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daylight_darknightAnyone remember this one? My 2012 NaNo which I seem to be editing ridiculously slowly. Of course, the first thing I did when I started working on it once more was to edit the first chapter again! The problem isn't starting editing it's stopping. Hopefully, one day I'll actually manage to finish.
Title: What Lies in Wait
Characters: Jack, Ianto, Gwen, Martha, Mickey, 8th Doctor
Rating/Warnings: PG-13 for swearing, violence, and scary stuff. Vague mentions of off screen torture.
Genre: Mystery, Angst
Word Count: This chapter 4,000 (Total 53,000)
Spoilers: Takes place after the Doctor Who episode Journey's End and after the 8th Doctor audio To the Death.
Summary: When Martha agreed to help Jack do a little inventory she wasn't expecting to find a Time Lord frozen in his basement and she certainly wasn't expecting what happened when they woke him up.
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
“It can't be him,” said Mickey leaning back in his chair and shaking his head. “I mean no way would the Doctor allow himself to be taken like that.”
The members of Torchwood, plus Martha and Mickey, were gathered in the boardroom on the upper level of the Hub, seated at the large wooden table the modern art centrepieces joined by two boxes of half-eaten pizza and five mugs of steaming coffee.
“He was held by the Master for over a year,” Martha pointed out, her hands clasped tightly around her warm mug. “Well, sort of a year,” she added glancing at Jack. It was hard to know how much weight to put into a year that technically never happened.
Jack smiled reassuringly at her from his usual seat at the head of the table. “As I recall, the Doctor’s always getting taken prisoner. It's one of his things. He’s just usually very good at getting back out again.”
“I still don't understand this whole regeneration thing,” Gwen said with a frown. “He can really just change his whole entire body?” Though she and Ianto had spoken to the Doctor over the subwave network, they had yet to meet him in person. All they really knew about him were bits and pieces from Jack's bizarre and unbelievable stories and what existed in Torchwood's database. Neither were very helpful.
Jack explained. “It's a Time Lord thing, sort of a last desperate measure when they're near death. They reconstruct their entire DNA from scratch. It even effects their personality.”
“Their personality?” Gwen raised her eyebrows. “But if his body is different and his personality is different, how is he even the same person?”
Martha shrugged. “Don't look at me. I've only met the one Doctor.”
“Trust me,” Jack said without an ounce of doubt in his voice. “He might be different but in everything that matters he's the same.”
“Right,” said Mickey as he helped himself to another slice of pizza. “Same off his rocker brilliance, same need to save everybody, same high and mighty attitude. He was a bit grumpier back when he was old Big Ears though.”
“Okay,” Gwen said though she felt more confused than enlightened by their explanation. “So you think the man down in the cryo-chamber is another version, or whatever, of the Doctor.”
“It might be,” said Jack.
“And it might not,” countered Martha. “We need to think about that possibility too.”
Ianto had obviously been considering that as well. “What do we do if it’s not the Doctor?”
Jack replied without hesitation. “Then we call the Doctor and tell him he's got a friend waiting here for him. Probably best to have him around before we start waking up any strange Time Lords.”
“And the Doctor won't be mad?” Ianto questioned tentatively.
Jack shifted in his seat reluctant to admit that he wasn’t entirely sure how the Doctor would react. “He might be a bit peeved when he finds out we’ve had one of his people on ice for so long, but hopefully he'll be a little more concerned about no longer being the last remaining member of his species.”
“Don't worry, mate,” Mickey said clapping Ianto on the back. “He only blows places up when you've really done something he doesn't like.”
Ianto gave a wane smile not looking very reassured.
“Of course, this is all elementary until we know for sure what we're dealing with,” Jack said. “So what have we found? Martha?”
“I'm afraid I'm not going to be much help,” she replied. “The man in cold storage doesn't match any of the photos UNIT has of the Doctor, but there are references to encounters with other Doctors who they don't have pictures of whose descriptions come close to the guy we have here.” She scrolled through some of the files on the pad she had in front of her. “There's mentions at various times of a skinny, brown haired Doctor with a penchant for bow-ties, but he's usually described as fairly young, and another with brown hair but it's long and he normally wore a velvet coat and an ascot. There are a few other vague descriptions that come close to matching him too, but nothing certain.”
Jack sighed. “I was hoping for something more definite. What have the rest of you got?”
“Well, the file on John Smith hasn't been erased from the computer,” said Mickey. “From what I can tell, it's always been blank.”
“Probably because they didn't have anything to put in it,” said Gwen. She slid an old cardboard folder across the table towards Jack. “We managed to dig out the old paper files from under a mound of boxes and several layers of dust, but the one pertaining to John Smith is empty.”
Jack picked up the folder. Like Gwen had said it was empty. The edges of the brown cardboard were softened and worn with age, and on the tab at the top it said John Smith, 1927 just like label on the door to the cryo-chamber. It was even done in the same handwriting.
“Someone must have stolen the file before everything was transferred to computer,” he said thoughtfully.
“Or the file was never created in the first place,” Ianto suggested.
“True.” Jack put the folder back down on the table. “Any references to a John Smith in any of the 1927 Torchwood files?”
