It's all AU.

Ianto had left a message in the hotel lobby for Spike before heading towards the cottage in the park, his jacket hooked over his shoulder as he tilted his head back to squint at the brightly-lit sky. No way to tell time here, but he would have a while, he thought, before Spike showed up. Long enough to get things set up.

( Cut for length )

Warning: Blood, lots of blood.

The night, at least, was still quiet, and soothing, as Ianto padded through the park, his shoes in hand, and jacket abandoned somewhere further back, hung off a tree. It wasn't like he'd need to worry about it, not if he couldn't remember this place when he returned home. He scowled, and dropped the shoes at the base of a tree before he threw them, sliding his hands into his pockets instead as he kept on walking.

His knife was back in his pocket, though he had yet to see Jack since the incident in the hotel lobby. That he'd been making himself hard to find by walking all over this place might have had something to do with that, though. He pressed his lips together, shoving the entire tangle away for now.

A whisper-soft sound drew his attention, and Ianto slowed his step, angling for a large tree he could put his back to. Listening for any sound of another person out here with him.

( Cut for length )

Looking over the selection of drinks a moment, he settled onto a stool, and requested a bottle of Ogden's finest out of sheer perversity. And a desire to get pleasantly tipsy in relatively short order. Just tipsy, he didn't need to run into someone dangerous while drunk. He chuckled to himself.

"Someone dangerous indeed," he murmured, carefully pouring a measure into a glass as he glanced in the mirror, searching for any familiar face.

Krista was on her way to lunch with her husband Ianto; she stepped out of their house. When she turned around she was no longer at home, she appeared in the hub she was a bit confused.
"How did I get here?" Krista said with a surprised look on her face.

Anne MacBeth was going to kill him.

In the beginning, the Doctor had been a novelty. Another eccentric foreigner at Amberleigh, acting strangely around Cousin Elizabeth like everything else male. Then, he'd been a hero, saving the little fluff-brained twit, from bullets, poison and a falling chandelier, while whisking Anne away from it all. Now, however, in a place of flashing lights, loud noise and crushing crowds, the Doctor was a dead man.

If she could find him, because, now she was trapped in a crowd of half-naked, thrashing individuals like cultists in India. The music was amazingly infectious. Anne might have tried dancing with them, if she weren't so angry. She fought her way to the bar and found herself staring at a small circular card, slightly damp and smelling of beer.

"Clockwerx," it read in gold ink, "Time has no meaning when you never close. Established ????"

Oh yes, the Doctor was going to die. Permanently, this time.

( Cut for length )

Folding the report carefully, he tucked it into the pocket of his waistcoat. Now, all he had to do was find out the rest of the information. He chose a seat in the hotel lounge where he had a decent view of the lobby as well, and settled down to wait. He had an idea of who to look for - the Master, or the Doctor, or Jack - but he wasn't certain who he'd run across first.

He ignored the one Jack, noting peripherally that he was dealing with Owen, waiting for the next person whose face was familiar to cross his path.

Owen had awoken slowly, shifting carefully, but his hands and legs had still managed to bang against the railings on the bench. He'd shot up the second that had happened and smacked his forehead on the bottom of the bench and had rolled painfully to the side and out from under the unfamiliar wood and metal object. He'd been so sure that he was going to wake up back in his cell. But it seemed that they hadn't taken the time to move him during the night like they had apparently the night before. They wanted him to relax his guard. That had to be it. They wanted him to start to feel comfortable in this place before they decided to club him over the head and take him back to that cell that wreaked of death and decay.

The trouble was, he really wanted to indulge. It had been so long since he'd seen the sky, felt the grass, smelled air that wasn't recycled and stale. It had been too long since he'd seen the sun. He'd almost started to believe that these things had ceased to exist. But here they were, right in front of him.

Pushing himself up onto the bench (baby steps), Owen leaned back and surveyed the area around him. A small, nondescript town. They could have been anywhere. Raising his hand to pressed against his eyes, Owen leaned forward, elbows perching on his knees. Fresh air, sunlight, relative freedom. This game didn't make any sense.

Ianto filed a copy of his latest report in the appropriate archive, pausing when he was done to enjoy the silence of the archives for a moment. He'd sent the intern home early, and with the other archivist on leave, he had the entirety of the cavernous room to himself. He closed his eyes, leaning back against the wall a moment, only to tense when he felt the texture change. A door, directly behind him, that shouldn't exist.

He turned to glare at it a moment before reaching for the knob, slowly turning it, and pushing the door open without stepping through. Not the hallway he usually came out on this time, but a darkened room. He studied it a long moment before stepping through, closing it behind him, sighing when it faded into the wall. He hated when that happened.

He headed for the door, raising a mental eyebrow at the street access instead of a hallway before stepping out. He hadn't gone far when he saw a familiar face, and froze for a moment. "Sir?" It couldn't be his employer, not with the snide and irritated commentary back with each of his reports. But he had no doubts it was the Master. The face was all too familiar.

Lisa crawled through the debris, the smell of hot metal and melted plastic filled her nose. She choked and tasted blood, pain shot through her arm as she gasped. "Ianto?" Lisa made it a few more feet, he had to be here. There was a crack and debris fell from the ceiling, pinning her legs.

She cried out and tried to push up, but failed as darkness overcame her.


She turned over and jerked awake. The air was cool, clean, she was in a large overstuffed armchair in what looked like the lobby of a rather swanky hotel. Very at odds with the dirt and blood and scorch marks on her clothing. Where were they? This was not Torchwood. Lisa stood up quickly, looked around in confusion and promptly passed out.

He'd slept, he'd relaxed, and he'd bothered the hell out of the kitchen staff and still didn't have any answers. He wandered outside to watch the galaxy above their head, swirling and beautiful. Utterly alien.


He had his hands in the pockets of his suit, head tilted back, "Unbelievable."

Ianto leaned against a tree in the park, looking up at the stars. He normally wouldn't look for the way between home and here more than once in a week, but after the argument with Lisa over Jack, he needed to escape reality for a while once more. It bothered him that he felt this out of control, his life spinning away from him bit by bit, and nothing he could do but clutch at the pieces and try to patch it back together again.

He shifted, standing up straight when he heard someone approaching, sliding one hand into his pocket to wrap it around the switchblade he carried everywhere. "Who's there?" he called, his voice steady and calm.

Ianto settled into his usual seat, where he could watch the door as he waited for the light snack and scotch he'd ordered. He didn't think any of the Torchwood directors had found out how to make their way here, but he didn't care to be caught by surprise, regardless.

He wasn't certain who he'd like less to see walking in the doors. Yvonne, her sister, or Jack; all were on his list of people he didn't care to deal with at the moment. Though perhaps the safest of them to deal with at the moment would be Jack. "At least he isn't threatening dire retribution if certain archives aren't deleted," he muttered to himself, his attention briefly taken away from his careful observation of the door.