itle: The Queen's Magicians: The Concealed Ones (3/4)
Author: Emma
Characters: Jack Harkness, Ianto Jones, the Doctor, others
Rating: Starts PG, but hey, it’s got Jack and Ianto in it
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?
Summary: An apocalyptic cult is trying to hasten the end of the world but when Torchwood steps in, it finds much more than it expected. This takes the place of Dead Man Walking
Author's Note: The Book of Enoch (and Penemue), and the Book of Revelations (and the White Horse) have caused endless theological debate. I don't care, I just borrow. And there is such a demon as Andras: http://www.occultopedia.com/a/andras.htm. Jack's relatives, I ask you!

Part one is here; Part two is here

Jack tapped Neumann's shoulder. “Don't worry, Calev. He won't try anything here.” He took Ianto's hand. “Ianto, this is my half-brother Andras. Andrainanyas, this is my affianced husband, Ianto Jones.”

“His only half-brother as of last year.” The smile was so much like Jack's that, for a brief moment, Ianto felt his heartbeat speed up. “For which a great many of us give you thanks. Abbadon was getting out of hand, even by our standards.”

“Why are you here, Andras?”

“This case you’re working on is making waves.” Andras said, motioning them to the table and waiting until everyone was seated. “The Powers That Be are not amused by this little group trying to speed up the time table for Armageddon. The old man has sent his own agents to look for them.”

“And you are helping us out of the goodness of your heart?” Jack looked back at Neumann. “You have some interesting contacts, Calev.”

Ianto winced at the sarcasm in Jack’s voice. He was still staring at Andras, and he saw the lovely gray-gold eyes grow dull and unfocused. Ianto gasped as he caught a glimpse of a vast and ancient pain.

“My apologies,” Andras said, touching Ianto's arm slightly. “It is not something mortals should endure.” He turned to Jack. “I'm tired, brother. I'm tired and I want to go home.”

The meaning of those simple words took a few moments to sink in, and when they did, Ianto couldn't help gasping again. “You want to reconcile with... But I thought...”

“That our Fall was absolute and eternal?” Andras gestured to one of the waiters with the familiarity of a valued customer. “Under most circumstances it is. There is an escape clause, though. Tiny, almost impossible to achieve, and the price of failure is...” He hesitated briefly and then went on. “But it can be done.”

“What is the price?” Jack asked flatly.

Andras closed his eyes. “Unmaking.”

Ianto was staggered by the word. The beings the peoples of the Book called angels and demons supposedly partook of the nature of God himself. They could be vanquished, but not destroyed, except by God himself – a horrific obliteration that left no trace of them, not even an echo of their existence.

“How?” he blurted out, then waved his hand as if trying to push the word away. “How do you go back? Start doing good works and hope He notices?”

Andras laughed, nodding to the approaching waiter. “Not quite. Ah, Giovanni, old friend, what do you have for us today?”

“For a starter, freshly baked focaccia with rosemary-infused olive oil, for a main course linguini alla puttanesca, and a dessert of pastiera napolitana. Bene?”

“Molto bene, grazie.” He waited until the waiter placed the bread and olive oil on the table and departed. “To go back to your question, Ianto. I may call you Ianto? It's not that easy. There are formalities. I can't...”

“Give over,” growled Neumann, tearing a piece of bread and dipping it in the oil. “It anyone can be trusted it's these two.”

Andras snorted. “On your own head be it. The repentant angel must find a sponsor. A very specific sort of sponsor.” He laughed as Neumann managed to growl again around a mouthful of bread. “All right, fine. The angel must find a Nistarim that will believe him.”

Jack and Ianto both turned to look at Neumann, who shrugged. “Yes, I am a Nistarim.” He caught the look that passed between Jack and Ianto. “You're very good at that, you know. Whole conversations without saying a word. I did tell you the ancient stories were garbled.”

“At the beginning,” Andras explained, “the Lord set a number of his angels to watch over mortals. They were called Irin, the Watchers.”

“And the sons of God saw the daughters of men, that they were beautiful; and they took wives for themselves of all whom they chose.” Jack quoted. “If I go back to look through my copy of the Book of Enoch, would I find your name, Calev?”

“On the second list, not the first.” Calev sighed. “My true name is Penemue.”

Jack laughed. “Ianto, may I introduce your... well, I was going to say patron saint, but that's not quite right. Guardian angel? Reputedly Penemue taught us reading, writing, herbal medicine...”

Andras held up a hand. “Here's our lunch.”

They waited in silence as Giovanni put large plates of pasta redolent of garlic, capers, pepper, and oregano in front of them. Ianto took one bite and immediately noticed that the sharp tang of anchovies was missing.

“You're a vegetarian?” he asked Andras.

“It’s... part of the process of learning to understand humanity. Eating, smelling, touching. An angel’s sensory inputs are completely different from yours. But enjoying flesh...” he shuddered. “I don’t know I’ll ever manage that.”

