, de Witt passed his hand over the top and then nodded approvingly. "This was nicely done."
"Thank you. I had help." Christopher indicated Jack. "I would have failed miserably without the assistance of Captain Harkness. Improvising that level of magic in the teeth of danger is not an easy art to master."
"Nor is it an easy one to teach," de Witt observed. "It's fortunate that you display a knack for quick learning in this respect, as such a talent is one you will need to call on when you become-"
"The next Chrestomanci," Christopher cut in as if completing a familiar refrain. "Yes, I know."
"We need to leave, Christopher," de Witt said. "The Gate to this world isn't very stable and, with all due respect to your new friends-" here he inclined his head with formal politeness at Jack "-I think we should return to the Castle as soon as possible."
"Of course," said Christopher. He looked towards Jack, Ianto and Gwen. "Thank you for everything you all did."
"It was mainly Jack's show," said Gwen fairly.
"But I did get the pizza and some clothes for Christopher when he didn't want to be naked anymore," Ianto said, a flicker of devilry in his eyes. "And you, Gwen, you were the compassionate heart of Torchwood when Jack got a little over-demanding."
"And don't forget the police," Jack reminded her, picking up Ianto's lead and running with it enthusiastically. "You cleared everything that happened with them, remember?"
Gabriel de Witt couldn't seem to make his mind up what expression to use in response to this alternative litany of events. Christopher, meanwhile, was finding it so hard to conceal his laughter that he looked like he was having difficulty breathing.
"So, Christopher, you were naked at some point, Captain Harkness became over-demanding and the police were involved." De Witt had a glint in his eyes. "I can see that this is a lot more complicated than you've led me to believe."
"I protest - it was all perfectly innocent!" Christopher declared in mock outrage as de Witt took hold of his arm and guided him towards the window and the Gate home.
"We'll discuss this further back at the Castle," said de Witt reprovingly. "I'm sure Millie will be most interested to hear exactly what happened here."
"Millie?" Christopher exclaimed, the smile abruptly wiped off his face. "Now hold on a-"
Gabriel de Witt and Christopher vanished, and the Gate shimmered out of existence with a soft sigh of air.
"Millie?" echoed Ianto.
"Girlfriend," Gwen said confidently, and with a certain amount of relief. She hadn't forgotten what she'd seen on first entering this room, and she was quite sure that Christopher hadn't either, for all that he'd spoken about it so matter-of-factly. And while beneath his unprepossessing exterior Gabriel de Witt appeared to hold affection for his young ward, Gwen was glad to know that Christopher apparently had someone rather more approachable to turn to for comfort should he need to.
Just as she still had Rhys, and Jack and Ianto still had each other.
Even as the last sentiment popped into her head, Gwen told herself she was a romantic idiot, but then she shrugged off her inner critic: at Torchwood, you took from life what sweetness you could, because you knew damn well the bitter was never far away.
She quirked her lips into a smile. And when Jack and Ianto stared at her questioningly, she just flipped a hand at them and said, "Oh, never mind."
~END~
Author: twitchbell
Fandom: Torchwood/Chronicles of Chrestomanci crossover
Rating: PG13
Pairing: none [gen]
Summary: Jack, Gwen and Ianto investigate an energy spike in the Rift and find the corpse of a young man, but nothing is quite what it seems.
Word count: 7775
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Torchwood is the creative property of the BBC. Chrestomanci belongs to Diana Wynne Jones.
Warnings: None so far as I know.
Spoilers: Takes place after Torchwood Season 2 and shortly after 'Journey's End', finale of Doctor Who Season 4. Spoilers for both. Takes place approximately two years after 'Conrad's Fate' in the Chronicles of Chrestomanci.
Author's Notes: Prior knowledge of Diana Wynne Jones' Chronicles of Chrestomanci series isn't necessary for reading, but some knowledge of Torchwood is advisable.
The apartment was probably much like every other in prestigious 'lifestyle' development, except Gwen Williams was almost certain they didn't feature a master bedroom decorated like a slaughterhouse.
Sharp medical tools were arranged in a neat row on top of a dresser. Snowy-white bed linen was crumpled and spattered with blood. And the naked corpse of a young man lay on the bed, twisted away from them, and shackled by one wrist to a shiny chrome headboard.
“Not what I was expecting,” Jack muttered, his mood thoroughly disturbed by their gruesome discovery. He moved around the far side of the bed to take a closer look.
“Me neither.” Gwen stayed back by the door, not feeling the need for a closer inspection. She wondered if this actually was a case for Torchwood or whether it was just-just!-an ordinary display of human viciousness.
"Odd. The handcuff's made of silver. Maybe it’s some kind of ritual killing.... " Then Jack’s voice changed abruptly. "Gwen, he's still alive!"
Gwen pulled her mobile phone out of her pocket, but Jack shook his head. "No, don't." He crouched by the side of the bed.
"Why not?" she demanded.
"He won't make it. Trust me, Gwen. And even if he did, I doubt he'd thank you: whoever tortured him has left him damn near eviscerated. "
"Oh." Gwen drew in a sharp breath, feeling sick. "Oh God."
She watched Jack gently raise the youth's head, and caught a brief glimpse of his face before she looked down at her mobile, biting her lip. Surely the hospital could do something. If Owen were still here, he might've - she cut off that redundant line of thought with a twist of pain.
There was a swift flurry of movement from Jack, and when Gwen looked up she saw him lay the youth back down just as gently as before. Only this time when she saw the young face, it was still and free of suffering, the mouth half-open, the eyes blank and lifeless.
"He was dying, Gwen. The only thing I could do was make it happen that little bit quicker." Jack stood up and stared grim-faced at Gwen almost as if he was challenging her to object.
Gwen put her phone away. She understood that Jack felt it was necessary, but that didn't mean she had to like it. She forced herself to speak evenly. "Do you think what’s happened here has something to do with the energy spike we’re chasing?”
“Could be. The spike was focussed here. It wasn’t a typical reading, but something may have come through.”
