Title: The Eye of Neith (3/10)
Author: Emma
Characters/Pairings: Jack, Ianto, Gwen, Rhys, Martha, Andy, John Hart; Jack/Ianto, mentions of past others
Rating: R, maybe
Disclaimer: Oh, please. If I owned them, would I let some of those idiots write the scripts? And if I were making any money off them, would I be where they could find me?
Spoilers: None. Takes place twenty or so years after Series 2 ends.
Summary: Torchwood’s past and Ianto’s future collide when Ianto’s former lover arrives in Cardiff asking for help…

Homecoming is here
Part one is here
Part two is here 

“Well,” Jack said mildly.  “That can’t be good.”

 

            Ianto nodded.  In the passenger seat beside him, Isabella gave a muted little bleat of distress before settling back into her usual imperturbable self. One thing to be said for aristocratic ladies of Bella’s stamp; what must be faced is faced without dramatics.

 

            They had left Cardiff early in the morning.  Alexander Davies’s house was a converted farm house a few miles outside the city.  The property was hidden from the main road by a tall hedge that had been allowed to grow wild, and the access road wound through mature woodlands.  It wasn’t until the sturdy collection of stone buildings clustered around a central courtyard came into view that they realized something out of the ordinary was happening.

 

            The place was crawling with police.

 

            Ianto maneuvered the SUV through the parked sedans.  Even through he wasn’t driving the hulking Torchwood monster, the sight of Jack in the back seat drew some sullen looks and a flurry of calls on police radios.

 

            “There’s a small parking area by the old stables…”Isabella pointed. “There.”

 

            Ianto parked the car.  They got out and Jack and Ianto followed Isabella to the front steps of the main house, all three ignoring the mutters wafting their way.  The door swung open even before they had a chance to ring the doorbell.

 

            “Harkness.  What the hell do you think you’re doing here?”

 

            The man blocking the entrance was big and beefy, with violent red hair and obviously a temper to match.  He was so much a caricature of an American film cop -- a caricature of a caricature -- that Ianto found it hard to keep a straight face.

 

            Before Jack could say anything, Isabella stepped in.  “I am professor Branciforte.  I have an appointment with Mr. Davies. These gentlemen are with me.”  She brushed past the gawping policeman.  “Please inform Mrs. Bolton that we have arrived.”

 

            Ianto was familiar with Isabella’s ability to short-circuit the thinking processes of officious bureaucrats, but he was amused by Jack’s reaction.

 

            “Wow.”

 

            “She tangles with Egyptian antiquities council officials for a living,” Ianto murmured. “A Cardiff cop is a babe in arms by comparison.”

 

            Isabella looked at the policeman.  “Mrs. Bolton.  At once, please.”

 

            They watched with barely concealed amusement as the hapless man tromped away down the back corridor.

 

            “Good God,” Isabella giggled. “Where did they find him? Central casting?”

 

            “London,” said Jack. “He’s actually quite a good cop, but he can’t handle much out of the ordinary.”

 

            “And you like to drive him crazy?”

 

            Jack shrugged. “Passes the time.”

 

            Ianto heard the sharp rap of heels on stone as a woman emerged from the doors at the end of the passage.  She was tall and spare, and looked to be in her fifties.  She waved her arms wildly as she moved, keeping up a running commentary on all things unsuitable, mainly, it seemed, the Cardiff police.

 

            “Honestly, the man is daft.  As if we kept a list of cat burglars just in case, I ask you! And I’m going to have to talk to Mrs. Williams about the eggs, not the right quality at all, and all those policemen trampling through the daffodil beds, I ask you…” She seemed to run out of steam as she reached them.  “Professor Banciforte.  So nice to see you again.”

 

            “And you, Mrs. Bolton.  Is everything all right?”

 

            “Someone tried to break in last night, can you imagine? They didn’t get anywhere, of course, not with all the alarms and sensors and whatnots but it’s really unsettling for poor Mr. Davies…Well, no matter.  You are here and that will make him feel much better, I’m sure.” She cast a look in Jack and Ianto’s direction.  “And these gentlemen are…”

 

            “Captain Jack Harkness, ma’am,” said Jack, capturing one of her hands in mid-flight and raising it to his lips. ‘It’s a pleasure.”

 

            “Jack,” warned Isabella.

 

            “What? I was just saying hello!”

 

            “I don’t mind, professor.”  Mrs. Bolton’s cheeks had shaded a delightful pink.

 

            “And this is Mr. Jones.”

 

            “Pleasure, I’m sure, sir. Mr. Davies is waiting for you in his office.  This way.”

 

            They followed her down a second passageway.  Ianto kept looking around, wondering what kind of collector Alexander Davies was.  Usually, collectors displayed their treasures -- the legal ones anyway -- for the admiration of visitors.  They got a charge out of the admiration and envy of competitors. The Davies house was different.  It was the most resolutely Welsh house Ianto had ever seen. From furniture to paintings, vases to rugs, it was all top quality local craft.  There was no sign that a world-famous collector lived there.