“No,” said Gwen. “But what I think we have found is a more precise date. All files from the last week of April 1927 are missing or blank just like the John Smith files.”
“April 1927,” Jack repeated, eyes distant as he sorted through over a century's worth of memories. “I'd have already been in New York by that time trying to stop the Trickster's Brigade.”
“So you wouldn't have been around to stop whatever happened,” Ianto said pointedly.
Jack was less pleased by the news. “It might exonerate me but it doesn't help us much. We're still left with a giant riddle.”
Ianto held up a finger. “I did find one thing.”
Without elaborating, he left the room and came back carrying what appeared to be an old hat box. He placed it on the table in front of Jack. The box was dusty and worn showing signs of exposure to damp and mildew, but the brown label on top with its neat cursive writing was still legible. It said: John Smith, 1927.
“Where did you find this?” Jack asked in astonishment.
Ianto look mildly abashed. “As you know despite my best efforts, a lot of our storage is still fairly disorganized, but some of the earlier stuff is grouped by year. I simply looked through everything stored in 1927 until I found this.”
“Good job, Ianto,” Jack said giving the man a fond smile.
Turning his focus back to the box, Jack placed his fingers on either side of the round lid and gently lifted it off.
Inside was not as one might expect a hat but a satchel made of tan-coloured leather and on the whole fairly unremarkable.
“John Smith's personal effects?” Martha suggested.
“Maybe,” said Jack.
Opening the bag, he carefully began to remove its contents. There was a surprising amount in the bag. In fact, there seemed to be more in the bag then it could possibly contain and the table was soon cluttered by odd things. Jack named everything as he removed them while Ianto made a careful list. There was a white embroidered handkerchief, a pair of orange plastic sunglasses, a wooden yo-yo, a box of matches, a ball of string, a wooden doll in a red dress, a small green blob of some unknown substance, a banana amazingly still fresh, a couple gold coins from the fifteenth century, some odd purple crystals, a small stuffed sea otter, a stethoscope, a telescope, some furry earmuffs, a toy monkey complete with cymbals, a book on British birds, a cricket ball, and more.
The more stuff came out the more Martha and Mickey's hearts sank and the grimmer Jack's expression grew.
Jack pulled out the last object slowly. He had left it for last as if trying to delay the inevitable. It was some sort of electronic device, cylindrically shaped and made of what seemed to be a copper coloured metal. There was a small, blue, crystal-like bulb at one end.
“That's not...” said Mickey staring at the object.
Lifting it above his head, Jack pointed it at a light fixture and pressed a button. The bulb on the device lit up and it began to admit a high pitch hum. The light fixture exploded sending down a shower of broken glass.
“One sonic screwdriver,” Jack declared and placed it on the table.
“So it's really him,” said Martha staring at the device.
There was a moment of silence, and then Jack turned to Martha and asked, “How long will it take you to revive him?”
“Um...” Martha hesitated.
“How long?” Jack repeated his voice growing louder and angrier.
“I don't know.”
“Easy, mate,” said Mickey warningly.
Jack's jaw was tight, his teeth gritted as he gazed at them. “I want him out of there as soon as possible.”
“Okay, but you do know I've never actually revived anyone from cryogenic suspension before,” Martha said hesitantly.
“I'm sure Owen left detailed notes,” said Gwen before Jack had a chance to comment.
“Then she'd better start reading up,” the Captain said coldly. “The rest of you continue looking into the events of 1927. I want to know who put the Doctor in cold storage and why.”
With that he left the room taking the sonic screwdriver with him and leaving the others with the cluttered table covered in the contents of the Doctor's bag, two half-empty pizza boxes, and five cooling mugs of coffee.
<center><b>oooooo</b></center>
If the Torchwood Hub was the setting for a horror movie, the autopsy room would've been a sci-fi version of Dr. Frankenstein lab. The round room was like a smaller, more clinical version of the cold storage area and just as gloomy. The metal table in the centre and two bright lamps lighting it from either side would've looked at home in any mad scientist's laboratory. The surrounding technology, however, was more appropriate for a spaceship, a spaceship from some far, far future or an alien planet a long way away, which admittedly was where most of the technology had come from. Despite its name, the room was used for anything of a medical nature the Torchwood team might need, but since a good portion of those tended to be autopsies the name had stuck.
Martha searched through the room gathering all the equipment she'd need as she went through Owen's notes. Whatever else Owen had been he’d been a brilliant doctor. Martha had already known that of course from working with him all those months back, but it was sometimes hard to remember considering the way he tended to act, the way he used to act. There was something slightly unnerving about working in a dead man's home. Owen had only been dead a couple months and this was still very much his place. Pieces of him existed in every corner and Martha felt like an intruder.
“How's it going?” asked a voice from above.
Startled, Martha looked up to see Mickey leaning on the railing of the upper level and peering down at her.
She let out a breath and admonished herself for letting the creepiness of the place get to her.
“It's coming along,” she replied. “The procedure is simple enough. I just need to double check that the drugs are compatible with the Doctor's biochemistry and get some emergency equipment ready in case everything doesn’t go according to plan.”
“Since when does anything with the Doctor actually go according to plan,” Mickey said with a grin.
“Right,” Martha replied absently her attention on Owen's notes once more.
