Boulevard Of Broken Dreams
Beta: The marvellous and spectacularhel_bee who has the patience of a saint and a heart of a lion (and makes this so much better to read.) Any other mistakes are mine, mine, mine all mine….
Author's Notes: Sorry for taking so long, been a very busy two months.
Chapter 28
'Til Then I Walk Alone - 29
The Doctor could feel it, well, in fact, he couldn’t feel her, couldn’t feel the TARDIS and that made him anxious. In all the time they had travelled together, he’d always been able to sense her presence in a ‘back of the mind’ sort of way.
He got up from the bench, glancing across at Jack whose eyes stalked his every movement. The Doctor exhaled.
‘You see so much of yourself in his eyes. You are much alike, a restless cause in the hand of the universe, dauntless and daring in your façade, yet underneath your bravado lies a brooding ocean of twilight and shadows where you keep your sorrows.’
For a brief moment the TARDIS breached the Doctor’s thoughts but she was not in them. He closed his eyes, stretching his mind across the distance between them.
‘Where are you?’ he asked.
‘I am within he who is within me,’ she answered.
Ianto. He breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Then he’s alive?’
‘Yes, we are one together, sleeping in each other’s thoughts.’
The Doctor opened his eyes. ‘Why? Why are you in Ianto?’
‘You are hurting. We are hurting. Time is hurting.’
He took a step forward to the perspex barrier, placing the span of his hands on the transparent wall, looking into his own eyes. ‘Why are you in Ianto?’ he asked again.
‘We are the guardians of time, we must stop the hurt. No more hurt.’
‘‘How?’ But the question went unanswered, the TARDIS had left him.
‘An older TARDIS will fight against outside influence or control, sacrificing themselves if they believe the fabric of time is in danger.’ The words he had spoken to Ianto pushed to the forefront of his mind.
‘Sacrificing themselves.’
The Doctor looked again into his reflection but saw beyond its image to that of an older man. They regarded each other for what seemed like all of eternity until Harry Sullivan moved to open the door.
------------------------------------------
The Master held the ring in his hand, turning it in his grasp. The stones had gone, turned to dust but they had served their purpose. The dead could see no more. He tossed it across the room; he had no further use for it.
He’d drawn on the last of their power to discredit the government and manipulate the population into believing Torchwood had murdered Lucy on official orders. The video had already spiralled to over three million hits; people loved a good conspiracy and they were ready to accept it without concrete proof; just him and a grainy declaration from Lucy before her life was cut so tragically short.
And, of course, the subliminal whisper from the stones to believe his words, reaffirming what was already buried in their subconscious.
The Master drummed is fingers on the desk. Harold Saxon would lead them once again, and the Time Lord Empire would rise from the bones of men.
He sighed. It was at moments like this he missed Lucy. They could have celebrated somewhere romantic in her mind: Venice, Paris…
Ah well, they would always have Paris - Champagne, cheese on toast, the screams of the population and the city burning before them. What sweet memories they had shared.
He felt a rush of air and a shadow fell across his desk like a blimp. He sat back as Miss Emma Royds, the poster girl for gluttony, handed him a sheet of paper.
He fingered the report a moment; ink on paper, black on white. He liked the way it felt, not the touch of it, but the sheet being delivered into his hands was all about control and authority.
He studied the figures. “Ten percent of the world’s children,” he mused out loud, “and what are they offering in return?” He looked up into her full moon face.
She shrugged with indifference, scanning the printout she held. “Something called Zeiton-7.”
The Master’s eyes narrowed with interest. “Zeiton-7, are you sure?”
She held out the relevant page for him to look at. The Master snatched it from her chubby grasp.
An e-mail, concise, direct, abrupt, ‘give us, we give you’, almost a command.
‘Zeiton-7.’ There in black and white.
“How did they acquire it?” he asked, “Zeiton-7 can only be found on Varos.”
Again she shrugged, more pronounced this time causing her saggy jowls and neck to quiver above the close fitting concave chain she wore. “It’s important then, this ‘seven’ stuff?”