 

            He got his answers as Mrs. Bolton ushered them into the study.  Windowless, the four walls were lined with shelves filled with books and artifacts.  The desk was piled high with papers.  In his own way Davies was a scholar, not just a collector.

 

            “Bella.”  The man himself stood to meet them. “Welcome. Coffee? Tea? No? Mrs. Bolton, that will be all, thank you.” 

 

            He ushered them to a small sitting area in an alcove.  “Please sit down.  And what does Torchwood want with me?”

 

            Jack groaned. “I’m going to have to take the name off the SUV.”

 

            Davies roared.  He was a huge man in every sense of the word: body, voice, gestures. “Too late, captain Harkness. Torchwood is as much a part of Cardiff as the Millennium Centre.  But why are you here?”

 

            “Jack and Ianto are here as my friends, Alex,” said Bella.  “There’s been two attempts on my life in the past six weeks.  They are serving as bodyguards.”

 

            Davies cursed. “I was afraid of that.  I’ve gotten several very nasty phone calls, and last night someone tried to break in.”

 

            “Alex, how did you get the Eye?”

 

            “Someone called and said it was for sale.  Usually I don’t listen to that sort of proposal but Bella, he showed it to me! I thought, if there’s a chance it’s real… it was stupid, I know, but I said yes.  He wasn’t even asking for much, but he said he just wanted to get the hell away.”

 

            “How much did he want?”

 

            “A hundred thousand. We made the exchange in London and I brought the Eye here.”  He walked to one of the shelves and retrieved a large velvet-covered box. “If it’s the real thing, I’ll arrange to have it returned to Egypt. It belongs there.”

 

            He placed the box on the coffee table in front of them.  The box was big, maybe two feet to the side, Ianto estimated.  A cartouche containing a Pharaoh’s crown and two crossed arrows was embroidered in gold thread on the velvet. Davies opened the box to reveal another box, this one of plain cedar wood coated with a protective resin. Inside that box there was a papyrus bundle.  Davies removed it from the box and set it on the table next to it. Once unfolded, the papyrus revealed a second bundle, this one made of funerary linen bands.

 

            Ianto realized that he was holding his breath.  Jack and Bella were both leaning forward, staring at Davies’s hands as he reverently folded back the bands to display the object underneath.

 

            The pectoral gleamed cold silver in the artificial light.  The central eye was supported on either side by bas-relief plaques showing the goddess, both wearing a Pharaoh’s crown, one holding a cobra, the other a pair of arrows.  Both were standing on the backs of crocodiles. The eye itself was inlaid with two red disks.  The inner one, representing the pupil, was blood-dark; the outer one, the iris, was much lighter and studded with thousands of gold flecks.  Red stones also made up the goddesses’ eyes and were inset in small plaques decorating the thick chain holding the pectoral.

 

            “Oh my god.”

 

            The shock in Jack’s voice had Ianto’s head whipping around. Jack’s face was bloodless, and his hand shook as he extended it to touch the silvery metal. The moment he touched it he snatched his hand back, shivering as he rubbed his fingers against his trousers.

 

            “Jack? What’s wrong?”

 

            Jack touched Ianto’s hand, fingers moving rapidly; their old private signal that would seem a simple gesture of affection to an observer.

 

            “Jack,” Bella  asked, “you seem to recognize this?”

 

            “Not the pectoral.”  Jack took a deep breath. “The metal. It’s very rare.”

 

            “I’ll say.”  Davies nodded. “It’s neither gold nor silver, or any combination of them that I can identify.  Every test I did came back negative.”

 

            “It’s unlikely that there’s a test for it,” Jack said.  “I’ve only seen it once before.  It has some very peculiar properties.”

 

            “It looks cold,” Ianto said. “The stones, though… they are beautiful.”

 

            He reached out and brushed his fingers across the pupil stone.  Force slammed him back as it poured through his hand.  It seized his consciousness, pulling him along for millennia and light years, past a place of burnt orange skies and bright silver trees, where a second sun rose in the south and made snow-capped mountains gleam … and past that, to a place that was everywhere and nowhere, where a Great Purpose fashioned Her tools, Her weapons, Her children-soldiers that would fight for the hopes of all beings against the great darkness: the Eternal Storm and the Immortal with Two Futures … and past that, into the heart of Time itself  where mortals were not supposed to thread … and for a moment he glimpsed endings and beginnings too immense to comprehend.

 

            *Go back, child. The time of passing is not yet*

 

            And he plummeted back into his own body to see Jack, Bella, and Davies looking at him in horror, and he clung to Jack’s arms as everything went black.