Kingdom of Air: Prologue (The Sound of Drums)
Title: Kindom of Air: Prologue (The Sound of Drums)
Characters: Torchwood team, Lisa Hallet (mentioned), and someone from the Ministry of Defence.
Rating: R for language.
Spoilers for: Torchwood Season One, Dr. Who episodes "Army of Ghosts," "Doomsday," "Utopia," and "The Sound of Drums."

Summary: It begins, as so many stories do, with the ringing of a telephone.

Disclaimer: I own neither Torchwood nor Dr. Who.

Author's notes: Just over two months ago, hellenebright asked me if this was the end of one story, or the beginning of the next. She was right, of course; this needed to become its own story, and I'm very very thankful for her advice.

I also have to thank seize for reading multiple drafts and providing excellent suggestions without a word of complaint, even as the story grew steadily longer and took up more and more of the time she could have spent writing her own story. People have been canonized for less.

Lastly, I would be remiss if I didn't mention the enormous influence that Jon Krakauer's Into Thin Air and David Breashears' High Exposure had on the writing of this story, not only for their descriptions of climbing in the Himalayas, but also for their insight into what makes people climb in the first place.


9 February 2008


There is a red file folder on Ianto's tiny workstation behind the Tourist Office, neatly labelled "Captain Jack Harkness." It's not the same, not his Jack, but still.

He doesn't touch it.

It's been six days since the world (almost) ended, since Jack (nearly) died. It's been three days since Jack opened his eyes, stood up and walked out of the morgue, arms spread wide, offering a forgiveness that none of them really deserved, and a kiss for Ianto that seemed to promise so much.

It's been three days since Jack disappeared into thin air.

It would be easy to conclude that Jack is gone for good, that their last kiss was nothing more than a goodbye. But Ianto's made this mistake before, giving up on Jack too soon, and he's learned his lesson. He won't lose faith so easily this time.

Jack will be back, and until he is, Ianto's not going to touch that folder.

*

"I've got it! I've got the footage!" Tosh cries, and at that moment, as everyone is pushing their chairs back, getting to their feet, the telephone in Jack's office starts ringing.

The others glance nervously at each other, then at Ianto. He tries to smile. "I'll get that," he says, and hurries into Jack's office, determined not to panic.

Ianto's been answering Jack's phone since long before the Captain vanished; since his first month in Cardiff, actually. He has a gift for dealing with petty bureaucrats, a deferential politeness that he honed back at Torchwood One. Jack was eager to get out of as much admin as he possibly could, and Ianto was eager to please. It was a satisfactory arrangement for both of them.

But with Jack gone, there's the ever-present worry that someone in the government or UNIT will cotton on, start asking uncomfortable questions. Ianto's not entirely sure what would happen if word got about that Captain Jack had vanished, but he's got a few theories, and none of them are particularly nice. So they've got to keep the charade up as long as they possibly can.

Picking up the phone, Ianto feels rather like a guilty child. He swallows hard before speaking. "Torchwood Three; Ianto Jones speaking."

"Ianto Jones." The voice on the other end of the line is effortlessly friendly, almost familiar somehow. Ianto glances at the caller ID: Ministry of Defence. "I like that. Good, solid Welsh name. Is the Captain around, Ianto?"

Ianto takes a quiet, deep breath. "I'm afraid he's unavailable at present, Sir. If you'd like, I could leave a message for him?"

"No." There's a sort of hidden laughter in the voice, oddly reassuring. "That won't be necessary, Mr. Jones. I'll bother you another time. Thanks all the same." And before Ianto can even ask the man's name, the line is dead.

Before Ianto can work out why he's so strangely, intensely relieved, his thoughts are interrupted by an outburst from Owen. "What in God's name is he doing?" Owen leans closer to Tosh's monitor, chewing restlessly on the end of a pen. Neither of the girls can answer; Tosh sits, and Gwen leans over Tosh's chair, and they stare at the screen in bewildered shock.

After a moment's hesitation, Ianto joins them. Captured by the CCTV cameras, Jack runs across the Plass, hurls himself at something they cannot see, and then vanishes. Tosh hits a button and the footage reverses itself, restarts. Jack runs. He leaps. He's gone.

"Can you slow it down?" Ianto asks, his voice shaking only slightly, and Tosh does so, fingers clattering briefly on the keyboard. In slow-motion, Jack looks almost comical, mouth stretched wide as if shouting, coat billowing melodramatically. His arms spread wide as both feet leave the ground, and he hits some invisible something, fingers gripping tight. For just a moment, Ianto swears he catches a glimpse of whatever it is Jack's clutching, something blue, something almost painfully familiar, and then both it and Jack are gone.

"So," Owen says, finally. "Some invisible... thingie shows up, Jack throws himself at it, and then they're gone?"

