Title: The Eye of Neith (2/10)
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 

            Jack sat comfortably ensconced in a corner of his favorite sofa, watching Ianto show Isabella Branciforte around the flat.  It was…educational…to see Ianto with someone from his past.  Once upon a time, Ianto would have changed himself to fit the circumstances.  Now, it was all one seamless thing, a personality, not a persona.  Ianto was Ianto, and Jack realized he was falling in love all over again, more, deeper, differently, with this man.

 

            He wondered exactly what had brought Isabella Branciforte to Cardiff.

 

            Unlike Ianto, Jack was not ready to accept the lady at face value.  Over the years, Jack had cultivated the reputation of being what the Victorians had called a ‘man of action’. He knew exactly the impression he made when he barged in past police barricades, coat swinging dramatically, keeping the focus on himself rather than on his people and their often inexplicable equipment.  He could measure to the last milligram how much obnoxious brashness would push some UNIT martinet into revealing more than he wanted to, the same way he could judge the exact combination of boyish charm and lethal force that would imprint in witnesses’ brains the image he wanted them to remember.  Few people realized there was something underneath the façade, and fewer still wanted to take the chance of looking.

 

            Until this evening, Jack would have sworn on a stack of Bibles that there was only one being in the Universe who could see past the façade as if it wasn’t there.

 

            Isabella Branciforte was terrifying.  Not that you could tell by her appearance: she looked to be in her mid-forties (Jack, from vast experience, added maybe a half-dozen more years), petite, curvy in that Sophia Loren sort of way that would make males of most sentient species sit up and beg, lovely dark hair gathered into a classic chignon, and an amazingly kissable mouth. It wasn’t the personality, either.  The lady was charming, amusing, witty, all those things he had expected from Ianto’s description.

 

            It was the eyes. Deep, so dark that the pupils disappeared into the irises, and full of secrets and knowledge.

           

            Isabella Branciforte had the eyes of a Time Lord.

 

            Jack grinned.  He had loved a Time Lord (or two, depending on how you counted), had survived another, and had briefly met a third.  He had rescued a TARDIS from captivity and slept in her embrace.  He was over two thousand years old, and his time of worshipping or fearing Time Lords was long past. Bring it on, lady.  This time I’m fighting.

 

            “A wise man once said that a man that laughs when he is alone is sharing a joke with either God or the Devil.” The smooth contralto, with its perfect BBC diction softened by an Italian drawl, was one of the sexiest things Jack had ever heard. “Which is it with you, Captain Harkness?”

 

            He raised his wineglass to her mockingly. “Jack, please. And that’s a very limiting dichotomy.  Sometimes, one is just remembering the past and making decisions about the future.”

 

            “Ah. And your decisions merit laughter?”

 

            “Often, professora Branciforte.  Often.” He gave her his best Jack-is-thinking-of-storming-the-gates-of-hell smile. “A little more wine?”

 

            “Isabella, please.  Yes, that would be lovely.”

 

            “Excuse me.”  Ianto’s tone could have frozen a nuclear explosion in mid-blow.  “If we are quite finished with the pissing contest, I would like to know exactly what is going on.”

 

            Jack winced.  Ianto’s talent for cutting through the bullshit had only improved with age.  He was amused to realize that Isabella was wearing a female version of his own sheepish expression.

 

            “Sorry, Ianto.”  It came out yaantu, Jack noticed, in a very bedroomy and possessive tone.  The lady was not finished yet, by a long shot.  “My apologies, Jack.”

 

            “Same here.  Ianto’s right.  We should be concentrating on your problem.”

 

            Ianto pointed at one of the two leather club chairs flanking the fireplace. “Bella. Sit. No, don’t open your mouth. Yet.”

 

            He sat down next to Jack, and Jack made a desperate effort to keep the triumph from showing.

 

            “Ianto…”

           

            “No. You’re a venetian, and venetians can talk the hind legs off a pace of donkeys and never say a blessed thing, especially when they are trying to avoid the subject, and you, Bella cara, are trying to avoid the subject. I am going to ask questions and you are going to answer them as if you were a Denbigh farmer dealing with Inland Revenue.” He grinned at her raised eyebrows.  “Short and to the point.  First. What are you doing in Cardiff?”

 

            “I was asked by Alexander Davies to authenticate a new purchase.”

 

            “The frozen butty king?” Jack asked.

 

            “Yes. We met at Cambridge.  He was studying Archaeology also, but his father died suddenly and left an unholy mess behind. The money was all gone.  Alex had to quit school and figure out a way to support his family.  When he was in a position to do so, he started collecting.”