The Master let out a frustrated growl and banged his fist on the desk. “Zeiton-7 is fundamental in the operation of a TARDIS.”
Her face remained blank, ‘TARDIS’ meant nothing to her. The Master sighed at her ignorance. He screwed the page tightly in his grasp, brandishing it in her direction. “With this quantity I could…” he looked at her. “Can they furnish us with a sample?”
Again she shrugged.
“I suggest you find out or you’ll be feeding the weevils this evening. You’d make a very hearty meal.” He threw the crumpled sheet at her, which to his surprise, she caught rather deftly.
“Yes, sir,” she said turning to leave, her thighs rhythmically rubbing against each other as her feet slapped in vain against the sensible but overstretched shoes she wore.
The Master stood, pulling out his pocket watch to view the time. Soon, he thought glancing around the Hub. Soon he could rebuild the empire and Earth would become New Gallifrey.
---------------------------
The door to the cell slid open with a pressurized hiss.
The Doctor charged through in a rush of heavy blue cotton, unkempt hair and squeaky soles to confront Harry. “Where’s Ianto, Harry?” he demanded without any of the usual pleasantries.
Jack stood in the doorway, frozen, watching as the two men eyed each other, measuring the time past between them.
Harry matched the Doctor’s stare, its intensity free of the usual constraints, allowing the shattered remnants of his broken dreams to surface.
And the Doctor heard the voices of culpability in Harry’s gaze, matched ten times over with the faces of those he had travelled with.
You show us the universe, its wonders, its horrors, then we are left to stitch our lives into an ill-fitting suit with cheap cloth and golden thread. The pieces left age over time, the pattern tears, the seams break. We break.
The Doctor was never good at confronting his past, but somehow time always brought him back to face it. For a brief moment he was hesitant.
“Harry.” It sounded like an apology.
“The Hub,” Harry answered, softly.
The Doctor stepped forward and lightly grasped Harry’s sleeve. “To do what?”
“End this.”
“No.” The Doctor shook his head, releasing his hold. “This is my mess, I can’t let him, can’t let them do this.” He massaged his forehead.
“Yes, yes it is your mess,” Harry reproached, “and yet here we are again, saving the world by the skin of our teeth. Nothing ever bloody changes does it?”
“But the TARDIS she’s…” The Doctor took a step back. “Did you just reprimand me, Harry Sullivan?”
Harry coughed slightly. “Yes,” he replied, his jaw set.
The Doctor smiled. “Well, it looks like some things change.”
“Wait a minute.” Jack’s voice cut across the two men. “Ianto’s alive?” No matter how he said it, there was a certain amount of Brian Blessed in Jack’s tone.
“Yes,” the Doctor answered.
Jack did not drop eye contact; the Doctor sighed. “He sort of regenerates.”
“Sort of?” Jack stepped from the shadow of the cell.
“Well, it’s obviously more complex than that.” The Doctor gestured with his hands.
“How?” Another question, another step.
“Jack, we really don’t have time…”
“How?” The captain would not be swayed.
“He’s part Time Lord, Jack, part TARDIS…”
“So he can’t die?” Jack snatched the question from the air around them, clinging to it as he waited for someone to answer.
“We’re not sure,” Harry cut in, opening his bag. “A Time Lord can only regenerate twelve times, we don’t know if that’s the case with Ianto.”
“Really?” the Doctor broached, looking at Harry.
“It’s not something you want to test, Doctor,” Harry replied.
“No, no I guess not, but maybe I could…”
“And you knew this?” Jack stared at the Doctor, his frustration spilling its inner constraints.
The Doctor shook his head and sighed. “No, no… he never told me, guess he didn’t think it was pertinent.” He smiled a little. “It wasn’t until I sensed him in the TARDIS, she kept him safe within her until the time was right.”
“And you didn’t think it was pertinent to tell us?” Jack gestured towards himself and Martha; she quietly looked away.
“You knew, too?” he asked her.
Martha held the heat of Jack’s stare. “Yes,” she answered calmly.
