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Myfanwy 2

October 2018



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Myfanwy 2

Brothers and Enemies - Chapter Two

Brothers and Enemies - Chapter Two
Author: Milady Dragon
Series: Dragon-Verse
Rating: PG-13
Pairing(s): JackHarkness/Ianto Jones; Jack Harkness/John Hart (Past); Toshiko Sato/Kathy Swanson (Mentioned)
Warnings: Language, Violence, Temporary Character Death (Jack, of course), some Torture.
Spoilers: Both series up to S2, E13, "Fragments" and "Exit Wounds", and the audio play, "Lost Souls". 
Disclaimer: I don't own Torchwood, I would have treated it better.
Author's Note:  This is the Dragon-Verse version of "Fragments"/"Exit Wounds".  I've gone with one story to cover the two episodes, since a lot of "Fragments" was flashback, and I do plan on writing those into longer stories at some point so I don't see the need to add them here. 

Summary:  John Hart is back, and with him is Jack's long-lost brother, Gray.  But not all is what it seems...and Jack has to deal with consequences of actions that happened so long ago...and far into the future. 

14 March 2009


Patrick was furious with himself, even though missing the call-out wasn’t really his fault.

He’d been in the shower when his phone had rung, and he simply hadn’t heard it.  It was only Rhys pounding on his door that had alerted him that he’d missed the phone call from Ianto.

He was just glad to have gotten dressed after his shower, but then he’d been planning on meeting Eion at the local pub for a couple of pints.  So much for that, and the text he’d gotten from Eion after he’d cancelled had been breezy and understanding.

“It’s fine, mate,” Rhys tried to soothe him as he swerved his car in and out of traffic.  It was Saturday, so there weren’t as many vehicles out on the road as there might have been if it had been rush hour, but they were still breaking several traffic laws that Patrick was aware of.

“It’s not like you miss call-outs,” the Welshman went on.

“Well, it depends on who’s driving,” Patrick teased. 

“Yeah, if it was Jack behind the wheel, we’d have gotten there before the bloody alert had even come in!”

Patrick couldn’t help but laugh, because yeah…their boss’s driving was almost like flying on four wheels.  He’d once asked Ianto just how many tickets he’d had to have fixed over the years the pair had been running Torchwood, and Ianto had simply asked him if he was planning on going for the record in that delightfully deadpan way he had that reminded Patrick of his Uncle Phil.

They were heading out of town from what Patrick could tell.  He wondered just what sort of signal had brought the team out that far, because this area reminded the American of the saying Clint had once used: “Bum-Fuck Egypt”.  It seemed apt; the houses had given away to near-countryside, except for a couple of abandoned buildings that nature was doing her damnedest to reclaim.  The road was rough under the car’s tires, making Patrick glad he was wearing his seat belt.

“It should be close,” Rhys said, leaning a bit forward over the steering wheel as if that would make their destination easier to locate.  Not that it was all that difficult; the building was the only thing around, and from the looks of its condition Patrick could tell something had happened to it recently.

“Are you sure these are the right coordinates?” he asked doubtfully.  There was no sign of the SUV, and the building seemed about ready to collapse.  Certainly, the rest of the team wouldn’t be there?

“Yeah, this is what Ianto sent me.”  Rhys sounded equally frustrated as he pulled the car round to the side of the two-storey structure.  It was brick and mortar, and there was a tendril of what resembled dust drifting from one of the upstairs windows.  “They couldn’t be having a go at us, could they?”

Patrick could understand why Rhys would think that; there was simply no sign that any of the team had been out there at all. 

But there was something wrong, and not having to do with their missing friends.  Something was gnawing at Patrick’s instincts, trying to tell him something, but he couldn’t say what it was.  The moment the car was parked, he was out of the passenger side door, looking up at the damaged structure, reading the patterns of the destruction and realising just how fresh it was.

Whatever had caused the damage, it had just occurred.

Without even thinking about it, Patrick had drawn his weapon and started toward a doorway that was cluttered with fresh debris, the weight of the Glock familiar and comforting as his eyes traced the crumbling brick that had come down to block the opening.  He could hear Rhys’ shoes crunching against the gravel as his friend moved behind him, watching his back as Patrick began his exploration.

No, Ianto hadn’t been playing some sort of joke, of that Patrick was certain.  He was also sure that the team had been there, but something had happened.  Now, whether they’d been there for this attempt at demolishing the building, Patrick didn’t know.