"Could be a perception filter, like the invisible lift," Tosh says, pushing her glasses up, letting the scene creep by in slow motion again. There it is again, the barest flicker of blue underneath Jack's clutching hands. "We can't see it, but Jack obviously could."

"There was a funny sort of sound," Gwen says, and her voice is choked with tears. "Like an engine, maybe. Jack must have heard it, known what it was."

Ianto remembers the brown-haired man he met in the ruins of Canary Wharf, the one who gave him a photograph and asked him to remember a girl he never met. He pulls the picture from his inside jacket pocket, runs his fingers over it. The man. The girl. The blue police box. "I wonder," he says.


11 February 2008


Tosh has finally agreed to go home and get a few hours' sleep. Owen refuses to budge, although he's making a hash out of the paperwork he's trying to "help" with. Ianto brings him a cup of coffee, refrains from offering advice, even though he'll have to fix Owen's mistakes later on. Everyone's desperate to be useful; the least Ianto can do is let them try.

He goes to check on Gwen.

She's up in the conference room, staring at the photographs spread out upon the table. It took Tosh and Ianto hours to hack into Jack's files, and he'll probably never forgive them for the trespass, but at least they know who he's with, and why he left. The evidence covers every available surface in the conference room; pictures of a tall man with large ears that stick out, a young blonde girl, a man with rumpled brown hair, sad eyes and a manic grin. And another man, dressed in a military greatcoat; younger, more carefree, more roguish, perhaps, but unmistakably Jack Harkness.

Ianto sets a coffee down by Gwen's elbow and waits for her to acknowledge him. When she finally looks up, her eyes are red. "What if he doesn't come back? He said he was looking for the right kind of Doctor..."

The Doctor. Ianto picks one of the pictures up, looks at it. He can't help but feel just a little foolish. Torchwood exists because of the Doctor, for the Doctor, and he met the man twice and never knew it. "He'll come back, Gwen."

"But what if he doesn't?"

"He'll come back." He studies the picture for a little longer, then carefully sets it back down. "It's just that the Doctor needs him more right now; that's all."

Gwen shifts fractionally in her seat, leaning closer to him. Ianto knows he ought to tell her to go home. He ought to tell her to spend some time with Rhys, to hang on to her life with both hands before it gets stolen away from her. But he's not her Captain; he's not Jack, so he doesn't. "So we just get along without him?"

"We keep going," Ianto says, and lets his hand rest on her shoulder. "Keep the home fires burning. He'll be back."

She doesn't ask him how he can be so sure, and he's grateful for that. He can't explain it. But he knows Jack is coming home someday. He knows it.


28 April 2008


Ianto sighs and checks the caller ID on Jack's phone. Ministry of Defence. Again.

"Torchwood Three, Ianto Jones speaking."

"Ianto!" That friendly, familiar voice. "Have you got a minute, or am I interrupting something?"

Ianto looks down at the work spread out over Jack's desk. Follow-up reports on the Rift activity since Abaddon. Gwen's research on Bilis Manger. Owen's latest attempt to find some sort of pattern to Weevil attacks. Requisition forms. Budget for the second quarter of the fiscal year. "Always time for you, Sir," he says. "How can I help?"

"You see, Ianto, this is why I like you. So polite. Anyway, I've got fantastic news. We've just finally gotten the authorization to re-open the London offices. About time, if you ask me. Now, I had a peek at your file, and I noticed that you started off at Torchwood One, so I thought perhaps you'd like to come back home? We need your experience, getting everything rebuilt, reorganized. It's a large task, I know, but I can't think of a better person for it. It'd mean a big promotion for you, of course. If you're interested."

"Ah." Ianto sinks back into Jack's chair, numb and a bit bemused, and looks about the Hub. It's dirtier than usual, more mess and clutter. With the Captain gone, Ianto's been needed in the field more and more often, as well as handling nearly all the admin, leaving no time left to tidy. The others are trying, harder than they ever have, but there just isn't enough time in the day to hold the Rift together, save the world from alien invasion, and bin all the crisp packets too.

Things were different in London. Eight hundred people working there, of course some of them were going to be cleaning staff. Everything was white and glass and chrome; everything gleamed. It was a different world entirely.

"Of course, if you wanted a day or so to think about it..." There's an edge of disappointment in the Minister's voice, as though Ianto ought to be leaping about with excitement. Perhaps he should be, but he can't, somehow.

He glances at the CCTV footage, constantly being fed to Jack's computer. Owen is hunched over the autopsy table, dissecting what is either a seed pod or a very strange sort of egg. Tosh's fingers fly over her keyboard as she works at her translation program. Gwen is on the phone, chatting with one of her police contacts. They've all looked so tired lately, worn thin by the effort of keeping Torchwood running without Jack. He wonders if they'd eat if he weren't around to feed them. He wonders if they'd go home to rest without him reminding them. He's not even sure that any of them know how to use the coffeemaker.