“But this isn't the kind of bloodbath that might happen if something fell through the Rift and acted out of fright and confusion," Gwen pointed out, looking around the room in revulsion. "For a start, those medical tools have been washed and put in a precise order. There's a horrible deliberation about all of it, as if it was carefully planned and executed right down to the last detail.”
“Looks that way," Jack acknowledged briefly. "We’d better get him-" Jack jerked his head briefly towards the body "-back to the Hub and into cold storage until I can call Martha to arrange an autopsy. He looks human enough, but we all know that doesn’t mean anything.”
“Could he be the owner of the apartment?” Gwen wondered aloud as Jack called up Ianto, who’d been questioning the building's commissionaire in the entrance foyer.
“Unlikely. He looked barely old enough to hold a driving license, never mind a fancy apartment. He was a good-looking kid, though.”
“Rent boy?”
“No evidence I could see of any- Ianto! What have you got?" Jack paused, phone to his ear, listening. "The apartment’s owned by Edgar Storith? Okay. Well, we’ve got one corpse here, male, approximately eighteen years of age, apparently human. Not Storith? Yeah, we pretty much figured he couldn't be. Ianto, we’ll need to get him back to the Hub. Gwen will clear it with the police.”
“Right,” said Gwen, by now resigned to her unofficial role as Torchwood's liaison officer. “And won't they just love having a bloodbath right in Cardiff's city centre declared off-limits and turned over to Torchwood.”
She performed her unwanted task to the best of her tact and ability, and then - doing all she could to ignore the corpse on the bed - turned her attention to the rest of the bedroom. She opened every drawer she could find in search of anything that might yield a clue about either the victim or the perpetrator, but there was no clothing whatsoever - or anything else for that matter. The wardrobe was equally devoid of contents. Apart from the bed and its grisly contents, the whole place was as pristine as a show house.
Jack had gone off to check the other rooms, so when Gwen heard a noise from behind her she knew damn well it wasn’t him. She whirled round, reaching instinctively for her gun, and then stopped dead in shock.
The corpse was no longer a corpse. The youth was trying to sit up, ashen and weak, but unmistakably alive. Under the blood-stains, his skin was unblemished, his flesh whole and unbroken.
Gwen found her voice. “Jack! Get in here! Now!”
“Gwen?” Jack appeared in the doorway, and looked completely astounded at the sight that met his eyes. “That shouldn’t be happening.”
“Silver,” moaned the youth, tugging weakly at the chain attaching him to the bed. “Get it off me … I can’t …”
“Give me a moment, kid.”
Jack was in possession of enough gizmos - alien and human - to enable him to have the chain detached from the headboard in double-quick time. It didn’t seem to make much difference.
“No, get it off me!” The tone might have been peremptory, but the hoarse voice was tinged with genuine panic.
Jack complied, and this time the change was almost instantaneous. The youth expelled his breath in a long sigh of relief and finally stopped shaking.
“Better?” said Jack.
“Oh, much better, thank you. I have an unfortunate magi… I mean an extraordinary allergy to silver,” explained the youth, sounding to Gwen almost exactly like a posh public school boy, and way too full of life for someone who’d been messily dead just a few moments earlier.
“I’ll say it’s extraordinary,” Jack said. “Although, on balance, I’d say it’s not as extraordinary as your resurrection.”
“Ah, yes. That,” said the youth, looking vague and declining to add anything further.
“Okay. I think we’ll continue this fascinating discussion back at the Hub,” Jack said after a few seconds of silence ensued. “Up you get.” He took hold of the youth underneath his arms and tugged him up onto his feet.
It was, of course, inevitable that Ianto arrived in the bedroom doorway at exactly the same moment as Jack acquired an armful of naked young man.
“Your corpse?” Ianto enquired politely after a moment or two. “He looks rather blood-stained, true, but he also looks considerably less dead than I expected.”
“He was dead,” Gwen assured him. “Only now, well ….”
“I got better,” the youth told them with as much assurance as if this actually constituted an explanation. “My name is Christopher Chant, by the way. I prefer it to ‘corpse’.”
“I guess you would,” Jack said, shooting Gwen and Ianto a look of thinly-veiled amusement. “Since we’re exchanging pleasantries, my name’s Jack Harkness, this is Gwen Williams and Ianto Jones.”
“I’m delighted to make your acquaintance,” Christopher said, showing no inclination to remove himself from Jack's hold. “Tell me, do you work for the police? Or the government?”
“Neither. We’re Torchwood.”
“What’s left of it,” Ianto murmured, almost too quietly to hear.
“Ah. I confess that I’m unfamiliar with Torchwood,” Christopher admitted, looking blank.
“We’re a secret organization,” Jack told him. “We operate outside the government and beyond the police. And we need to get you back to the Hub.”
“That would be your, er … hub of activities, I suppose. Very well. But first would you be so good as to lend me your coat, Jack? I’ve noticed that I appear to be naked and rather bloody into the bargain. I don’t think it’s a good look for me.”
“It’s a whole lot better than the look you had a few minutes ago,” Jack observed, managing to move away from Christopher without revealing any more of the young man’s body than was already on display. He shrugged off his greatcoat and helped Christopher into it - there was more than enough material to wrap around himself to preserve what was left of his modesty. The overall effect wasn’t quite as ridiculous as it could have been; Christopher had the height to carry off the style, and the coat hid the bloodstains.
Ianto and Gwen went ahead, Ianto muttering, “Natural embarrassment aside, young Christopher seems awfully self-composed for someone dead and resurrected in short order.”
“The resurrection part didn’t seem to throw him at all, “Gwen said thoughtfully. “He’s probably blocking the dying part out - and I can see why he'd want to do that.”
Entry and exit to the apartment block was on the ground floor, served by a lift going directly to and from the residential levels. As they left through the main door, Christopher hesitated a moment, regarding his bare feet ruefully, and then negotiated his way cautiously over the street to where Ianto had parked the car. At the sight of the large black SUV with its tinted windows and flashing blue lights, Christopher's eyes lit up with appreciation and he paused to run one hand along the sleek black finish, his fingers tracing the letters on the side.
“Torchwood! What a charming idea to stencil the name of your secret organization onto your transport!”