Mickey frowned. “You alright?” he asked as he made his way down the stairs towards her.
“I’m fine,” she replied automatically. “Well, as fine as I can be considering all this.”
Mickey perched himself on the autopsy table and gazed expectantly at her.
Martha rolled her eyes at him but she smiled too. They'd known each other less than a week, one grand adventure across the cosmos and the rest of the time spent helping Jack, but it felt like much longer. It had been the same way with her and Jack. Maybe that's what happened when you shared world ending experiences.
“Okay, so I’m not fine,” she admitted. “It's just...” Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out her phone. The smooth weight felt solid and reassuring in her hand. “I want to call him.”
“The Doctor?”
“Yes.” She scrolled though her contacts until she reached the one she wanted. Her finger hovered over the call button. “It's just so ridiculous. We saw the Doctor only a few days ago and now he's...”
“A frozen turkey?” Mickey suggested with an unapologetic grin.
Martha gave him a look that showed she was clearly not amused. “If this really is the Doctor's future, if this is what happens to him, then that means...” she trailed off.
Mickey nodded in understanding. “That means the Doctor we knew is dead.”
“Exactly.” Martha stared at her phone. Summoning up her will, she closed the phone and placed it back in her pocket.
“Hey,” Mickey said jumping off the table to stand next to her. “You heard what Jack said. He'll still be the same guy.”
“Right. Just different,” Martha replied unconvinced.
“I'm not saying it'll take some getting used to, and yeah, I'll miss the old boss too, but you'll see. He's the same inside even with a new face and that's what important.”
“Do you think it would ever be possible to see my Doctor again?”
Mickey scrunched up his nose. “Don't know. I leave that sort of timey whimey stuff to the Doctor.”
Martha managed a small smile. “You and me both. Trying to figure out this time travel stuff does my head in. This is so not what I expected when Jack asked for my help.” Moving away from Mickey, she picked up Owen's notes again scanning through them for the tenth time.
“Has Jack made his offer yet?” Mickey asked.
“Hmm?”
Mickey gave her a pointed look. “Come on. You know Captain Cheesecake's been dying to ask us to join his little gang ever since we arrived.”
“No,” Martha confessed. “He hasn't asked, not yet.”
“You considering it?”
She hesitated. “I've been thinking about it.” The truth was until recently she hadn't been thinking about much else.
“Getting tired of UNIT then?”
Sighing, Martha put down the notes once more. “I've done so many great things at UNIT, stuff I hope even the Doctor would be proud of, but the problem with a big military organization is that even when you manage to change things, it's still a big military organization, full of people with their own agendas and people who are more willing to shoot first then listen. I thought I was making a difference but I'm not sure anymore. After that whole business with the Osterhagen key...” She paused swallowing painfully as she remembered how it felt to have her finger on that button. “I never want to be put in that sort of position again.”
“Doing what we do, defending the Earth and all that, it's never going to be easy,” Mickey said sounding unusually serious. “It's understandable if you'd rather walk away, go back to some sort of normal life...”
“And turn my back on the planet, on everything I've seen,” Martha said and gave him a wry smile. “Could you?”
Mickey smirked. “Nah, but that's me.”
“Well, I'm not ready to give it up either. I want to use my knowledge to help people, but after everything that's happened recently...” Her fingers went to play with a ring which wasn't there anymore and upon realizing their mistake clenched into a fist instead. “I think a change would do me good, and it might be better working with a small group, not having to constantly deal with stubborn generals and pushy bureaucrats.”
“Right,” said Mickey. “You'd just have to deal with Jack.”
Martha frowned. “What's wrong with Jack? He's a good friend.”
Mickey gave a snort. “He wasn't exactly acting very friendly earlier. I mean he's my friend too but he can be a bit of a wanker sometimes.”
“He's just upset,” Martha said. “How'd you feel if you'd just found out you'd inadvertently been keeping one of your best friends prisoner for over eighty years?”
“He's still being a wanker,” Mickey grumbled.
“What about you?” Martha asked. “Are you considering it, becoming a member of Torchwood? You must be feeling at a bit of loose end now that you're back here in this universe.”
Mickey pursed his lips thoughtfully. “I admit it's tempting, and not just because of all the brilliant tech they've got, but I've been following other people's orders for awhile now and it would be nice to do my own thing for once.”
Martha frowned. “What? Go freelance?”
“Why not? I could do what I wanted, help wherever I thought I was most needed.”
Martha shook her head. “It's a dangerous job to do on your own.”
“You could join me.”
Surprised, Martha stared at him unable to think of a reply.
“It's just an idea,” Mickey said with a shrug.
“Yes, well,” Martha said still feeling flustered. “Maybe for now you could join me in cold storage. I've got to run some more scans on the Doctor.”
“No problem,” Mickey said giving her a lopsided grin.
<center><b>oooooo</b></center>
While waiting on Martha, Jack had sequestered himself in his office taking the opportunity to search through the most confidential of Torchwood's confidential files. These were the files he didn't dare enter into a computer in case it was hacked, the ones he kept locked inside an impenetrable box locked in an impenetrable safe, Torchwood's darkest secrets, but so far he had found nothing pertaining to a John Smith in 1927. Sighing, he pulled out another yellowed piece of paper and tried to decipher the barely legible writing. It was hard for him to keep his mind on his work. It kept casting back to 1927 as he tried to remember anything he might have seen or overheard but like the files his memories were of little help.
