Risk Assessment Part 1

Risk a.s.sessment.

by James Goss.

With apologies to Little Dorrit

Acknowledgements

Miss Havisham respectfully presents her compliments to Mr Davies, Mr Tribe and Mr Russell, while gratefully acknowledging the a.s.sistance of Miss Raynor, Miss Seaborne, Mr Lidster and Mr Binding.

She also tenders her sincerest grat.i.tude to Mr Minchin for the loan of the speedboat.

I.

THE EVENING.

OF A LONG DAY.

In which the events of last night are recounted, the seventh seal is broken, and our heroes encounter something quite remarkable Jack, Gwen and Ianto stood in the Torchwood Hub, looking at the coffin. All around them, the vast s.p.a.ce clicked and groaned as the storm raged outside. It had been a long night.

Jack reached out to touch the coffin, then drew back his hand and shook his head grimly. 'This is bad,' he said. 'Very, very bad.'

At that point, alarms went off. Red lights pulsed angrily, sirens whooped, and deep within Torchwood chimed the striking of a very old bell.

'But not that bad!' Jack protested, reacting in terror. 'No! No! No! No!'

It's a pity no one could remember who'd owned the buildings before they had been an air force base. But they had gone valiantly through two world wars, survived a few grim decades as a private airstrip, and finally they had become an industrial estate. But they had always contained a large amount of storage, which had long ago been unhappily converted into the Swindon Self-U-Store.

People kept a lot of things there from furniture they'd never need through to books they'd never read. Old carpets came and went. Exercise bikes piled up like abandoned dreams. But, through all that time, no one had ever opened the door of Storage Unit Seven. Well, there'd never been a need.

And now, with the distant striking of an ancient alarm bell, the door opened with a gentle creak, and a figure stepped out into the harshly lit corridor. It was the figure of an immaculately dressed Victorian lady properly attired from her well-polished boots through to her neatly tied hat. She looked around herself with grim approval and, hoisting her skirts up as far as decorum would allow, made her way gingerly along the dank corridor towards an area labelled Reception Reception.

At the desk, nodding with late-night fatigue, a fat man in an orange fleece slept through a news channel. For a moment, the woman paused, watching the screen with a mixture of fascination and disapproval. And then she tapped the man smartly on the shoulder. Startled, he woke up, blinking, and looked at her.

'Good morning,' she said, crisply. 'I would like to know two things, if you please.'

He rubbed at his eyes and struggled to focus on her. 'Where've you come from?' he demanded. 'It's 3 a.m.!'

'I know that,' she said, smiling politely. 'But I would very much like to know the year.'

Without thinking, he told her it was 2009. She nodded with mild interest and tilted her head to one side.

'And might I trouble you for a copy of Bradshaw's railway timetable?' She started to look mildly bored.

He got as far as opening a drawer before realising that they didn't own such a thing as a railway timetable.

'It's of little consequence,' she sighed. 'There's unlikely to be a service until dawn. No matter. Thank heavens I have my Little Dorrit Little Dorrit.' And then she expertly knocked him unconscious and strode out of the Self-U-Store and towards the railway station.

An hour later, she guiltily crept back in and stole his wallet.

It had all been a bit of an anticlimax, really, thought Gwen as she coasted over the last speed b.u.mp on the way to work. After the horror of the last few days, the alarms last night had seemed like some absurd warning of doom. She'd been expecting explosions, fireworks or the imminent launch of Thunderbird Two Thunderbird Two. But, after less than a minute, they had just stopped, the bells ringing out like a missed call.

Jack, hands clamped round his head, had straightened up sheepishly and realised Gwen and Ianto were staring at him.

'What,' Gwen asked, more sharply than she meant, 'was that?'

Jack laughed nervously. Which wasn't like him at all. 'Oh...' He windmilled his arms around. 'False alarm. Hey, it was nothing.' He looked as casual as a politician caught in Jeremy Paxman's headlights.

Ianto clearly wasn't convinced either. 'I take it that was some kind of warning system?'

'You think?' Gwen was oddly charmed by this.

Ianto nodded. 'But what's it for, Jack?'

Jack jammed his hands in his pockets and, for an instant, looked as though he was about to start whistling. 'Ummm. An obsolete failsafe. That's all. Redundant. Yeah. Defunct. Out of date. Past its sell-by date. We'll unhook it tomorrow. Hock it on eBay.'

He realised his friends were staring at him. Decidedly unconvinced. He looked down at his boots.