Jack sipped at his wine, then settled back, hands under his chin, fingertips touching. “One last question, Calev. If I remember correctly, God destroyed all your children. Why are you helping Him?”

“Not all our children were destroyed. We managed to hide some of them among the mortals. Then came the war. We stayed neutral.”

“Not quite,” Andras interjected. “They did not take sides but they fought to protect mortals. Made them very unpopular with both sides. When it was all over, there were only thirty-six Irin left.”

“And God made you an offer you couldn't refuse?” Ianto asked drily.

Neumann and Andras both chuckled. “Something like that,” Neumann said. “He offered us the job of guarding humanity. In exchange, our surviving children would be allowed to live unmolested. Our blood lines would pass into the human population.”

“And part of the job was dealing with repentant demons.” Jack turned towards his brother. “I am sure our sire is not happy about these developments. Or have you managed to keep it from him?”

Andras toasted him before taking a sip of his wine. “So far. Not much longer, though, I don’t think.”

The resignation in Andras’s voice made Ianto want to cry. He realized that it was just the angelic presence magnifying his emotions – all Presences had that effect on humans, though most were considerate and tamped it down – but there was also the almost human hopelessness. If part of Andras's redemption was to experience human emotions in the same way that he had to experience human sensory inputs, the poor bastard was in for one hell of a ride.

Dessert appeared, warm, smelling of oranges. Ianto took a bite and closed his eyes to enjoy the sudden burst of cheese and the delicate taste of wheat berries. When he opened his eyes he found Andras watching him with a smile.

“That was my first food. Calev brought me here and we had pastiera napolitana and coffee. I kept it down for as long as it took me to run downstairs and out to the bay. Then I was vilely sick. Quite an experience.” He took a bite of his own pastry and savored it. “It's my favorite.”

Ianto snorted, and suddenly everyone burst into laughter; the very idea of a being of such power being unable to keep butter pastry, cheese and wheat berries down struck them as hilarious. Finally, Calev managed to get himself back under control.

“So what's the story on this bunch, Andras?” Calev poured himself more coffee. “And how did you find out?”

“I ran into Raguel a few days ago.”

Ianto realized that the name meant something to both Jack and Calev, because they both sat up as if they had been poked with a hot needle. “Raguel?”

“Our brother whose job it is to bring the rest of us Angels to account for our deeds.” Andras explained. “God's Justice on the First Born. The angel of oh-shit-he-found-me-out. I had a few bad moments, but it seems that the heavenly internet is a little faster than the one we use, because he was actually quite cordial. He told me that there were rumours of a group calling themselves Servants of the White Horse who had decided to take a hand at Apocalypsing. If that's even a word.”

“The White Horse?” Jack said slowly, as if trying to find a secret meaning in the three words. “We seem to keep coming back to John of Patmos.”

Calev hummed to himself. “So it seems. Was that all he said?”

“He suggested in a very offhand way that I tell you. But there was something about the way he looked that reminded me of the good old days when he and I used to do a little hunting together.”

“You think he was looking for someone?”

“I'd bet my left wing on it.”

Ianto stared past the others towards the blue-gray water beyond the railing and the old wooden piers rotting away in the salt. Rain clouds were rolling in, as they did almost every afternoon this time of year. He frowned. The clouds looked somehow wrong, and their scent was of burning leaves rather than lightning and ozone. He extended his Dark Sense fully, letting the ecosystem energies flow inside. He had tried to explain to Tosh once how it felt, and he had managed only a few stuttering sentences before throwing up his hands and swearing a blue streak in Welsh. Tosh had giggled herself into a fit of hiccups, but had understood the basic impossibility of verbalizing what was at its center, simply and terrifyingly, a way of becoming.

“Something is wrong.” His tongue flickered over his lips. “Everything's... off. The sea tastes like metal. The air is burning.” He grabbed Jack's hand. “The ecosystem is being contaminated. Disease.”

“The Time is here, then,” whispered Andras.

“The Time is not yet,” riposted Calev. “You know it as all the First Born know it, whether we praise or curse. There is an order to these things, and this is wrong!”

Ianto twinned his fingers with Jack's. “How do we stop it?”

The two Fallen Angels looked at each other. Finally Calev said reluctantly. “I don't think there's a way, other than finding the Servants and stopping them.”

Jack shook his head. “If we assume,” he said, his voice assuming a sing-song pattern Ianto had never heard before, but which made Calev and Andras smile, “that all the Nistarim are still alive, then someone is infecting the Ecosystem in advance. And Raguel is hunting for someone.”

“You're positing that there's a traitor in Heaven!” Calev protested.

“I am.. “Jack grinned suddenly and the effect was like the sun coming out after a long dark night. “And what one Presence can do another can counter.”

Andras snorted. “Whoever is doing this is very powerful indeed, brother mine. Those of us who Fell, whether our father's followers, or those like Penemue, have had our power limited by our Sundering. He might be an angel of healing, but he can't do this.”

“Not alone, no. But back in my Hub I have an avatar of Miach, the Tuatha lord of healing. What about it, Calev? Want some help?”