Yes.
Jack rocked slightly.
Yes.
It stung. It shouldn’t, but it did.
Ianto hadn’t told him.
It hurt.
One more secret between them.
He felt unsure of himself, vulnerable, the whole basis of their relationship seemed anarchic.
And yet he too had secrets. Secrets he would never share.
“Jack, if you really want to know the truth you can just ask me.”
He remembered Ianto words. He had never asked, afraid it would harm what they had.
“It was enough that you were going to tell me, Ianto,” he had replied.
But it wasn’t.
He’d found out the truth on his own and locked it away with all the others he had cloistered.
Jack had a lot of secrets. Most of them were his own.
He swallowed. “When… he began, “when did...?” The question died as Martha looked away.
“Oh,” Jack said quietly, “seems you shared a lot that night.” He was hurting, lashing out.
She reached across to him, keeping her voice soft. “That night, Jack, Ianto had watched the man he loved, loves,” she emphasised, “slow roasted for over an hour and he felt every lasting second of it. Your death still clung to him, not only on his clothes but in his heart. It left him empty.”
The Doctor bowed his head; He remembered that night too.
Martha gently touched Jack’s face. “It was hard, you know, for both of us, keeping a low profile while everyone and everything was suffering under the Master’s oppression. Death was always there, snapping at your heels, haunting your soul; each massacre you turned your back on, each senseless killing that you couldn’t stop, it leaves its mark on you.”
Jack touched her hand. He understood the pain of watching others die around you.
“Ianto tried saved a child that night, one life to make up for the pain of all that loss, but he wasn’t thinking, it was impulsive, the Toclafane cut him down before he could reach her.”
Her voice was quiet as she searched Jack’s gaze. “So yes, I knew because I cradled his lifeless body in the ruins of St Paul’s. I cried tears that I thought had dried long ago until he reached up and wiped them away.”
Jack gently squeezed her hand. “I’m sorry,” he said wearily, “it’s just…”
Martha smiled at him but it did not match the strain in her eyes; worldly eyes Jack thought for a minute, aged before their time. “I know,” she said, placing a finger to his lips, “but be glad he’s alive.”
Jack kissed her fingertip before rubbing at the stubble forming on his chin. “I guess I’m not very good at this.”
Martha sighed, this was hardly the time or place but she had watched Jack skirt the issue too many times. This needed to be aired and she could hold back no longer. “Relationships, Jack? Or love?”
Love. There’s that damn word again. Jack winced trying to avoid the lecture he could see coming. “Martha…”
But she caught his gaze, stripping him to the man beneath the heavy folds of his coat.
Worldly eyes.
Again, he felt vulnerable.
“Love isn’t easy, Jack, even if you pretend it doesn’t matter, that it’s just a quaint cliché of twenty-first century values. It’s not and you know it. Don’t run away from this, Jack, don’t loose it or throw it away. Ianto deserve more than that.”
“Hey, he’s the one keeping secrets!”
Martha cocked a fierce eyebrow at him; God, he was a stubborn sod. Jack conceded with a meek dip of his head, holding up his hands. “Okay, okay but you know Ianto won’t appreciate this.”
Martha smiled. “I travelled with the Doctor and saved the world; you think Ianto Jones is going to frighten me?”
Jack mouthed one word. ‘Coffee.’
Martha took a deep breath. “I can handle the decaf.”
“Oh, you’re a braver woman than me, Dr Jones,” Jack conceded and gave her a winning smile before turning to Harry. “So, you must be the infamous Waverly. Captain Jack Harkness.” He offered his hand.
“Commadore,” Harry replied, “Commadore Harry Sullivan.”
Ianto had never spoken of Harry Sullivan - another secret, Jack’s mind tallied - but Jack knew of him from his contemporaries and they all had a great deal of time and respect for the man.
“Do you trust him?”
“Like a father.”
The earlier conversation between himself and Ianto echoed in Jack’s thoughts.
“Like a father.”