“Just get in the car, kid,” said Jack with a roll of his eyes.
_____________________________________
Christopher stared up and around at the Hub's interior in unfeigned interest, but Gwen could see that it was with something less than warm admiration. The Hub wasn't looking at its best, she conceded: essential repairs were taking a long time, made worse by the fact that they no longer had Tosh and Owen's skills to draw on.
“It’s impressively large and clearly very functional,” Christopher observed, adding flippantly, “But, dear me, it does seem rather in need of some repair and restoration.”
“I'm sorry our standard of decor doesn't meet with your approval,” Ianto said with a flash of anger. “That would be down to the death of two of our close colleagues, an invasion by Daleks, followed by the sudden, violent removal of the whole of planet Earth from its axis and its equally sudden and violent return. Have I missed anything out, Gwen?”
“That about covers it,” she said. Sobering to think that such devastating events could be summed up in one single sentence.
“Oh,” said Christopher, looking a little flustered for the first time. “I didn’t … I mean, I'm sorry. I have a deplorable tendency towards impertinence, so my guardian tells me. Usually at considerable length and volume. What are Daleks?”
“That's enough questions,” said Jack, directing Christopher ahead of him into the interrogation room and then fixing him with a daunting stare. “I want some answers from you first. Starting with how come you’re currently alive and kicking. I know you were dead.”
“I expect you do,” Christopher said. “Seeing as you killed me.”
Ianto shot a look at Gwen, who just shrugged helplessly, trying to convey the fact that there was a lot more to it than the bare fact suggested.
“You know exactly why I did that,” Jack said.
“Yes, I do. Thank you.” Gwen caught a brief glimpse of remembered horror in Christopher's eyes before he successfully masked it.
“I'm glad you appreciate it," Jack said. "In return, you can start giving me some straight answers.”
“Of course.” Christopher ran one hand through his dishevelled dark hair, looking around the admittedly Spartan confines of the interrogation room. “Only first, could I at least clean myself up? And I’m really very hungr-"
Jack smiled, one of his perfectly pleasant smiles that somehow still managed to be intimidating. “When I have answers that satisfy me, I’ll gladly arrange a hot shower, some clothes and a three-course meal. Not until then.”
“Well, I can give you answers, but they won't be very straight and I know they won’t satisfy you.”
Jack folded his arms. “Try me.”
“Oh, very well, but don't say you weren't warned.” Christopher sighed and then he drew himself up, actually managing to look strangely dignified for a young man wearing nothing but bloodstains and a borrowed greatcoat. “I’m a nine-lifed enchanter. After my death, I took up my next life, and that’s why I’m alive now.” He stopped there, clearly scanning Jack’s face for reactions, but Jack merely produced one of his infuriatingly unreadable expressions.
"Magic," Gwen said flatly. "Surely that's just ... well, isn't any sufficiently advanced technology supposed to be indistinguishable from magic?"
Christopher lost no time in disabusing her of this notion. "You have that the wrong way round: any sufficiently advanced form of magic is indistinguishable from technology."
“So you're telling us you're some sort of wizard." Ianto's expression was sceptical in the extreme.
“No, I'm not telling you I'm 'some sort of wizard'. I'm telling you I'm an enchanter. Enchanters are no ordinary magic-users - and nine-lifed enchanters are the most powerful of all.”
“So powerful that they can be held prisoner and almost tortured to death?” Gwen felt a twinge of regret the moment the words left her mouth.
Christopher's lips tightened momentarily. “That was the silver. I wasn’t lying about the allergy, but it’s a magical allergy. It stops me working any magic.”
“You’re not restricted by silver at the moment,” Jack noted. “But I haven’t seen you work any magic yet.”
“And what magic, exactly, do you recommend I perform right now?” Christopher demanded. "I know this world of yours must be some bastard version of Twelve B so any minor magic I do, you’ll just dismiss as illusion or sleight of hand. Maybe instead I should turn you all into slugs, because that would really help me win friends and influence people around here, wouldn’t it?”
“You could always magic or enchant yourself back to wherever you came from,” Ianto suggested, not entirely without malice. “That would solve all your problems in one go.”
“No, no, it wouldn’t,” said Christopher, suddenly sounding close to despair. “Even if I knew how to get back, I can’t do that until I stop Edgar Storith."
"Edgar Storith being the person who tortured you," Gwen surmised.
"Yes. He’s from my world and I have a duty to prevent him creating havoc here - which, believe me, he's more than capable of doing.”
“Now that's very interesting," Jack began softly enough, but his expression was uncompromising, and Christopher was staring right back at him, now looking as if he was holding onto his composure purely by the skin of his teeth.
Gwen wondered just how far Jack was intending to push him - and how wise it would be to do so given that they didn't yet know whether his magical abilities were real or not. Christopher had just come through a traumatic experience - one which Jack, of all people, should be able to appreciate: it was probably unreasonable to expect him to remain calm and civil in the face of a formal interrogation. And he was a teenager (a rather annoying and superior one), and teenagers, in Gwen's experience, weren't renowned for being calm and civil at the best of times. Gwen, for one, didn't feel inclined to tempt fate and find herself starting a new life as a slug.
“Jack,” she said, and then louder: “Jack!"
Jack looked across at her for a long moment and then shrugged, as if belatedly acknowledging that Christopher might need some breathing-space. "Okay, we'll pick this up again later. Time for that shower and change of clothes.”
“And the three-course meal?" Christopher was quick to seek benefit from this let-up. "Picking up a new life can make me ravenous, I'm afraid."
“I lied about the three-course meal,” Jack said laconically. “There is no three-course meal."
"You can have pizza like the rest of us," Ianto told Christopher.
_____________________________________
Christopher hadn’t been joking about being ravenous. As soon as he’d showered and dressed in the sweat pants, white tee-shirt and hooded top Ianto had dug out for him he'd joined them in the board room. There he'd inspected his pizza in faint bewilderment, shrugged expressively and then wolfed it down. He'd now started devouring what was left of everyone else's - after first regarding any anchovies with a look of distaste and then making them vanish with a flick of his fingers.
