Into the Silence

He also knew that seeing Cutler out cold on the bar was a little like having a premonition of her own future. If Torchwood didn't kill her one way, then there was always the possibility it would take her another. There were no guarantees for anyone. And Retcon was a kind of death.

'He's been in the Hub. Worked with us closely.' The muscle in Jack's jaw twitched painfully. Sometimes he hated the things he had to do in his job. 'If he was staying in Cardiff then maybe he'd have been useful, but they were transferring him back to London. He'd be too far away to monitor. He could cause problems.'

He'd chosen his words carefully, and fully expected Gwen to fly into a rage at him over describing Cutler in terms of 'usefulness'. She didn't, though. Instead, he looked up to find her watching him thoughtfully with her dark, beautiful eyes. In the smooth neon light, she looked very young, and Jack once again wondered at these people that would follow him into situations that might bring about their own deaths but never his. What did he do to deserve their loyalty?

'Probably the right thing,' she said at last.

'Where shall we take him?' Ianto peeled the body into a seated position, trying to secure one arm over his neck.

Jack pulled a set of keys from the sleeping detective's inside pocket. 'Back to his place.' He stuffed a small piece of paper into Ianto's free hand. 'The address is there. It's one of those new apartments down in the Bay.'

Ianto nodded. For a moment, he didn't move and Jack felt his impassive gaze scrutinising him. 'This was the right thing to do, Jack,' he said eventually. 'It was the only thing to do.'

Jack nodded. He knew it. But it didn't stop him feeling like he'd just killed a man, and a man he'd liked and respected at that. Cutler would be different after this, and maybe he'd be happier and maybe not, but Jack had taken that choice away from him.

Gwen folded her arms. 'Sucks being the boss, I bet.'

'You got that right.'

Leaning in, she gave him a sudden, impulsive hug, squeezing warmth into his soul. 'We'll be ten minutes. You'd better bloody be here when we get back. You're not the only one that needs a drink. Right, Ianto?'

The tall young man nodded, his face straining under the weight of the solid, sleeping body. 'I will do once I've got him back home.' He shifted, trying to balance. 'He's heavier than he looks.'

'And anyway,' Gwen added with a grin. 'It's a week till pay day. So you're buying.'

Following Ianto, she was halfway to the door when she paused. 'You are OK, aren't you, Jack?'

He smiled. 'Yeah. Sure I am. Now get out of here, otherwise I'll have your beers drunk before you get back.'

***

Jack waited until Gwen had left before letting the smile slide off his face and into his water. His own loneliness ate a little deeper inside and he wondered if maybe he had a growing void inside him just like the one he'd glimpsed within the alien's screaming mouth. He wouldn't be surprised. Some kind of blackness was hardening at his core and he knew there was nothing he could do about it. It was the inescapable effect of his unusual life. Of the choices he had to make in his long, and seemingly endless existence.

Sighing, he drained what was left of the warm dregs of water that clung hopelessly to the inside of the bottle and felt them fizz into his chest. In a few hours, Detective Inspector Tom Cutler would wake up with a mild headache and all knowledge of Jack Harkness, Torchwood and Torchwood One would be wiped from his memory. The moment that defined his career and revealed so much about the strength of his character would be stripped from him and replaced with burning shame. But on the plus side, he'd also think he'd just solved Cardiff's most brutal serial killer case, and maybe that would go some way to allowing some self-absolution for long ago planting evidence on a guilty man in order to secure a conviction.

Tom Cutler's truth had changed. And maybe the new version might be easier to live with. The one thing Jack knew was that knowledge wasn't always good for the soul.

Watching the barman clean away Cutler's glass, happily destroying any evidence of Retcon, Jack sighed. On the back bar, the front page of the Western Mail was filled with the image of Martin Meloy's weak face, his eyes staring balefully out, as if accusing Jack from beyond the grave. Martin Meloy's truth had changed too. Those who knew him would regale dinner parties for years to come with stories of how they always suspected 'there was something strange about him'. He'd never seemed 'quite right'. And then they'd tell tall tales of his macabre ways, invented so long ago that they'd believe them true themselves. The truth was like that: fluid and mercurial. There was maybe only one other person in the universe that understood that better than Jack, and he was a long way away, having adventures of his own.

Jack could use some time with him right now. He was a man who understood hard decisions and had a core of loneliness that probably beat Jack's own. Signalling the bartender, he thought of the alien and the singing boy, blended as one, probably far across the universe by now. He allowed himself a half-smile.

Some good had come out of this, even if the world would never know.

'A beer and a vodka diet coke, please.' He paused. 'And a brandy for me. Neat.'

Gwen and Ianto would be back soon and they'd raise his spirits with their own undaunted positivity. He was lucky to have them, lucky to have found them and he needed to keep hold of these good times, even if they threatened to be fleeting. One day, he'd need their memory and he couldn't waste the joy of the present when it could be found.

Because this was the twenty-first century. When everything would change. And Captain Jack Harkness intended to be ready.

Acknowledgements

I'd like to thank the following people for their help with this book. Firstly, best buddy and fellow author Mark Morris for persuading me to have a go at Torchwood, my editor Steve Tribe for making the whole process painless, and Sam and Andy for letting me live in their Scottish hideaway while I wrote it. And I couldn't go without thanking Jimmy George for his constant and boundless enthusiasm for all things Doctor Who/Torchwood-related!