 

            “As far as you know, was the acquisition legal?”

 

            “Alex is the kind of collector archaeologists love.  Ethical and generous.  He has funded several of my digs and there were never any irregularities.”  She looked troubled. “Still, I can’t figure out how he got his hands on this.”

 

            “On what?”  Ianto growled as Isabella’s eyes flickered to Jack.  “Bella, Jack is my partner, and he was once my boss, and I’ve trusted him with my life more times than I can count.  If you can’t deal with us…”

 

            “No!  It’s… not that.” She looked at Jack directly.  “When I found out Ianto was back here, I did a little investigating.  You are some sort of government agent.”

 

            “Not the kind that would go after your friend for illegal trading in artifacts.’  Jack said.  “Not this kind of artifact, anyway.”

 

            “Very well.”  She nodded, satisfied. “It’s the Eye of Neith.”

 

            “Bella!”

 

             “I know, I know, but Alexander sent photos, including some very clear close-ups. If it is not authentic, then someone has gone to a lot of time and trouble. More than it’s usual with forgers.”

 

            “Neith is an Egyptian goddess, right?” Jack smirked at the shocked looks sent his way.  “What? I don’t sleep much.  I’ve got a lot of time to read.”

 

            “I don’t think it’s wise to underestimate you, Jack,” said Isabella.  “Indeed, Neith is one of the oldest and most powerful goddesses.  In some of the oldest records she is addressed as the mother and father of creation.  She is variously described as the mother of Ra the sun god and Sobek the crocodile god, and as the protector of Osiris. Her emblem appears in the name of several queens of the first dynasty.”

 

            “And this Eye thing?”

 

            “There is an obscure legend that says Neith gave pharaoh Menes a pectoral made out of pure silver, shaped like an eye.  It was supposed to give the pharaohs the ability to see into the future.  At least that’s what we think the phrase means.” She shrugged. “It translates literally as ‘mind travel’. It was meant to be kept away from commoners’ eyes.  Only a select group of Neith’s priests could handle it and only the pharaohs could wear it.”

 

            “It’s considered the Egyptian equivalent of the Holy Grail, and with about as much acceptance in serious archaeological circles,” said Ianto.

 

            “And you think someone is trying to kill you because of it?”

 

            “I don’t know what else it could be! I’m in a competitive field, Jack, and once in a while we threaten to kill each other, but the weapons of choice are usually sarcastic comments in the letters section of peer-reviewed journals.” She tossed back the last of her wine.  “All I know is, two days after I told Alex I was on my way to Cardiff, someone carved a nice big hole on the stern of my motorboat.  Then, someone tried to push me in front of the train at the Rusell Square station in London.”

 

            “Could either one have been an accident?”

 

            “No.  The motorboat had just been serviced; I live in Venice, these things are carefully managed.  I felt hands on my shoulder blades before I stumbled in the train station.  If it had not been for some nice boys that pulled me back you would have been attending my funeral.”

 

            “Ok, then.  We assume there’s someone who really would prefer that you don’t get too close to the Eye of Neith.  If it’s a fake, it’s more likely the forger.  If it’s real…”

 

            “If it’s real” Ianto said “all bets are off.  The Eye of Neith would have all the vultures swooping in.  When are you supposed to meet with Davies?”

 

            “Tomorrow morning.”

 

            Jack and Ianto traded a brief look.

 

            “You’ll stay tonight in our guest room,” Ianto said. “We’ll go with you tomorrow to the meeting.”

 

            “Or you could just call it a day,” Jack murmured. “And go back to Venice.”

 

            Isabella looked down her nose at him.  “Do you really think I would do that?”

 

            Jack laughed. 

 

            “I would have been greatly disappointed if you had.” He stood up, stretching. “I’m off to bed and leave you to catch up.  See you tomorrow.”

 

            After a quick shower, Jack searched through Ianto’s half of the bedroom bookcase until he found what he expected to find, then, stripping off his towel, settled down to read in bed.  About forty minutes later Ianto walked in.

 

            “Feminine Power in the Egyptian Pantheon. Bella would be pleased.”

 

            “I figured you would have copies of her work.”

 

            Ianto walked into the bathroom, then reemerged a little later as bare-assed as Jack was.

 

            “Hello, gorgeous.” Jack set the book aside and pulled up the duvet enticingly. “Come here.”

 

            Ianto slid into bed and wrapped his arms around Jack’s chest.  “Now I know why you were so set on this place.”

 

            Jack, who was happily engaged in placing a string of nipping kisses from Ianto’s neck to his shoulder, only replied with an inquiring mmmm?

 

            ‘The guest room is on the other side of the flat.”