So that answered any question about the truth of Christopher's claim to do magic, Gwen thought. Not major magic, true, but Christopher seemed to perform it quite naturally with as little effort as she'd use to whisk away a troublesome fly.
“Did the anchovies do something to offend you?” Ianto asked eventually.
“They smell of fish,” Christopher offered as an explanation.
“That’s because they are fish,” Ianto said.
Christopher remained unsmiling. “When I was too young and stupid to know any better, my dear uncle had me collecting fishy parcels from Series Five. Eventually I found out that the fishy parcels contained the butchered remains of mermaids.”
“That’s … pretty disgusting,” Ianto said.
“So.” Jack leaned back comfortably in his chair. “Let’s see. Where were we? You’re a nine-lifed enchanter. Well, presumably eight-lifed now.”
“Actually I have only two lives left now.” Christopher looked a little shame-faced. “But no matter how many lives remain, I’m still a nine-lifed enchanter with all the powers that entails. And all the responsibilities. On my world … I’m assuming, by the way, that you accept the existence of other worlds and universes. Is that an accurate assumption?”
“Oh yes,” Jack said. “Go on.”
“Well, my world is Twelve A, the first world in Series Twelve. It’s a world where magic is common-place, unlike Twelve B where technology appears to have developed to take the place of magic. And I referred to your world as a bastard version of Twelve B because it doesn’t feel like any of the worlds I’ve visited before, for all its surface similarities. It seems to me that you may have split from Twelve B at some unspecified time in the past, but remained close enough to be ... masked by it, maybe? I don't know, not without more study. Anyway, I think Edgar Storith has stumbled, somehow, across an opening to your world that either shouldn’t exist or hasn’t been found by us before.”
“That opening is what we call the Cardiff Rift,” said Jack, “and I don’t know whether it should or shouldn’t exist, but it does.”
"That particular link might not have existed at all until the Earth was ripped out of orbit," Ianto observed. "All the connections the Rift had with other worlds and times were severed then and they've been gradually re-establishing themselves. What if a wrong connection was made?"
"It's possible," Jack said. "Tosh would've known."
There was an awkward silence, which Christopher broke - mercifully not by asking a question about Tosh. "From what I've seen, I don't even think time here is running parallel to Twelve A, so a wrong connection might have formed. However it happened, I think Storith is using your world as a hiding place. When he crosses over, we lose all trace of him.”
“And Torchwood gets unexplained Rift activity when he arrives here,” Ianto said.
“Who’s ‘we’?” Gwen asked Christopher.
“On my world, I’m in training to take over as the next Chrestomanci, which is a government appointed position. The Chrestomanci has the job of monitoring and controlling the use of magic in all the known worlds - with a fully-trained staff, of course."
"Of course," Ianto said dryly. "Just like Torchwood, in fact. Only with magic and not alien technology."
"Ah," said Christopher, assuming a vague expression - possibly in lieu of listing all the differences right down to the organizations' respective interior design - before continuing, "Well, my guardian, Gabriel de Witt, is the current Chrestomanci, and we are the only nine-lifed enchanters in existence. As you can imagine, people like Edgar Storith would much prefer that the position - and those who hold it - not exist at all."
“Were you in pursuit of Storith?” Jack asked. “Did you follow him through the Rift?”
“No.” Christopher ran his fingers restlessly through his hair. Gwen had noticed that he’d done something - either with magic or, more prosaically, Jack’s hair-styling products - to make it smoother. “Like I said, I'm still in training, and even I'm not rash enough to go after Storith on my own. From the point of view of everyone at the Castle, I've simply vanished during a day trip to London."
Castle? Ianto mouthed the word at Gwen, raising his eyebrows. She suppressed a tiny smile, imagining Christopher's governmental department working out of a magnificent edifice that was a cross between Westminster and Windsor, all the while having their every whim catered for by a team of footmen and butlers. A privileged existence would certainly help account for Christopher's rather lordly demeanour and upper-class accent.
Christopher appeared too intent on his narrative to have noticed their distraction; he had, after all, reached the most harrowing part of his account. Unsurprisingly, he didn't want to linger on it. "Storith set a trap specifically for me and I ended up … well, you saw where and how I ended up."
"Do you have any idea how long you've been here?" Gwen asked.
"It was daylight when I arrived at that apartment and daylight when you found me. In between there was a period of darkness." Christopher stared down at the table. "I don't know how many hours that comes to. It was long enough from his point of view. Too long from mine."
“Pretty bad place to find yourself,” Jack said.
“Actually, I think I'm still in a pretty bad place." Christopher's expression became guarded as he pushed the remains of the pizzas to one side. “Because I’m not entirely certain I can trust any of you. Yes, you’ve freed me, fed me, clothed me and generally been quite nice, but I know for a fact that you, Jack, picked up the silver handcuff and put it in your pocket, and I have to wonder why."
“Is that true, Jack?” Gwen demanded.
In response, Jack pulled the cuff out of his pocket and tossed it from one hand to the other. “I’m not going to apologise for it. Call it an insurance policy, if you like. You come back to life, kid, and this seems to be the only thing that has any effect on you. I'm sure you were thinking that our little heart-to-heart means I'm happy to open up Torchwood's resources to you, but I need to know a hell of a lot more before I can commit to any such thing. Now tell me all you know about Edgar Storith. Is he an enchanter too?”
Christopher's dark eyes flashed, but convincing Jack of his integrity appeared to win out over injured pride and he managed to make his response close to civil.
“My name is Christopher, not ‘kid’. And yes, Storith is an enchanter. I know only a little about him, but he's powerful and he’s not constrained by any morality. If you stand by and let him destroy me and my guardian, then there’ll be no-one left to stop magic-users like him wreaking havoc across all the worlds - yours included. And I don’t believe you can take out an insurance policy to cover that.” Christopher snapped his fingers at the pizza remains, and they vanished in a quick burst of green flame.
“All right, Christopher," Jack said. "If Storith wants you out of the picture, why did he leave you dying like that in the apartment? Why didn’t he finish the job before he left? Where did he go? Will he be able to find out where you are now?”