"Ianto?" The voice is gentle, almost worried, and Ianto feels a brief pang of guilt for what he's about to say, but he doesn't have any choice.

"Thank you for the offer, Sir, but I simply can't leave Cardiff right now. I'm needed here."

"I see." There's a slight edge to the Minister's voice, disappointment and something more, and for a moment, Ianto feels a slight pulse of fear, like he's just made a very dangerous enemy. But it passes almost immediately, and he feels silly for ever thinking it. "Well, I hope Captain Harkness appreciates you, Ianto. Your sort of loyalty is hard to find."

"Thank you, Sir," Ianto says, at a loss for any other way to reply.

"If you change your mind, you know where to find me."

"Of course, Sir. I'll... keep in touch. And thank you for thinking of me; it was kind of you."

An amused chuckle drifts down the line. "Yes, I suppose it was. Goodbye, Ianto Jones."

"Goodbye, Sir."

Ianto sets the phone back in its cradle, stares at it for a few moments, then turns back to the CCTV. The others are still engrossed in their work, cheerfully unaware of the conversation he's just had. He wonders what they'd think if he told them, what they'd say, what they'd do. He doesn't think any of them would try to stop him going, but it's been so unsettled and strange without Jack. He can't imagine what it would be like to lose another teammate so soon.

Perhaps it's best if he just keeps this to himself for now.


15 May 2008


"Owen!"

Their doctor looks up, scowling. "What?"

"Phone. Ministry of Defence."

Owen doesn't budge from his lab. "So? Why aren't they talking to you? You're the one handles these things, aren't you?"

Ianto's fingers tap on the desk, impatient. "You're second-in-command, and he wants to talk to you this time."

For a moment, it looks as though Owen's going to hold out, but then Ianto raises his eyebrow and Owen sighs and starts trudging up to Jack's office, making a completely unnecessary amount of noise as he does so. Ianto hands the phone over and Owen takes it. "Yeah? What d'you want?"

Ianto can only shake his head and walk away.

A wave of unease hits him as he reaches the kitchenette. Why would they want to talk to Owen, and why now? Perhaps they've finally realized Jack is gone. Perhaps they've got some uncomfortable questions to ask Owen. It all seems so sudden, so out-of-character. It feels... wrong, in some unaccountable way, and for just a moment, Ianto has the strangest sense that he's forgotten something, that something is missing.

Only for a moment, and then it's gone, and he feels silly for even having worried. And when he comes out of the kitchenette, Owen is back at his autopsy table, muttering about "Bleeding waste of time that was, stupid pencil-pushers," and there's nothing to worry about at all.


31 August 2008


"Yes, Sir." Owen balances the phone between his shoulder and his ear, tips Jack's chair back, taps his pen against Jack's desk. "Oh, completely, Sir. I understand."

Tosh and Gwen are giggling together in the conference room. "I can't believe it," Tosh says, eyes sparkling. "I've never seen Owen this polite. Ever."

"He's finally had to start behaving himself," Gwen says. "Our little wanker, all grown up."

Ianto glances back down at Jack's office, at Owen restlessly tapping his pen against the desk and saying "If you're sure it's necessary," and "Of course, Sir," and feels just the slightest twinge of unease.

"To be honest, I'm not so sure that's Owen at all," he says, sliding into a seat next to Tosh. "Some sort of shape-changing alien masquerading as him, perhaps. We should lock him up in a cell with the weevils."

Tosh frowns thoughtfully. "I say we lock up the original Owen, keep this one around." Then she and Gwen are giggling again, and Ianto can't help but smile.

"Yes, yes, I'm sure it's all very funny, you lot larking about while I do all the real work." Owen leans against the doorway, scowling at them all in reassuring fashion. "Anyway, I've just got word from London. Looks like we're going on a little field trip."

*

That night, Ianto goes back to his flat for the first time in a week. It's perhaps the one place even messier than the Hub, dishes left everywhere when emergencies called him out in the middle of a meal, clothes flung helter-skelter from all the times he's had to dress in a tearing hurry, mail dropped at the ringing of the phone and left to lay. It's dusty, and something in the fridge has gone off; he can just smell it, faint, but disgusting. He'll have to clean before they leave. If he has the time.

In case he doesn't, Ianto ignores the mess for now, just hangs his coat on its peg and hurries to the hall closet. His rucksack is still there, exactly where he left it after his last trip to the Brecon Beacons.

Jack's eyebrow goes up in surprise. "Taking the weekend off?"

