Rhys used his hands to suggest a somewhat large lady.
‘Oh, that Ruth, from Harwoods? Ruth, now your staff liaison officer?’
‘That’s the one.’
‘Well, if I thought you were humping Ruth, my hormones would be the least of your problems. Now, can you get me to St Helen’s maternity wing in the next thirty minutes or shall I have the natural birth you so desperately want all over the insides of your Porsche?’
Rhys pressed the ignition switch. The car roared into life, and he eased it away from the front door and down the long drive.
He flicked a button on the dash, and the security gates started to open.Two armed Torchwood guards in the gatehouse waved politely as he steered out into the midday sun and on their journey towards Cardiff and the birth of their baby.
‘I sometimes think,’ Rhys said, checking no one was following them, ‘that those guards Tosh gave you are as much to keep us in as to guard us.’
‘You worry too much.’
‘I worry that if the Torchwood Empire is so beneficial to mankind, then why do we need protecting and who from?’
‘From whom,’ Gwen corrected.
‘Ooh, get the girl from Swansea and her posh English.’ Rhys adjusted the rear-view mirror as they trundled through the outer areas of the city.
‘Not sure I like this area, Rhys,’ Gwen said. ‘Isn’t there a better route? Through Whitchurch?’
Rhys gritted his teeth, knowing that he was going to get shouted at again.
‘Dunno, Gwen. I think it does us all good to take the odd trip through the less fortunate ends of the Empire, see how the other half live. I mean, I know mothers aren’t your preferred choice of subject, but if yours was still here I’m not sure she’d approve of what we’ve become.’
Gwen put a hand on Rhys’s. ‘It’s not like that, love. I didn’t plan this.You didn’t plan to run the Council, we never planned for Torchwood to create an empire, but history tells us that to create a Utopia, a bit of darkness has to be present, to make the light glow stronger.’
Rhys said nothing and they drove in silence, until the sat-nav spoke, telling them they were thirteen minutes away from St Helen’s Hospital.
‘When Tosh and Owen finish the project, Rhys, I promise you, the world that baby Gareth inherits will be one that has made all this worthwhile.’
Rhys put his foot down and, before long, they were approaching the hospital, a group of Torchwood guards and nursing staff greeting them.
As they pulled up, Rhys looked at his wife, and then nodded to the group outside. ‘When I married you, I imagined an NHS hospital, me pacing the corridors for eight hours drinking weak-as-piss tea, and Jack stood there, winding me up saying it was an alien. Or his. Or both. But I love you so much, and I trust that you know what you’re doing. Even without Jack Bloody Harkness to guide us all.’
Gwen kissed him on the cheek. ‘I’ll text you when he’s been born.’
‘One last thing, love,’ Rhys said as the car door opened. ‘I never agreed to Gareth. I reckon Geraint. After your dad. Good name, good thing for our boy to live up to.’
And Gwen grabbed him and kissed him savagely and powerfully.
Rhys eased her away, embarrassed. The assembled staff outside were applauding them in that way that Torchwood staff always applauded.
Nauseatingly, and slightly insincerely.
Jack Harkness would have hated this new Torchwood.
And then Gwen was out of sight, inside the building.
Rhys eased the car out of the car park then drove towards the city. He needed to get to work for a late-night session about what to do with the irradiated Bay. Ever since the Hub had exploded, the whole area had been in desperate need of reclamation.
As he drove, Rhys pulled a Bluetooth earpiece from his pocket, slipped it on and spoke to the sat-nav.
‘Override Torchwood comms. Clearance five stroke nine.’
‘Confirmed. Signal scrambled.’
‘Connect me with Friend 16.’
‘Confirmed.’
There was a buzz and then a click.
A Welsh voice spoke, curtly, passionless. ‘What do you want, Williams?’
‘Gwen is safe. If you’re going to do it, please do it now.’
The line went dead.
SEVENTEEN
Jack was at a loss – not a feeling he was particularly familiar with. With no way to access the Hub, unless he could get an acetylene torch at nearly midnight, and with no team to support him, he really didn’t have a clue what to do next. Or where to go.
Ianto’s? Nope, key in the drawer in his office. Gwen’s? Yeah, Rhys would love that – he’d probably been phoning and texting Gwen all evening and be worried enough as it was that he’d had no response.
Both Toshiko and Owen had moved recently to new apartments, and neither of them had offered him a key, so that was out.
Idris? Nope, he’d probably worn out what passed for a welcome there.
He was standing by the water tower, looking across at the parade of restaurants and bars in Mermaid Quay and Bute Street. He wasn’t much of a drinker, but perhaps there was a late-night bar.
The Sidings, of course. Bit of a trek, but there’d be a welcome there. Of sorts. Mind you, the last time he’d gone there, he’d been stalked by a Hoix. It had got through the Sidings’ defences and… Well, perhaps the welcome wouldn’t be that welcoming after all.
Bottom line was, Jack was furious with himself. He’d been hoodwinked by someone – someone really quite disarming and elegant, yet powerful. His team had been trapped (he was assuming Owen wasn’t locked inside the Hub; somehow that didn’t seem Bilis’s style), and he had no idea why or how to find and free them.
Suddenly, Jack was angry. And that usually meant that the last thing he needed right now was people, bars, noise or sexy people.
Jack needed to find what Jack always needed to find in moments of crisis. He began marching towards the city.
As he made his way towards the heart of Cardiff, he was passed by a number of locals. They laughed, they argued, they kissed or they listened to mp3 players. Some drove cars, others were on bicycles. Once in a blue moon, a motorcyclist roared past (Cardiff seemed to have fewer motorbikes per capita than anywhere else he’d visited). Normal people doing normal things with their normal lives.
These were the people that Jack and Torchwood protected, the vast majority of them never even realising they were being protected, let alone that there were Weevils, Rifts, giant space whales, alien guns, pendants, bombs or anything. It was a mark of how well Torchwood did their job that so few people died in inexplicable circumstances and asked questions. Even if they did, there was Toshiko, ready to create falsehoods and lies – not to mislead them, but again to protect them. Sometimes the truth was simply too awful and the concept of ‘need to know’ took on a whole new meaning.
Jack never stopped feeling responsible for his team – every one of them was there because he had found them, or they’d needed to find him. Now they were lost somewhere because of a battle that wasn’t theirs.
This was his little war, his and Bilis’s, and whatever else was involved behind the scenes. Ianto, Gwen, Toshiko and Owen were, to Bilis, collateral damage, incidentals. To Jack they were his reason for being.
He would get them back. He would get them back safe and sound.