He carefully made his way inside, leading with his gun.  The interior of the structure had been blown to hell, what had once been large concrete pillars looking like broken teeth, the parts of them still standing barely supporting the cracked floor above.  Dust tickled his nose and throat and Patrick stifled the cough that rose up in his chest.  Rhys wasn’t able to do the same; his friend cleared his throat as quietly as he could, but it was still loud in the stillness.

Suddenly, debris deeper inside the wrecked building shifted, and a flash of green scales in the gloom had Patrick stumbling over broken brick and stone, his gun going back into its holster the better to use his hands to keep his balance among the shattered pieces of the structure.

As far as he could see, the dragon looked uninjured.  The large head shook as if Ianto was trying to clear it, eyes flashing in anger as he took in his surroundings.  Those eyes locked onto Patrick’s as he and Rhys approached. 

“Sorry we’re late, Boss,” Patrick apologised as they made it to Ianto’s side.  Dust covered the usually bright scales, falling away as the dragon mantled his wings and shook himself like a reptilian dog.

Yes, he knew better than to call Ianto a reptile, but it was what that action looked like to him.

“Don’t be,” the dragon snarled angrily.  “You both would have been caught in this like the rest of us were.”

“The rest of the team?” Patrick didn’t want to think of the others under all this rubble.

“Everyone but Deborah,” Ianto confirmed.  “She was still at the Hub when we left.”

“Shit.”  This was bad.  “Explosives?”


“Bloody hell,” Rhys exclaimed. 

That was an understatement.

“We need to find them.”  Golden light surrounded the dragon, and in seconds Ianto stood there, his face angry and bleak at the same time.  “We’ll split up; Rhys, head toward the other side of the building.  Patrick, go with him.  Jack and Toshiko were down that side.  I’ll look for Owen.  Give a shout if you find them.”

The pair did as the dragon ordered, even though Patrick was surprised that Ianto hadn’t wanted to search for his mate himself, knowing that he had this weird sense of Jack’s immortality that would allow him to find the captain no matter where he was.  But Patrick knew that Jack would be fine; it was obvious they’d have to dig him out, but he’d resurrect if he’d been killed in the blast.  Toshiko, though…he was terrified for her life.  Patrick didn’t want to even consider that Tosh might be crushed somewhere under all this, or blown apart by whatever explosive had been used.  No matter what, it would be up to him to determine what sort of devices were used to cause this much destruction.  And Patrick would do it, too, in order to find out just who’d decided it was a good idea to blow up Torchwood.

“Over there!” Rhys called out, darting to the left.

Patrick went with him, seeing the familiar blue of Jack’s greatcoat amid the rubble.  Rhys got there first, and was lifting a rather large chunk of ceiling off their leader; Patrick got on the opposite side and helped heave the block away, revealing the obviously dead body underneath.

It was as if removing that kicked in Jack’s resurrection; he gasped sharply, a hand reaching out blindly toward Rhys, who took it without thought.  Jack’s frightened eyes first fastened on the Welshman, and then found Patrick’s, and the American nodded once to reassure him.

“Where’s everyone else?” Jack demanded as he began shoving away the broken stones that had buried him. 

“Ianto’s down at the other end, looking for Owen,” Patrick said, helping his boss clear the debris away.  “We haven’t found Toshiko yet.”

Once enough of the wreckage was away, Jack stood, Rhys helping pull the captain to his feet.  He caught hold of Patrick’s jacket sleeve to keep him close.  “We need to find her.”

Rhys touched the comm in his ear, and reported to Ianto that they’d found Jack, and were now hunting for Toshiko.  Together they followed Jack toward the corner, where the immortal claimed Toshiko had been when the bombs had gone off.

Patrick couldn’t help but notice it had been bombs, plural.

Jack called out to the technical genius as he clambered over fallen girders and toppled columns.  At first Patrick didn’t hear a thing, but then a small sound came to his ears; a faint whimper that had his heart beating frantically in his chest as the three of them scrambled toward that pained noise, knowing that it had to be Toshiko somewhere amid all this destruction.

The Japanese woman was trapped under a concrete column that had managed almost cover her completely.  Only her dirt-streaked face as visible underneath it, and she looked as if she was slowly being crushed under its tremendous weight.

Jack dropped beside her as Toshiko began screaming.

“It’s okay!” he shouted, his hand reaching underneath the column to stroke her cheek.  “We’re gonna get you out!”