Jack loosed the series of questions like machine-gun fire, but Gwen found she couldn't object to any of them even though Christopher was beginning to look hounded again.
“I've really no idea of the extent and exact nature of Storith's power. And he certainly wasn't inclined to reveal his plans to me."
“Very shrewd of him, but I bet you've thought about them since. How about you share those thoughts with us?"
"I think Storith left me alive because he was using me in some way to bring my guardian here so he could dispose of him. The usual methods of summoning Gabriel don't appear to work in this world, otherwise he'd simply have called Gabriel to him - by repeating his title 'Chrestomanci' three times," Christopher elaborated when they looked blank. "As for why he left and where he went, I've no idea. Maybe he has accomplices somewhere that he needs to meet with."
“You haven't answered my last question.” Jack's voice sharpened considerably. “Will Storith be able to find out where you are now?”
“Probably, but this time it’s different. I’m not helpless now - not unless you choose to use that.” Christopher jerked his head towards the silver handcuff.
"It's different all right." Jack came to his feet, looking increasingly tense. “How about we cut to the chase, Christopher? If we're due for a visit from an evil enchanter - whose exact powers you don't know - then I’d sure as hell have appreciated knowing that little fact a whole lot sooner because we’re from a bastard version of Twelve B that doesn’t have any magic to defend itself with, remember?"
There was a nervous silence. When Jack put it like that, Gwen thought, it really didn't sound good.
"If you think I'm putting you in danger, then I'll leave." Christopher stood up, on the defensive, but also, Gwen felt, with a dawning sense of his oversight. "I'll ..." His voice trailed off and he swallowed, looking around apprehensively.
"But it's too late to run, isn't it?" Jack came round the table towards him, moving with a surprisingly turn of speed. "Because you're sensing that your evil enchanter's already on his way. What did you do? Put up spells to detect him? Think he hasn't noticed them?"
"I've no idea!" Christopher backed away from Jack. "I didn't have opportunity to research his skills before I came here! I'm doing the best I can!"
"Well, maybe your best just isn't good enough," Jack said grimly.
A sudden hollow sound dropped into the air, like a soft clap of thunder. At exactly the same time Christopher drew in a sharp breath.
Gwen saw a figure flash into existence across the other side of the table. A man, medium-height with short grey hair and ruddy cheeks, stood regarding them with a quizzical expression. There was a faint haze in the air where he stood rather as if he was surrounded by his own personal fog. Magic? Gwen wondered. The man wore a drab, slightly old-fashioned business suit; incongruously, his right hand gripped something resembling a long, shiny scalpel.
"Well now," he said, his voice unexpectedly soft and melodious. "I confess this isn't at all what I was expecting."
It wasn't at all what Gwen was expecting either because when she turned to look, she saw that Jack had one arm locked around Christopher and was pressing the silver handcuff to his neck with his free hand. Christopher was trying desperately to dislodge it, but seemed to lack any kind of strength to do so.
"Jack! What the hell are you-"
"I know what I'm doing, Gwen. Trust me." Jack directed his attention to the newcomer. "Edgar Storith, I presume."
Gwen stared across the table at Ianto, who responded with a slight shrug as if to suggest that he didn't know what was going on any more than she did and maybe it would be better just to watch and listen. Gwen wondered briefly if Jack had suddenly divined something about Christopher that she and Ianto had missed. The situation had veered off course so sharply that it was a wonder they weren't suffering from mental whiplash.
Storith nodded his head in Jack's direction and executed a small, polite bow. "I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage, Mister-?"
"It's Captain. I'm Captain Jack Harkness. These are my associates, Gwen Williams and Ianto Jones. I take it that this one doesn't need any introduction." Jack looked at Christopher. "You may as well stand still, kid. You're not going anywhere."
"Why are you doing this?" Christopher whispered, letting his hands drop to his sides. "I thought I could trust you." His shock was almost tangible. Gwen bit her lip.
"And that was your mistake," Jack said simply. "I know it's not your only one - given what you said before about your dear uncle - but it's probably your biggest. You see, my organization is supposed to keep the world - my world - safe from alien threats."
"I'm not a thre-"
"Shut up, kid. You say you're a powerful enchanter and, sure, you seem pleasant enough, but I can't even begin to count the number of times we've met supposedly benign, friendly people who really haven't been what they claimed to be. I've heard enough from you about your role as - what was it? - Chrestomanci-in-training, the abuse of magic and so on. Now I want to hear Mr. Storith's take on the subject."
"My, young Mr. Chant has been forthcoming with you, hasn't he?" Edgar Storith gave a faint smile. "You found out all that without having him bound by silver to tell the truth? That's a little side-effect of his weakness he may have omitted to mention, by the way. Captain Harkness, might I enquire as to why you are taking such an active interest in this matter?"
"I'll tell you what our interest is," said Jack. "We're tired, all of us. Bone-tired of picking up the pieces of disaster after disaster after disaster. We've tried to do the right thing, tried to help, and the result? Two of us are dead. Good people, who deserved better."
"How unfortunate," Storith said sombrely.
"Yeah," said Jack shortly. "You got that right. So my interest, Mr. Storith, revolves around whether or not we can be of use to each other so I can help my world and my people avoid more of the same. Tell me what you're trying to achieve here."
"Very well. The Chrestomancis have constrained the legitimate use of magic ever since the office was created. My only desire is to stop that from happening, to make sure that so much power is no longer invested in one or two individuals, but is freely available without any restriction or interference."
Christopher said tiredly, "But you mean to use it to control and-"
"I said shut up," Jack interrupted, giving him a slight shake. "I've already heard your side of it. Mr. Storith, you want people to be able to use magic freely? Now because we don't have any magic users here, on the face of it, your plans don't mean anything to us one way or the other. But ... if I could cut a deal with you ...."
"What kind of a deal did you have in mind, Captain Harkness?"
"I want Torchwood - and Torchwood only - to be your representative in this world. No-one gets through the Rift without our say so. And I want to be able to call upon you, or a magic user of your choice, for assistance. For an agreed fee, obviously."