Other memories interrupted his work as well. There were memories of the Doctor, of him grinning inanely, of him facing down all sorts of evil with a steely resolve, and of him running. Jack remembered a lot of running. He also remember all the times he walked by that very drawer not knowing his friend was hidden within, all the times he'd thought of taking stock of Torchwood's cold storage and didn't. What if he had never decided to check the cold storage? What if he had left Torchwood years ago and never looked back?
“Jack?”
Looking up, he saw Ianto standing at the door and he welcomed the intrusion. “Have you found something?”
“Yes,” Ianto replied entering the room, “but it's not much.”
Jack scowled at the useless pile of papers on his desk. “I'll take anything I can get.”
“It's just a name. Allan Gregerson.”
Jack raised his eyebrows. “Gregerson?”
“According to what we've found, he would've been in charge of Torchwood when the Doctor was captured.”
Jack rested his elbows on his desk and his chin on his woven fingers. “I remember him,” he said thoughtfully. “Not a particularly nice guy but not a lot of Torchwood members were back then.”
“He must have at least known about what happened,” said Ianto. “I figured if we focused our search on him, we might find something.”
“Good thinking, Ianto.” Jack returned his focus to the papers in front of him, but after a moment, realized the Welshman hadn't left the room as expected. He looked back up. “Was there something else?”
Ianto hesitated a moment, then said, “Yes.”
“Well?” Jack prompted.
Ianto sat down in the chair across from him. “I'm worried about you,” he said simply.
Jack frowned. “I'm fine,” he said.
“You snapped at Martha earlier.”
Slumping back in his chair, Jack let out a sigh. “Yeah. Well, I was a little upset at the time. I'll apologize later.”
“Jack, he's going to be okay.” Ianto reached across the desk and laid a hand on one of Jack's.
Jack gave a wane smile but let his finger's slide around Ianto's. “Right. What's a century of cryogenic sleep to a Time Lord.”
“He'll probably consider it a nice refreshing nap.”
“There's certainly times I've thought he could use one,” Jack said with a smirk.
Ianto nodded. “And I'm sure there are several former Torchwood executives who'd be extremely pissed off to learn the very man they were trying to defend the Earth against was under their noses the whole time.”
Jack laughed, the tension of before starting to ease. “That's so like the Doctor.”
Their eyes met across the desk as they smiled at each other.
“Jack?” said a new voice interrupting the moment.
Both Jack and Ianto straightened up as Martha hesitantly entered, a grave look on her face.
“Is everything okay?” Jack asked.
Martha took a deep breath. “I was doing a more thorough scan of the Doctor and...” She bit her lip. “And I'm sorry but there's something I think you should see.”
All of Jack's anxiety returned ten fold. He and Ianto shared worried glances before hastily following Martha out of the office and down to the cold storage area. The place was, appropriately enough, quiet as a tomb. The drawer of unit number eighty-eight was open and the cryo-chamber pulled out. Mickey was leaning against a wall nearby, arms crossed across his chest, his expression dark. He said nothing as Martha led them over to the still frozen Doctor.
“I didn't see it at first,” Martha said as she opened the top of the unit. A cloud of icy air seeped out. “I was only looking for major injuries, but then I took a closer look.” Reaching into the unit, she pulled back the Doctor's sleeve.
A ring of bruises adorned his wrist.
“Ligature marks,” Jack observed. “Well, nothing wrong with a little bondage,” he added weakly but the joke fell flat.
“Take another look,” Martha insisted moving the sleeve further up the Doctor's arm.
Jack's face became as frozen as the Doctor's. Reaching in like Martha had done, he picked up the Doctor's ice cold, seemingly lifeless hand and gazed at the arm. It was covered in a pattern of burns and shallow cuts. He checked the other arm and found similar marks there and on his chest when he pulled down the collar of his shirt.
“They tortured him,” he said bluntly.
Putting a hand over his mouth, Jack turned away taking a few absent steps into the gloom of the morgue.
Ianto moved to follow him wishing to offer comfort but Jack waved him off.
“It's...” Martha began, her own emotions causing her voice to break. “It's mostly superficial. I've read over Owen's notes and I shouldn't have any problem reviving him.”
Jack remained silent, his back to them, staring at a distant wall.
“We can start right away,” she added exchanging concerned glances with the others.
There was still no response.
“Come on now,” said Mickey speaking up. “You know what's the Doc's like. He'll just brush this off and ask for a cup of tea. He'll be fine.”
“Right,” Jack snapped as he finally swung around a sarcastic bite to his tone. “It's just a little torture. No big deal.”
Mickey grimaced. “I didn't mean it like that. I just...”
“I know. I know,” Jack said apologetically as he got his temper back under control.
Gazing down at the cryo-chamber, Jack's eyes traced the lines of the Doctor's face hoping they'd give some clue as to what had happened to him, but like the Doctor himself, they kept their secrets hidden. Whatever had happened, whatever fate had befallen the Doctor, it would only be revealed when the Time Lord was woken.