Ianto flushes, shifts from foot to foot. He hasn't asked for anything from Jack for a long time, not since Lisa, but this is too important, far more so than guilt or pride. "Thought I'd go up to the Beacons, do a bit of climbing, sort of..." His bruises still ache, and his knee still twinges, but he can't not go. He can't let his memories of the Beacons be tainted by those people. He just can't.

Jack looks at him for a long time, as if he's reading all this from Ianto's expression, and maybe he is, probably he is. Even if he isn't, it doesn't matter. Jack has a way of understanding these things, with or without an explanation.

"Of course." The Captain's hand falls on his shoulder, heavy and reassuring. "Take all the time you need. Just... keep your phone with you. Just in case."

He pulls the pack out, unzips it. All his gear is still exactly as he left it, neatly stowed away in its various compartments. Perfect for a bit of hiking in the Beacons, but not quite enough for this particular trip. He sets the bag aside and tugs a large, battered cardboard box from the depths of the closet.

Lisa pulls an ice axe out, stares at it, then stares at him. "Planning on murdering someone, are you?"

"Trotsky was killed with an ice axe, you know," he says, and laughs when she gives him her least amused look. "I'd never. It'd dull the tip."

"Reassuring." Next comes his climbing harness, and she eyes it warily, considering. "If I didn't know better, Ianto, I'd think you had some sort of weird fetish."

"No weird fetishes." He leans in to kiss her. "Just the regular kind."

He hasn't used any of it for so long, but it all seems to be in good condition. Ianto's already spoken to one of the undersecretaries at the Ministry, given her everyone's sizes and measurements and a long list of everything that they could possibly need, and he's been assured it'll be waiting for them in Nepal, but... There's something in having your own gear, something reassuring in the familiarity of it all. Anyway, it's always good to have spares, just in case.

The guidebook is at the bottom of the box, all but forgotten. The Lonely Planet guide to Nepal. He fishes it out, flips through the pages. A plane ticket falls out into his lap.

"This job, then," Jamie says, the disappointment strong on his face despite his best attempts to conceal it. "Must be important, yeah? I mean, since you're cancelling the trip and all..."

"It's..."

How can Ianto explain it? "The thing is, I'm actually going to be a sort of librarian, except instead of books, I'll be cataloging alien technology. Oh, I didn't tell you that aliens are real? Turns out they are, and I've just been invited to work for the top secret government agency that hunts them down. Pay's not that great, but they've got terrific dental." Jamie'd think he'd gone mad. Perhaps he has. His world has been turned completely upside-down, and he's terrified, but it's brilliant. It's the biggest and the best mountain he's ever had to climb.

But he can't tell a soul, not even Jamie. "I'm sorry. If there were any other way..."

Jamie manages a smile. "No worries. We'll go next year, give us more time to plan it out."

And Ianto agrees readily, even though he already sort of knows that next year isn't going to happen.

Ianto turns the plane ticket over in his hands, smiling slightly. Then he pulls out his wallet, tucks the ticket inside. After all this time, he's finally going to see the Himalayas. It may not be what he'd wanted as a kid, it may not be what he'd hoped for, but after all this time, it'll do.


8 September 2008


He finishes locking up the tourist office and returns to the Hub. Everything seems to be in order. All non-essential systems have been powered down. The automated program has been set to feed Janet and Myfanwy twice per day (although Myfanwy is already chirruping sulkily, and will no doubt be in a remarkably bad mood by the time they return). The alarms are set, and the Hub will lock down should anyone try to enter without the appropriate codes. He's sent Jack a text message informing him that the team is away and the Hub is locked down in their absence, and another reminding him what the codes are in case he's forgotten. He's also sent Jack two e-mails with the same information, just in case, and he's left notes with their travel details and emergency contact information on Jack's desk, on Ianto's desk in the tourist office, and the coffee maker. Just in case.

He has all his toiletries, pajamas, a towel, and clean pants in his overnight bag, as well as his GPS unit, his Bluetooth, his mobile, his gun, a compass, a Swiss Army knife, water purification tablets, a book (Eiger Dreams), a pack of gum to keep his ears from popping too much during the flight, and motion sickness pills for Tosh, as she always forgets to bring her own. He's got shorts and light shirts for their time in the hot lowlands, and plenty of cold-weather garments for the mountains; he's got ropes and clips and carabiners, his climbing harness, hiking boots and mountaineering boots and liners. The rest of their gear will be waiting for them in Pokhara, and he's got all the shipping details and the tracking numbers, as well as a list of shops that rent out climbing gear. Just in case.

Everything seems to be in order.

He still feels like he's missing something. Something isn't right, something doesn't fit. There's something he's forgotten.

Gwen is waiting for him, tapping out a rhythm on her thigh, smiling. "Ready to go?"

The stab of fear, of dread, of knowing, is so short that it seems imaginary. Forgotten a moment after it happens.

He smiles back at Gwen. "Ready."