Chapter Text
Never enter Torchwood unannounced.
This oft-repeated axiom the Seeker had heard for as long as he could remember - from way before he was allowed anywhere alone. The decree was usually followed by a wink (Jack), a significant look (the Doctor, the team) or an eyeroll (his father), the implication being that he might walk in on something he shouldn’t see (which was worth bearing in mind, Jack being Jack), or get shot by a stray bullet or eaten by a weevil or similar if it was one of those days.
As with most things in his life he followed the rule - but for his own reasons: He always checked ahead to make sure he wouldn't run into the Redjay. He still remembered their meeting back when he'd been three, and had - as he grew - become more fully aware of the layers upon layers of discomfort and strain of the situation, and the reservations she would have. Of the arrows in his father's quiver, the Seeker had a feeling that he, himself, had been the one to cut the deepest. So to spare both of them, he avoided her. He'd reach out at some point probably, but figured that he'd leave it a century or so. Especially considering the waffle iron incident... Yeah, avoidance was a good tactic for now.
Apart from that consideration, however, he didn't much care what he'd come across, so when the tourist office turned out to be empty he shrugged and let himself into the tunnel behind. He was only dropping off Christmas presents, and wasn’t going to linger.
The fact that the roll door didn’t open made him stop, but only for a moment as he shifted all his bags into one hand so he could teleport to the other side. It was probably just the standard shutdown drill that he usually tried to avoid - Jack had mentioned they would be changing the time.
(He was still feeling somewhat giddy from having been given a whole week's freedom in which to do his Christmas shopping, including the use of his teleport pendant. Allison and their friends thought he'd gone to Europe. Which wasn't a lie, as he'd also gone to Europe, even dropping in on their circus friends... But he'd been so many other places too.)
“Only me!” he called out once he was on the other side. “I’m bringing you presents, since I can’t come to the staff party...” (It was sweet of Jack to invite him, even though he was only A Special Torchwood Friend, but he had a feeling his presence might inhibit things somewhat. Also, he'd been attending plenty of student parties in Cambridge - the last one being scheduled for tonight.)
The remainder of the sentence died on his lips as he took another step inside and saw Sylvia on the ground.
(He’d bought her the most exquisite silver psi bracelet from Axylon, since she always complained about the rift only throwing out ugly things - the fact that her team members would be able to tell her mood with one swift look was only a cheeky side benefit...)
The bags fell to the floor as he rushed to her, even though he could tell that he was too late. She was very clearly dead - her skin a sickly dark green, the reason for which he couldn’t identify. Another step brought Jack’s body into view, but he ignored that through life-long habit (“Look my boy - Daddy is going to show you the most clever trick ever...”) and stalked forwards, senses open and alert - there was no telling what had done this: Alien, poison gas, mishap with an artifact... This was Torchwood, the list was endless.
He found Nathan face down by Jack’s desk, his crisp white medic’s coat crumpled and creased by the fall, the same discolouration darkening his skin. Clearly this was the man to thank for the lockdown - such a tidy, devoted mind.
Afsana, as usual dressed in a sari that looked ridiculously out of place in the grey cavern, had collapsed on the stairs and the Seeker tiptoed past her, chest too tight by far, as he tried his utmost to hone in on the last member of the team...
He found him in the greenhouse, on the floor like the others, but - alive. The relief was almost too much.
“Ianto!” he called out, running to his side; and then stopped, horrified.
The Welshman was unconscious, and - although still very faint - there was an unmistakable pale green tinge to his skin.
Sinking to his knees the Seeker did his utmost not to panic, even though his mind was with painful logic pointing out that if Jack had not come back to life yet, this thing killed within minutes - possibly less...
He took a deep breath and tried to think, even though this felt like every nightmare he’d ever had, turned real - there was no time, no time at all, and he was too young and knew far too little...
Quite simply he didn’t have a clue what this was; didn’t even know where to begin.
And Ianto was dying.