Jack's shoulders rose as he took a deep breath.
“Alright. Let's do this.”
Chapter 3
Title: What Lies in Wait
Characters: Jack, Ianto, Gwen, Martha, Mickey, 8th Doctor
Rating/Warnings: PG-13 for swearing, violence, and scary stuff. Vague mentions of off screen torture.
Genre: Mystery, Angst
Word Count: This chapter 4,000 (Total 53,000)
Spoilers: Takes place after the Doctor Who episode Journey's End and after the 8th Doctor audio To the Death.
Summary: When Martha agreed to help Jack do a little inventory she wasn't expecting to find a Time Lord frozen in his basement and she certainly wasn't expecting what happened when they woke him up.
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
“It can't be him,” said Mickey leaning back in his chair and shaking his head. “I mean no way would the Doctor allow himself to be taken like that.”
The members of Torchwood, plus Martha and Mickey, were gathered in the boardroom on the upper level of the Hub, seated at the large wooden table the modern art centrepieces joined by two boxes of half-eaten pizza and five mugs of steaming coffee.
“He was held by the Master for over a year,” Martha pointed out, her hands clasped tightly around her warm mug. “Well, sort of a year,” she added glancing at Jack. It was hard to know how much weight to put into a year that technically never happened.
Jack smiled reassuringly at her from his usual seat at the head of the table. “As I recall, the Doctor’s always getting taken prisoner. It's one of his things. He’s just usually very good at getting back out again.”
“I still don't understand this whole regeneration thing,” Gwen said with a frown. “He can really just change his whole entire body?” Though she and Ianto had spoken to the Doctor over the subwave network, they had yet to meet him in person. All they really knew about him were bits and pieces from Jack's bizarre and unbelievable stories and what existed in Torchwood's database. Neither were very helpful.
Jack explained. “It's a Time Lord thing, sort of a last desperate measure when they're near death. They reconstruct their entire DNA from scratch. It even effects their personality.”
“Their personality?” Gwen raised her eyebrows. “But if his body is different and his personality is different, how is he even the same person?”
Martha shrugged. “Don't look at me. I've only met the one Doctor.”
“Trust me,” Jack said without an ounce of doubt in his voice. “He might be different but in everything that matters he's the same.”
“Right,” said Mickey as he helped himself to another slice of pizza. “Same off his rocker brilliance, same need to save everybody, same high and mighty attitude. He was a bit grumpier back when he was old Big Ears though.”
“Okay,” Gwen said though she felt more confused than enlightened by their explanation. “So you think the man down in the cryo-chamber is another version, or whatever, of the Doctor.”
“It might be,” said Jack.
“And it might not,” countered Martha. “We need to think about that possibility too.”
Ianto had obviously been considering that as well. “What do we do if it’s not the Doctor?”
Jack replied without hesitation. “Then we call the Doctor and tell him he's got a friend waiting here for him. Probably best to have him around before we start waking up any strange Time Lords.”
“And the Doctor won't be mad?” Ianto questioned tentatively.
Jack shifted in his seat reluctant to admit that he wasn’t entirely sure how the Doctor would react. “He might be a bit peeved when he finds out we’ve had one of his people on ice for so long, but hopefully he'll be a little more concerned about no longer being the last remaining member of his species.”
“Don't worry, mate,” Mickey said clapping Ianto on the back. “He only blows places up when you've really done something he doesn't like.”
Ianto gave a wane smile not looking very reassured.
“Of course, this is all elementary until we know for sure what we're dealing with,” Jack said. “So what have we found? Martha?”
“I'm afraid I'm not going to be much help,” she replied. “The man in cold storage doesn't match any of the photos UNIT has of the Doctor, but there are references to encounters with other Doctors who they don't have pictures of whose descriptions come close to the guy we have here.” She scrolled through some of the files on the pad she had in front of her. “There's mentions at various times of a skinny, brown haired Doctor with a penchant for bow-ties, but he's usually described as fairly young, and another with brown hair but it's long and he normally wore a velvet coat and an ascot. There are a few other vague descriptions that come close to matching him too, but nothing certain.”
Jack sighed. “I was hoping for something more definite. What have the rest of you got?”
“Well, the file on John Smith hasn't been erased from the computer,” said Mickey. “From what I can tell, it's always been blank.”
“Probably because they didn't have anything to put in it,” said Gwen. She slid an old cardboard folder across the table towards Jack. “We managed to dig out the old paper files from under a mound of boxes and several layers of dust, but the one pertaining to John Smith is empty.”
Jack picked up the folder. Like Gwen had said it was empty. The edges of the brown cardboard were softened and worn with age, and on the tab at the top it said John Smith, 1927 just like label on the door to the cryo-chamber. It was even done in the same handwriting.
“Someone must have stolen the file before everything was transferred to computer,” he said thoughtfully.
“Or the file was never created in the first place,” Ianto suggested.
“True.” Jack put the folder back down on the table. “Any references to a John Smith in any of the 1927 Torchwood files?”
“No,” said Gwen. “But what I think we have found is a more precise date. All files from the last week of April 1927 are missing or blank just like the John Smith files.”