Gwen wasn't comfortable with this. "Jack-"
"I can see his point, Gwen," Ianto interrupted. Playing devil's advocate, maybe. "Daleks and the rest? They wouldn't have any defences against magic because it's not part of our world. It would give us an edge and, God help us, we could do with one."
"I confess that your suggestion intrigues me," Storith said. "Might I ask what I have to gain from such an arrangement?"
"Well, there was the fee I mentioned for any assistance you offer us - your choice of our technology, for example. Plus you get your Chrestomanci-in-waiting back in one piece. Do you want to take the chance that you could use magic on me quicker than I could break the kid's neck?" Jack shifted his grip on Christopher to make his point. "Yes, he'd still have one life left, but I'm willing to bet that you don't want him dead at all: my hunch is you plan to work on stealing his magic once you've no other use for him - be a pity to let all those lovely powers go to waste, wouldn't it? When you left him back at the apartment, you didn't intend for him to die that quickly, did you?"
"I may have gone a little too far," Storith acknowledged.
"Or maybe not." Jack's expression was cold and dark. "Tell him what happened when I found you, kid."
"I was still alive," Christopher said, his voice small and subdued. "Captain Harkness killed me."
Storith blinked once, and then stared hard at Jack as if reassessing what he saw.
"You came through what we call the Rift," Jack said. "If no-one in your world can actually track the kid through it, your plan fails. But I have a Rift Manipulator which might just swing the odds in your favour."
"A generous offer, but I believe I can manage that side of things quite adequately myself."
"The Rift manipulator could also open up other worlds and times to your influence." Jack was now at his most smooth and persuasive. "Think about it. There's a whole bigger picture here if you just look closely enough."
Storith considered for a long moment, and then inclined his head. "It seems like we both have something to gain from cooperation. Very well. I accept your terms."
_____________________________________
This wasn't good. It wasn't good at all. Part of Gwen was convinced that Jack was bluffing. Another part insisted that he meant every word of it. The problem was that a lot of what he'd said sounded horribly plausible. She tried exchanging meaningful looks with Ianto, but only got the impression that he was equally in the dark. God only knew what Christopher was making of it. His look of devastation had been replaced by an expression so empty it seemed as if he'd distanced himself completely from what was happening. He let himself be taken down the spiral staircase to the autopsy room without even a token resistance, like a lamb to the slaughter.
It felt all wrong. Gwen and Ianto halted as if by mutual accord at the top of the autopsy room, looking down over the guard rail. Did Jack intend them to just stand there and watch while Storith cut Christopher open?
On the autopsy table was the only place where Gwen saw Christopher put up any kind of struggle, and it was a weak rebellion, easily overwhelmed by Jack. Storith - who'd walked down the stairs like he was Satan descending into the pit of Hell - watched all this with a wet, avid expression that made Gwen want to throw up. The man was a sadist, eagerly awaiting the opportunity to put the knife in - literally - once more. And Jack actually seemed to be pandering to him when he said:
"If you open that top drawer over there, you'll find a selection of medical tools. Our late doctor, Owen Harper, made frequent use of them for alien dissections. He kept them well-sharpened."
"How very thoughtful of the late Doctor Harper," Storith said silkily. His interest caught, he turned away and reached for the drawer. He was all but salivating at the prospect of a whole new range of shiny knives to play with, Gwen thought bitterly. And then-
Jack drew the silver cuff away from Christopher.
And Christopher thrust out one hand towards Storith.
Gwen felt the sudden rush of magic. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled, the air felt almost electrically charged, and she knew it was magic because there was nothing else it could be.
Storith must have felt it too, and he did so fractionally before he should have done, maybe using some magical precognition. He was already on the move, his smug expression replaced with one of pure rage. The shiny scalpel-like weapon left his hand with all the fury of a thunderbolt thrown from a vengeful god and in its path, shielding Christopher, Jack took the full force directly in the neck.
There was a lot of blood: far, far too much of it, pumping between Jack's fingers as he clutched them round the deeply embedded scalpel. A thin scarlet rain sprayed across Jack, across Christopher. Jack grit his teeth against the agony, trying to stay upright, still protecting Christopher - who never once faltered, not even when Jack lost the struggle and collapsed to the floor.
Gwen could almost see the magic now, a cold, clean surge snaring Storith in a net of spells and pinning him there until his own magic began to whirl away like confetti. Storith himself seemed to be getting smaller and smaller - or maybe Gwen was just imagining that last bit because by now she was following Ianto down the spiral staircase and had to pay some attention to where she was going in case she fell headlong.
When she next looked, it was to see Christopher half-fall onto the floor and slump against the autopsy table, his hands gripped around a tiny wooden box. There was no sign of Storith.
"Where's Storith?" Gwen demanded, hurrying to his side. Ianto was by Jack's body, checking him for signs of life. Given the way he'd bled, she didn't hold out much hope.
"I went with the slug option," Christopher muttered, lifting the box up a fraction. "I conjured him in here. Don't worry. I've bound him properly. He gets to go back to Twelve B and stand trial for all he's done. Jack's dead, isn't he?"
"Yes," Ianto confirmed, straightening up. He stared in revulsion at the bloody scalpel-thing he'd removed from Jack's neck before dropping it on the autopsy table. "But-"
"Jack was right: my best wasn't good enough." Christopher looked close to tears. "I got him killed in spite of everything."
"So you were both working to a plan," Gwen said. She'd assumed - hoped - that Jack knew what he was doing, but it had all been pretty opaque.
"Not exactly. I thought he really was betraying me at first, which was pretty bad." Christopher paused and Gwen could see by his expression that that moment must have been just about as bad as it got. "But then it became obvious what he was doing."
"Right." Gwen hoped she didn't sound as doubtful as she felt. At times it hadn't looked all that obvious from where she and Ianto were standing.
"I didn't know anywhere near enough about Storith to defend myself against him, let alone take him prisoner," Christopher said. "And no matter how much I tried to hide that fact, Jack knew it."
"He was gulling Storith, throwing him off guard," Ianto said, wiping Jack's blood from his hands with a handkerchief.