Would Jack have let Ianto sacrifice himself? His gaze caught Harry’s and the commodore’s eyes reflected the trials and tribulations of command, all the dilemmas etched in tight lines around them and across is forehead; this man loved Ianto, loves…
Loves.
…And yet.
Jack closed his eyes; they stung against his lids.
Yes.
Yes, one day Jack would have to make that call, send Ianto knowingly to his death. The words ticked like seconds in his mind, counting down each moment between them, moments he tried to keep them apart in his heart.
Love isn’t easy.
Hell no, it wasn’t. Isn’t.
Was he afraid to let go, to love unconditionally given his past?
He knew he’d been blasé in their relationship, thus far, pushing much more that embracing it, looking for excuses and hiding beneath the mantle of command.
Martha could see right through him.
He bowed his head. ‘If you can’t give yourself to him completely then let him go and find someone who can.’ The Doctor’s words clattered untidily through his head. He pushed them to one side.
Jack gave Harry a cocky grin. “You know, I’ve always had a thing for sailors?” He winked.
“Really? And acrobats too by all accounts.” Harry shook Jack’s hand. “And technically, for the record, I’m a surgeon.”
Jack laughed at the irony. “Three doctors and a captain escape from Torchwood’s cells, surely there’s a joke in there somewhere.”
“I’m sure there is, but let’s hope it’s not on us,” Harry replied, pulling a stun gun from his bag.
“Guns, Harry?” the Doctor queried.
“Toys,” Jack offered turning the alien weapon in his hand, his eyes watching Harry closely.
“They’re still UNIT, Captain,” Harry offered, clearing is throat. “Even if they are under the Master’s influence.”
“Just following orders, right, Commodore?” The two held eye contact, a deeper conversation firing between them.
“Right,” Harry answered, finally, looking away.
The Doctor smiled, taking one of the guns from Harry. He examined it lightly before putting it back in the bag. He patted Harry heartily on the shoulder. “Righty-o then, let’s go save the world,” he said, heading towards the door.
“Again,” Martha added, picking up one of the stun guns, checking its setting before placing it in her pocket.
“On a wing and a prayer as always,” Harry muttered, closing the bag.
“Harry.” The Doctor stood in the doorway, his gaze serious. “He’s a credit to you.”
The commodore looked up and smiled.
The Doctor stuck his head out the door, wetting his finger. He held it out as if checking for wind direction. He nodded to himself and strode off left.
“That’s right, Doc,” Jack called after him.
“Really?” There was a squeak of rubber against the floor. “Are you sure?”
“My house, Doc.”
“Okay then, right it is, Allons-y.”
Both Martha and Harry shared a smile before she rubbed his shoulder. “Nice to see you again, Harry,” she said as she followed the Doctor.
Jack lingered, setting his gun, the light blinking a vivid green. “You know, those who were under the Master’s influence onboard the Valiant couldn’t readjust, they became dangerous, violent, had to be…”
“Institutionalized.” Harry sighed, avoiding eye contact. “I know, I signed the paperwork.”
Jack turned the gun in his grasp, familiarizing himself with its weight and handling. “Do you think it will be any different this time?” He didn’t look up.
“We can only hope,” Harry replied quickly, yet without much conviction.
Jack gave a reflective smile. “Bet you still clap your hands Disney fashion to show you believe in fairies.”
“Don’t we all,” Harry countered softly, “that is, until the screen goes blank and the lights go up.” He sighed. “We all want to believe in Tinkerbell, Captain, it’s just some of us know the truth.”
Jack studied him for a moment. “These are for his benefit aren’t they?”
Harry turned to the doorway. “No, Captain Harkness,” he admitted softly, “they’re for mine.”
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The pocket watched chimed, the penetrating chirr of its peal grinding against each flat surface like a bitter cold wind. The Master opened its case and smiled.
It was time.
He looked out onto the Hub watching a young UNIT soldier mill around the coral like structure of the young TARDIS.
The soldier turned as if he knew he was being watched, holding the Master’s piercing gaze.
The Master smiled and sounded the alarm.
Chapter 30 (a)