“April 1927,” Jack repeated, eyes distant as he sorted through over a century's worth of memories. “I'd have already been in New York by that time trying to stop the Trickster's Brigade.”
“So you wouldn't have been around to stop whatever happened,” Ianto said pointedly.
Jack was less pleased by the news. “It might exonerate me but it doesn't help us much. We're still left with a giant riddle.”
Ianto held up a finger. “I did find one thing.”
Without elaborating, he left the room and came back carrying what appeared to be an old hat box. He placed it on the table in front of Jack. The box was dusty and worn showing signs of exposure to damp and mildew, but the brown label on top with its neat cursive writing was still legible. It said: John Smith, 1927.
“Where did you find this?” Jack asked in astonishment.
Ianto look mildly abashed. “As you know despite my best efforts, a lot of our storage is still fairly disorganized, but some of the earlier stuff is grouped by year. I simply looked through everything stored in 1927 until I found this.”
“Good job, Ianto,” Jack said giving the man a fond smile.
Turning his focus back to the box, Jack placed his fingers on either side of the round lid and gently lifted it off.
Inside was not as one might expect a hat but a satchel made of tan-coloured leather and on the whole fairly unremarkable.
“John Smith's personal effects?” Martha suggested.
“Maybe,” said Jack.
Opening the bag, he carefully began to remove its contents. There was a surprising amount in the bag. In fact, there seemed to be more in the bag then it could possibly contain and the table was soon cluttered by odd things. Jack named everything as he removed them while Ianto made a careful list. There was a white embroidered handkerchief, a pair of orange plastic sunglasses, a wooden yo-yo, a box of matches, a ball of string, a wooden doll in a red dress, a small green blob of some unknown substance, a banana amazingly still fresh, a couple gold coins from the fifteenth century, some odd purple crystals, a small stuffed sea otter, a stethoscope, a telescope, some furry earmuffs, a toy monkey complete with cymbals, a book on British birds, a cricket ball, and more.
The more stuff came out the more Martha and Mickey's hearts sank and the grimmer Jack's expression grew.
Jack pulled out the last object slowly. He had left it for last as if trying to delay the inevitable. It was some sort of electronic device, cylindrically shaped and made of what seemed to be a copper coloured metal. There was a small, blue, crystal-like bulb at one end.
“That's not...” said Mickey staring at the object.
Lifting it above his head, Jack pointed it at a light fixture and pressed a button. The bulb on the device lit up and it began to admit a high pitch hum. The light fixture exploded sending down a shower of broken glass.
“One sonic screwdriver,” Jack declared and placed it on the table.
“So it's really him,” said Martha staring at the device.
There was a moment of silence, and then Jack turned to Martha and asked, “How long will it take you to revive him?”
“Um...” Martha hesitated.
“How long?” Jack repeated his voice growing louder and angrier.
“I don't know.”
“Easy, mate,” said Mickey warningly.
Jack's jaw was tight, his teeth gritted as he gazed at them. “I want him out of there as soon as possible.”
“Okay, but you do know I've never actually revived anyone from cryogenic suspension before,” Martha said hesitantly.
“I'm sure Owen left detailed notes,” said Gwen before Jack had a chance to comment.
“Then she'd better start reading up,” the Captain said coldly. “The rest of you continue looking into the events of 1927. I want to know who put the Doctor in cold storage and why.”
With that he left the room taking the sonic screwdriver with him and leaving the others with the cluttered table covered in the contents of the Doctor's bag, two half-empty pizza boxes, and five cooling mugs of coffee.
<center><b>oooooo</b></center>
If the Torchwood Hub was the setting for a horror movie, the autopsy room would've been a sci-fi version of Dr. Frankenstein lab. The round room was like a smaller, more clinical version of the cold storage area and just as gloomy. The metal table in the centre and two bright lamps lighting it from either side would've looked at home in any mad scientist's laboratory. The surrounding technology, however, was more appropriate for a spaceship, a spaceship from some far, far future or an alien planet a long way away, which admittedly was where most of the technology had come from. Despite its name, the room was used for anything of a medical nature the Torchwood team might need, but since a good portion of those tended to be autopsies the name had stuck.
Martha searched through the room gathering all the equipment she'd need as she went through Owen's notes. Whatever else Owen had been he’d been a brilliant doctor. Martha had already known that of course from working with him all those months back, but it was sometimes hard to remember considering the way he tended to act, the way he used to act. There was something slightly unnerving about working in a dead man's home. Owen had only been dead a couple months and this was still very much his place. Pieces of him existed in every corner and Martha felt like an intruder.
“How's it going?” asked a voice from above.
Startled, Martha looked up to see Mickey leaning on the railing of the upper level and peering down at her.
She let out a breath and admonished herself for letting the creepiness of the place get to her.
“It's coming along,” she replied. “The procedure is simple enough. I just need to double check that the drugs are compatible with the Doctor's biochemistry and get some emergency equipment ready in case everything doesn’t go according to plan.”
“Since when does anything with the Doctor actually go according to plan,” Mickey said with a grin.
“Right,” Martha replied absently her attention on Owen's notes once more.
Mickey frowned. “You alright?” he asked as he made his way down the stairs towards her.