"Yes. He was trying to give me time explore Storith's strengths and weakness - which was made a lot easier by the fact he assumed I was helpless."
"About that," said Ianto. "Jack had that silver handcuff rammed up against your neck. Why weren't you helpless?"
"Because he didn't always have the silver handcuff rammed up against my neck; he was just able to make it look as if he did. When we came down the stairs, for example, I was able to get some sense of what I would need to do to overpower Storith."
"He never noticed?" Gwen asked.
Christopher shook his head slightly. "By that stage, he was fixated on how much fun he was going to have taking me apart for the second time. Which was ... vile, but enabled me to try and fathom his magic without him knowing it." He stared down at the box, and then rubbed one hand tiredly across his face, smearing the blood spatters without even appearing to notice. "I'm so very sorry, about Jack, I mean."
"Ah, yes, Jack," Gwen said. "There's-"
"Please. There's nothing you can say to me that I'm not already saying to myself. I'm really sorry." Christopher was looking more wretched by the second.
"Stop talking," said Ianto firmly. "And listen. Jack's not dead. Well, I mean, he is. But, like you, he'll get better. Unlike you, his lives are unlimited."
Christopher, rather remarkably, appeared lost for words at that revelation. He stared at Ianto as if he was unhinged.
"I mean it," said Ianto. "When Jack died the first time, he was brought back to life and now he never stays dead."
"That doesn't mean Jack's an enchanter," Gwen clarified.
"Oh, I know that." Christopher stared in fascination as Jack drew the first, painful breath of his returning life. "I mean, I sensed something different about him straight away, but I had no idea what it was."
"I'm a freak of nature, that's what it is," Jack said, sitting up and wincing. Silently, Ianto passed him the handkerchief and he began to mop up some of the blood. "I'm an anomaly. A fixed point in time and space that shouldn't exist."
"Well, I'm very glad that you do," Christopher told him in heartfelt tones. Then he considered Jack's words a moment before adding, "And I would say rather that you're a force of nature."
Jack considered this and then grinned. "Have to say I like that a whole lot better than 'freak'." He stared in curiosity at the box Christopher was holding. "Is that what's left of Edgar Storith?"
"It is," Christopher confirmed. "And what's left of Edgar Storith is a small slug. I thought he'd be more manageable in that form until I can get him back to my world."
"Yeah, about that," Jack said. "The Rift Manipulator actually got shot to hell when the Earth was pulled out of orbit."
"In other words, it's not working," Gwen translated.
"As opposed to sporadically working, for a given value of 'working'," Ianto added.
"Well, it's lucky it may not be needed, then," Christopher said, not sounding too thrown by the revelation. "Storith wasn't very interested in the offer of your Rift Manipulator; he seemed confident he had that part of his plan under control.
"I think you're right," Jack said. "Storith already knew a rescue mission was in hand, and that's why he didn't want my help. When he left you at the apartment, it could even have been to check on the progress being made in tracking you down."
"And one thing Storith appears not to have known is that Gabriel holds my last life under lock and key, and that he should be able to use that to find me, even here."
Christopher had kept that quiet, Gwen thought. "In other words, your people are coming to get you," she said.
"I hope so," said Christopher in heartfelt tones. "Please don't take this the wrong way, but I really would like to go home now."
"I can't think why," said Gwen dryly. "Are you quite sure you don't want to stay on for a few days and see the sights?"
"Of Cardiff or the Hub?" Ianto asked. "And where would he sleep? In the cells? With me and Jack? Oh, I was forgetting: there's always the Torchwood en suite guest bedroom."
"Gabriel is always telling me that sarcasm is the lowest form of wit," Christopher said, looking between them. "You don't have a Torchwood en suite guest bedroom, or cells, and Jack and Ianto aren't sleeping together."
"We don't have an en suite guest bedroom, but we do have cells," Gwen said, thinking that this Gabriel didn't exactly sound like a barrel of laughs.
"And Ianto and I are sleeping together," Jack threw in, adding - off Ianto's darkly sardonic look - "And no, I'm not interested in opening it up into a threesome: you're a little too young for my tastes, Christopher."
"And you're a little too male for mine," Christopher countered swiftly. "Meaning no offence, of course."
"None taken. Come visit when you're older, and I'll be only too happy to help you reconsider your preferences." Jack grinned widely.
Christopher assumed a particularly vague expression, which Gwen was now pretty sure meant he was paying sharp attention and processing new information at speed. They'd obviously given him something to think about: maybe the "quaint little categories" of human sexuality were even more strictly defined in his world than they were here.
"Do you live here too, Gwen?" Christopher asked delicately, perhaps wondering about a different kind of Torchwood ménage a trois. Gwen saw Ianto suppressing a smirk.
"No. No, I don't," Gwen said quickly. "In fact, I have a home and a husband to get back to. Which I'll be doing quite shortly. I hope."
_____________________________________
The master bedroom at the apartment was still decorated like a slaughterhouse, and stank almost as badly as one, too. Christopher took one look at the bed and flicked his fingers sharply at it. Before Gwen could even blink, the sheets were back to being snowy-white, all neatly arranged on the bed, and there was a faint smell of lavender in the air. She also noted with relief that the sharp medical tools were no longer in evidence.
They'd come straight back to the apartment, not even needing to give Jack time to change out of his blood-soaked clothes: Christopher had cleaned up both himself and Jack using magic. Gwen had thought idly that it must be nice not to have to waste time on laundry, and then remembered that Christopher probably didn't have to deal with such mundane matters anyway; the servants in the Castle would take care of all that.
Christopher had begun pacing around the room, a particularly vacant expression on his face as he stared around. Finally he looked over at them. "There are no spells set here. Storith must have come straight after me as soon as he found I'd gone."
"He was probably going to do the spells once he'd got you back," Gwen said.
"Oh yes. He'd have bound me into them in some way for most effect, I'm sure."
Christopher sat carefully on the end of the bed, probably hoping to convey slightly more sang-froid than he actually achieved. Gwen approved the attempt, though: it took nerve to try and look composed when deliberately sitting in the place where you were tortured and killed. But she guessed Christopher had something to prove, and she was quite sure it wasn't to them.