“It’s shifting!” she cried.  “It’s going to crush me!”  The fear and panic in her voice broke Patrick’s heart.

“We’re not going to be able to get this off ourselves,” Rhys explained.  “We need dragon strength.”

“Go and get him,” Jack ordered.  “My comms’ gone; did he find Owen?”

“Not that I’ve heard,” the Welshman answered.  He put his hand on Jack’s shoulder.  “I’ll find him.”

Then he was off, leaving Patrick and Jack to try to keep Toshiko calm.  “Are you hurt anywhere that you can tell?” he asked.

“I think my arm is broken,” she gasped. A single tear tracked down her face, washing away the concrete dust that covered her pale skin.

“Owen’ll be able to patch that up in no time,” Patrick assured her.

“Ianto can get this off you,” Jack added. 

“If he gets here in time…” there was a finality in Toshiko’s voice, one that Patrick didn’t care to hear.

“Of course he will,” Jack teased.  “You think I’m gonna explain this to Kathy?  She’ll have my balls.”

That caused Toshiko to choke out a laugh, one that was filled with pain and a slight edge of hysteria.  “I do love that woman.”

“I’ve found Ianto,” Rhys said over the comms.  “I’m sending him over.  Patrick, can you come and help me with Owen?”

Patrick reported what Rhys had said.  “I’m going to help with Owen.”

Jack nodded.  “We’ll meet back outside once you and Rhys have him.”

Patrick really hated leaving Toshiko like that, but there really wasn’t anything he could do.  It would be up to Ianto to get that column off her.

And so, he turned away and began to make his way through the rubble strewn floor of the building.  About a third of the way along Ianto passed him, nodding to Patrick as he went by.  In that simple head move was a wealth of conversation; he was trusting Patrick to help Rhys and Owen, and was leaving their welfare in Patrick’s hands.

Patrick knew he’d never really feel worthy of that trust.

He managed to locate Rhys and Owen, and he stifled a shiver at what he saw.  Their medic was half-buried under small chunks of stone, arms splayed out against the smashed bricks.  He wasn’t moving; he was barely breathing, in fact, and Rhys was standing just off to the side, talking to him in a calm tone that was a fairly bad cover for the concern.

A large pane of broken glass still in its frame was angled downward from the wall; as Patrick got closer, the jagged glass shifted, sliding a good two feet toward the trapped Owen, stopping just short of falling all the way and impaling his friend.

“Shit,” Owen gasped.

Patrick silently agreed.

“We’re gonna need to yank him out of there,” Rhys told him.  “If we do it together…”

“We can get him out of there fast enough to avoid the glass,” Patrick finished.

“Bloody do something,” Owen murmured.  “I don’t reckon being a kebab is on my ‘to-do’ list today.”

Patrick could see it immediately.  All the angles and trajectories and just how precariously that missile was balanced on the shattered remains of the wall.  One wrong move and Owen would be dead.

The medic’s hand was just within reach, if Patrick could crawl just a bit closer without dislodging that dangerous, jagged pane that was threatening to fall with just the slightest movement.

There was no way Patrick was going to let that stop him.

“I’m gonna get across and grab Owen,” he said.  “Rhys, pull us back the moment I say, okay?”

The Welshman was a bit paler than usual, but he nodded once, sharply. “I’ve got you.”

Patrick smiled at him, letting his trust in his friend show in that expression.  “The next round’s on me when we get the hell out of here.”

Rhys rolled his eyes.  “Yeah, you cheap-arse.  It better be.”

Owen snorted, and Patrick just shook his head.  He really wasn’t that stingy, but Rhys’ indignation broke the heavy pall of dread that had settled over the three of them. 

Patrick moved slowly, knee settled onto the small pile of rubble just beside Owen’s outstretched hand.  He leaned forward, grasping it firmly.  “I’ve got you,” he assured the trapped man. 

“And I’ve got you,” Rhys said.  Patrick felt an arm snug around his waist, and he relaxed into that grip.

“On my mark.”  Owen’s hand was slightly shaking, the palm damp.  Patrick wrapped his fingers more tightly around the medic’s, making certain he wouldn’t lose his grip.  “One…” He took a deep breath, trying to ignore that creaking mass of glass over their heads.  “Two…”  If this didn’t work…no, he couldn’t think that. 


With every bit of strength he had, Patrick pulled.



'nough said.
You say that now... *laughs maniacally*