“I’m fine,” she replied automatically. “Well, as fine as I can be considering all this.”
Mickey perched himself on the autopsy table and gazed expectantly at her.
Martha rolled her eyes at him but she smiled too. They'd known each other less than a week, one grand adventure across the cosmos and the rest of the time spent helping Jack, but it felt like much longer. It had been the same way with her and Jack. Maybe that's what happened when you shared world ending experiences.
“Okay, so I’m not fine,” she admitted. “It's just...” Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out her phone. The smooth weight felt solid and reassuring in her hand. “I want to call him.”
“The Doctor?”
“Yes.” She scrolled though her contacts until she reached the one she wanted. Her finger hovered over the call button. “It's just so ridiculous. We saw the Doctor only a few days ago and now he's...”
“A frozen turkey?” Mickey suggested with an unapologetic grin.
Martha gave him a look that showed she was clearly not amused. “If this really is the Doctor's future, if this is what happens to him, then that means...” she trailed off.
Mickey nodded in understanding. “That means the Doctor we knew is dead.”
“Exactly.” Martha stared at her phone. Summoning up her will, she closed the phone and placed it back in her pocket.
“Hey,” Mickey said jumping off the table to stand next to her. “You heard what Jack said. He'll still be the same guy.”
“Right. Just different,” Martha replied unconvinced.
“I'm not saying it'll take some getting used to, and yeah, I'll miss the old boss too, but you'll see. He's the same inside even with a new face and that's what important.”
“Do you think it would ever be possible to see my Doctor again?”
Mickey scrunched up his nose. “Don't know. I leave that sort of timey whimey stuff to the Doctor.”
Martha managed a small smile. “You and me both. Trying to figure out this time travel stuff does my head in. This is so not what I expected when Jack asked for my help.” Moving away from Mickey, she picked up Owen's notes again scanning through them for the tenth time.
“Has Jack made his offer yet?” Mickey asked.
“Hmm?”
Mickey gave her a pointed look. “Come on. You know Captain Cheesecake's been dying to ask us to join his little gang ever since we arrived.”
“No,” Martha confessed. “He hasn't asked, not yet.”
“You considering it?”
She hesitated. “I've been thinking about it.” The truth was until recently she hadn't been thinking about much else.
“Getting tired of UNIT then?”
Sighing, Martha put down the notes once more. “I've done so many great things at UNIT, stuff I hope even the Doctor would be proud of, but the problem with a big military organization is that even when you manage to change things, it's still a big military organization, full of people with their own agendas and people who are more willing to shoot first then listen. I thought I was making a difference but I'm not sure anymore. After that whole business with the Osterhagen key...” She paused swallowing painfully as she remembered how it felt to have her finger on that button. “I never want to be put in that sort of position again.”
“Doing what we do, defending the Earth and all that, it's never going to be easy,” Mickey said sounding unusually serious. “It's understandable if you'd rather walk away, go back to some sort of normal life...”
“And turn my back on the planet, on everything I've seen,” Martha said and gave him a wry smile. “Could you?”
Mickey smirked. “Nah, but that's me.”
“Well, I'm not ready to give it up either. I want to use my knowledge to help people, but after everything that's happened recently...” Her fingers went to play with a ring which wasn't there anymore and upon realizing their mistake clenched into a fist instead. “I think a change would do me good, and it might be better working with a small group, not having to constantly deal with stubborn generals and pushy bureaucrats.”
“Right,” said Mickey. “You'd just have to deal with Jack.”
Martha frowned. “What's wrong with Jack? He's a good friend.”
Mickey gave a snort. “He wasn't exactly acting very friendly earlier. I mean he's my friend too but he can be a bit of a wanker sometimes.”
“He's just upset,” Martha said. “How'd you feel if you'd just found out you'd inadvertently been keeping one of your best friends prisoner for over eighty years?”
“He's still being a wanker,” Mickey grumbled.
“What about you?” Martha asked. “Are you considering it, becoming a member of Torchwood? You must be feeling at a bit of loose end now that you're back here in this universe.”
Mickey pursed his lips thoughtfully. “I admit it's tempting, and not just because of all the brilliant tech they've got, but I've been following other people's orders for awhile now and it would be nice to do my own thing for once.”
Martha frowned. “What? Go freelance?”
“Why not? I could do what I wanted, help wherever I thought I was most needed.”
Martha shook her head. “It's a dangerous job to do on your own.”
“You could join me.”
Surprised, Martha stared at him unable to think of a reply.
“It's just an idea,” Mickey said with a shrug.
“Yes, well,” Martha said still feeling flustered. “Maybe for now you could join me in cold storage. I've got to run some more scans on the Doctor.”
“No problem,” Mickey said giving her a lopsided grin.
<center><b>oooooo</b></center>
While waiting on Martha, Jack had sequestered himself in his office taking the opportunity to search through the most confidential of Torchwood's confidential files. These were the files he didn't dare enter into a computer in case it was hacked, the ones he kept locked inside an impenetrable box locked in an impenetrable safe, Torchwood's darkest secrets, but so far he had found nothing pertaining to a John Smith in 1927. Sighing, he pulled out another yellowed piece of paper and tried to decipher the barely legible writing. It was hard for him to keep his mind on his work. It kept casting back to 1927 as he tried to remember anything he might have seen or overheard but like the files his memories were of little help.