A light draught of air fluttered across their faces, coming from the direction of the window. Jack moved away and Gwen turned her head so that she could see properly. In front of the drawn blinds, a patch of air shimmered slightly with a heat-hazed quality and then a figure stepped into view as if through a door that couldn't be seen.
Gwen had formed an image in her mind of what Gabriel de Witt would be like from the comments Christopher had made; she was interested to see that her impression was actually not too far off the mark. De Witt was a tall, thin man dressed in a black frock coat and neat pin-striped trousers. Elderly he undoubtedly was, but his sharp, dark eyes quickly put paid to any notion of frailty. Words like avuncular and grandfatherly didn't immediately spring to Gwen's mind. Words like intimidating and stern did.
"Christopher. Are you all right?" A rather formal enquiry, Gwen thought, but then decided that de Witt was probably holding back while he magically checked the area - and them - to make sure all was safe.
"Perfectly fine, thank you," said Christopher, equally formally.
De Witt fixed him with a piercing stare. "Another life lost, I see."
"That was hardly his fault," said Gwen sharply.
"I think I should be the judge of that, young lady," de Witt returned, sparing her a quick glance before he resumed glaring at Christopher. "Going after Edgar Storith was an incredibly foolish and dangerous thing to do, even by your standards."
"I agree. Which is why I did no such thing."
"Actually, I think we're better placed to judge Christopher's behaviour than you are," said Jack. "Unlike you, we were there at the time."
De Witt looked at him. "I don't believe we've been introduced, sir."
"My apologies," said Christopher quickly. "This is Captain Jack Harkness, and these are Ianto Jones and Gwen Williams. Jack, Gwen, Ianto - this is my guardian, Gabriel de Witt."
"So, Captain Harkness, perhaps you would be so good as to explain what you believe happened here."
"What happened here is that your ward has managed to capture Edgar Storith, Mr. de Witt. And this in spite of the fact that Storith first kidnapped him, overpowered him using silver, then tortured and-"
"Killed me," Christopher finished quickly.
He omitted to say exactly who had done that particular deed, Gwen noted. She imagined that he didn't think it would be helpful for his guardian to know the exact details, and she had to agree.
"Jack, Gwen and Ianto found me here," Christopher continued, "and I then confused them completely by coming back to life."
"Yes, I can see how that would be a little disconcerting for them," de Witt said and frowned, perplexed, as Ianto and Gwen exchanged amused glances. "I apologise, Christopher. It seems you are finally developing some much-needed maturity, after all."
As apologies went, it was hardly the most gracious, Gwen thought, but it didn't seem to dismay Christopher unduly; presumably he was used to it.
"I believe I might be," Christopher said dead-pan. "Maybe you'll find yourself able to leave the care of the magical world in my hands sooner than you thought."
De Witt's lips twitched, which could possibly be the closest he came to a smile. "Maybe," he conceded. "So you captured Edgar Storith, did you? I assume you have him in that box you're holding. Please may I see?"
When Christopher handed the box over, de Witt passed his hand over the top and then nodded approvingly. "This was nicely done."
"Thank you. I had help." Christopher indicated Jack. "I would have failed miserably without the assistance of Captain Harkness. Improvising that level of magic in the teeth of danger is not an easy art to master."
"Nor is it an easy one to teach," de Witt observed. "It's fortunate that you display a knack for quick learning in this respect, as such a talent is one you will need to call on when you become-"
"The next Chrestomanci," Christopher cut in as if completing a familiar refrain. "Yes, I know."
"We need to leave, Christopher," de Witt said. "The Gate to this world isn't very stable and, with all due respect to your new friends-" here he inclined his head with formal politeness at Jack "-I think we should return to the Castle as soon as possible."
"Of course," said Christopher. He looked towards Jack, Ianto and Gwen. "Thank you for everything you all did."
"It was mainly Jack's show," said Gwen fairly.
"But I did get the pizza and some clothes for Christopher when he didn't want to be naked anymore," Ianto said, a flicker of devilry in his eyes. "And you, Gwen, you were the compassionate heart of Torchwood when Jack got a little over-demanding."
"And don't forget the police," Jack reminded her, picking up Ianto's lead and running with it enthusiastically. "You cleared everything that happened with them, remember?"
Gabriel de Witt couldn't seem to make his mind up what expression to use in response to this alternative litany of events. Christopher, meanwhile, was finding it so hard to conceal his laughter that he looked like he was having difficulty breathing.
"So, Christopher, you were naked at some point, Captain Harkness became over-demanding and the police were involved." De Witt had a glint in his eyes. "I can see that this is a lot more complicated than you've led me to believe."
"I protest - it was all perfectly innocent!" Christopher declared in mock outrage as de Witt took hold of his arm and guided him towards the window and the Gate home.
"We'll discuss this further back at the Castle," said de Witt reprovingly. "I'm sure Millie will be most interested to hear exactly what happened here."
"Millie?" Christopher exclaimed, the smile abruptly wiped off his face. "Now hold on a-"
Gabriel de Witt and Christopher vanished, and the Gate shimmered out of existence with a soft sigh of air.
"Millie?" echoed Ianto.
"Girlfriend," Gwen said confidently, and with a certain amount of relief. She hadn't forgotten what she'd seen on first entering this room, and she was quite sure that Christopher hadn't either, for all that he'd spoken about it so matter-of-factly. And while beneath his unprepossessing exterior Gabriel de Witt appeared to hold affection for his young ward, Gwen was glad to know that Christopher apparently had someone rather more approachable to turn to for comfort should he need to.
Just as she still had Rhys, and Jack and Ianto still had each other.
Even as the last sentiment popped into her head, Gwen told herself she was a romantic idiot, but then she shrugged off her inner critic: at Torchwood, you took from life what sweetness you could, because you knew damn well the bitter was never far away.
She quirked her lips into a smile. And when Jack and Ianto stared at her questioningly, she just flipped a hand at them and said, "Oh, never mind."
~END~
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