Other memories interrupted his work as well. There were memories of the Doctor, of him grinning inanely, of him facing down all sorts of evil with a steely resolve, and of him running. Jack remembered a lot of running. He also remember all the times he walked by that very drawer not knowing his friend was hidden within, all the times he'd thought of taking stock of Torchwood's cold storage and didn't. What if he had never decided to check the cold storage? What if he had left Torchwood years ago and never looked back?
“Jack?”
Looking up, he saw Ianto standing at the door and he welcomed the intrusion. “Have you found something?”
“Yes,” Ianto replied entering the room, “but it's not much.”
Jack scowled at the useless pile of papers on his desk. “I'll take anything I can get.”
“It's just a name. Allan Gregerson.”
Jack raised his eyebrows. “Gregerson?”
“According to what we've found, he would've been in charge of Torchwood when the Doctor was captured.”
Jack rested his elbows on his desk and his chin on his woven fingers. “I remember him,” he said thoughtfully. “Not a particularly nice guy but not a lot of Torchwood members were back then.”
“He must have at least known about what happened,” said Ianto. “I figured if we focused our search on him, we might find something.”
“Good thinking, Ianto.” Jack returned his focus to the papers in front of him, but after a moment, realized the Welshman hadn't left the room as expected. He looked back up. “Was there something else?”
Ianto hesitated a moment, then said, “Yes.”
“Well?” Jack prompted.
Ianto sat down in the chair across from him. “I'm worried about you,” he said simply.
Jack frowned. “I'm fine,” he said.
“You snapped at Martha earlier.”
Slumping back in his chair, Jack let out a sigh. “Yeah. Well, I was a little upset at the time. I'll apologize later.”
“Jack, he's going to be okay.” Ianto reached across the desk and laid a hand on one of Jack's.
Jack gave a wane smile but let his finger's slide around Ianto's. “Right. What's a century of cryogenic sleep to a Time Lord.”
“He'll probably consider it a nice refreshing nap.”
“There's certainly times I've thought he could use one,” Jack said with a smirk.
Ianto nodded. “And I'm sure there are several former Torchwood executives who'd be extremely pissed off to learn the very man they were trying to defend the Earth against was under their noses the whole time.”
Jack laughed, the tension of before starting to ease. “That's so like the Doctor.”
Their eyes met across the desk as they smiled at each other.
“Jack?” said a new voice interrupting the moment.
Both Jack and Ianto straightened up as Martha hesitantly entered, a grave look on her face.
“Is everything okay?” Jack asked.
Martha took a deep breath. “I was doing a more thorough scan of the Doctor and...” She bit her lip. “And I'm sorry but there's something I think you should see.”
All of Jack's anxiety returned ten fold. He and Ianto shared worried glances before hastily following Martha out of the office and down to the cold storage area. The place was, appropriately enough, quiet as a tomb. The drawer of unit number eighty-eight was open and the cryo-chamber pulled out. Mickey was leaning against a wall nearby, arms crossed across his chest, his expression dark. He said nothing as Martha led them over to the still frozen Doctor.
“I didn't see it at first,” Martha said as she opened the top of the unit. A cloud of icy air seeped out. “I was only looking for major injuries, but then I took a closer look.” Reaching into the unit, she pulled back the Doctor's sleeve.
A ring of bruises adorned his wrist.
“Ligature marks,” Jack observed. “Well, nothing wrong with a little bondage,” he added weakly but the joke fell flat.
“Take another look,” Martha insisted moving the sleeve further up the Doctor's arm.
Jack's face became as frozen as the Doctor's. Reaching in like Martha had done, he picked up the Doctor's ice cold, seemingly lifeless hand and gazed at the arm. It was covered in a pattern of burns and shallow cuts. He checked the other arm and found similar marks there and on his chest when he pulled down the collar of his shirt.
“They tortured him,” he said bluntly.
Putting a hand over his mouth, Jack turned away taking a few absent steps into the gloom of the morgue.
Ianto moved to follow him wishing to offer comfort but Jack waved him off.
“It's...” Martha began, her own emotions causing her voice to break. “It's mostly superficial. I've read over Owen's notes and I shouldn't have any problem reviving him.”
Jack remained silent, his back to them, staring at a distant wall.
“We can start right away,” she added exchanging concerned glances with the others.
There was still no response.
“Come on now,” said Mickey speaking up. “You know what's the Doc's like. He'll just brush this off and ask for a cup of tea. He'll be fine.”
“Right,” Jack snapped as he finally swung around a sarcastic bite to his tone. “It's just a little torture. No big deal.”
Mickey grimaced. “I didn't mean it like that. I just...”
“I know. I know,” Jack said apologetically as he got his temper back under control.
Gazing down at the cryo-chamber, Jack's eyes traced the lines of the Doctor's face hoping they'd give some clue as to what had happened to him, but like the Doctor himself, they kept their secrets hidden. Whatever had happened, whatever fate had befallen the Doctor, it would only be revealed when the Time Lord was woken.
Jack's shoulders rose as he took a deep breath.
“Alright. Let's do this.”
Chapter 3