'Look,' he mumbled actually mumbled 'It's not like we need some flashy system to tell us we're in trouble. We know that. But we're handling it. And the bells and whistles it's all extra stress we don't need.' He shrugged, and tried out a low-voltage Harkness grin. 'Don't worry it's as outdated as Nana Mouskouri. If there was any danger, I'd let you know. Now both of you go home. Ianto don't tidy up. Just leave it. Gwen see that man of yours, find out if he's grown a beard. And get some rest. See you back here in the morning.'

He smiled. And the smile stuck like a greasy egg in an old frying pan.

Well, it was the next day now, and the world still hadn't ended. It was raining heavily, one of those grey Cardiff days when the sun's elsewhere. Gwen parked the car and stumped down into work, feeling the wind bite into her. She glanced nervously out to sea. She knew what was out there, and she knew how dangerous it was.

Rhys had sensed her mood and kept well back that morning. He'd been artificially bright, making tea and quiet conversation like they'd had an enormous row. She'd reached across and hugged him before she left for work. His face fell.

'Gwen,' he'd said. 'You look so sad.'

And she'd nearly cried. 'I know.'

She had to give him credit for being the sensitive husband while also guilt-tripping her into the middle of next week.

'You won't tell me what it's about, will you?' he'd said, eyes flicking away.

'No. No, I won't,' she'd replied. 'I'm too scared.'

She grabbed something hot and bacony from one of the shops in the Bay, smothering the white bread in ketchup. A little bit of cheap heaven on a wet morning in Cardiff. On an impulse, she nipped back into the shop and got two more bacon rolls. A little treat for the boys. The last few days had been so grim.

And with that, she walked into Torchwood.

Of course, had Gwen been looking in the other direction, she'd have seen something quite remarkable striding past Tesco. But no, she missed it completely.

With less than a quarter of an hour to go until something quite remarkable happened, the Hub looked as ordinary as a vast underground base could. A bit cold, a nip of damp in the air like a stately home, lights twinkling from workstations. Ianto was pottering around, making noise and coffee. Jack was prowling in his office. In the corner, Gwen could see the coffin. Jack had covered it with a big old velvet drape. It looked like Dracula's tomb. Not helping, she thought.

She handed out the bacon rolls. They took them wordlessly. Ianto carefully, neatly unwrapped his. Jack just started tearing into his, savagely.

I wonder when he's last eaten, she thought. she thought. And I know he says he doesn't really sleep, but he looks like he could do with crawling under a duvet and staying there all weekend. And I know he says he doesn't really sleep, but he looks like he could do with crawling under a duvet and staying there all weekend.

Weekend? G.o.d, what day was it? Gwen thought about this, and didn't even have an answer. She was just so tired and miserable. The last week had been so stressful, living in a constant state of suspense, and too worried to even tell Rhys. She was shattered. They all were. How much longer would this go on for?

Jack and Ianto weren't speaking, she noticed. They were tiptoeing round each other. Almost like... no, they had had had a row. And that was another sign of how mad things were. Jack and Ianto never rowed. s.h.a.gged like rabbits, occasionally shot at each other, but never actual couple-y things like a row. Blimey. She toyed with ringing up Martha. For a chat, a pre-wedding gossip, something boring and normal. had a row. And that was another sign of how mad things were. Jack and Ianto never rowed. s.h.a.gged like rabbits, occasionally shot at each other, but never actual couple-y things like a row. Blimey. She toyed with ringing up Martha. For a chat, a pre-wedding gossip, something boring and normal.

Jack strode away towards his office, wiping the bacon fat off onto a fistful of naval charts. He started making angry little pencil scribbles in the margins.

Gwen gave Ianto a sympathetic glance.

'He's frightened, isn't he?'

'Aren't you?' Ianto was talking with his mouth full. Another sign of the end of the world.

'I feel so helpless. All that work, and now we can't really do anything. Except wait for the worst to happen.'

Ianto nodded. And then he leant over, confidentially. 'We need a bit of a break, I think. There's nothing we can really do, is there? I was wondering about bunking off.'

'What?' Gwen laughed, and then shushed herself like she was in a library. 'Like nip up to the Red Dragon and watch a nice romantic comedy?'

'Or bowling,' considered Ianto. 'I mean, we could do that. But I was wondering about a Weevil hunt. There's a couple out in the sewers.'

Gwen grinned. 'After all this, yes. That would be so b.l.o.o.d.y normal.'

'Normal?' boomed Jack. He stood over them, smiling. Much like his old self. 'I never do normal.'

And that's when the invisible lift above them swung into action.

They all stared up, aghast. They were the only people in Cardiff who knew that if you stepped on a certain slab in a certain way, complicated machinery under the water tower would lower you down into the heart of Torchwood.

But the lift had opened. Rain was pouring in. They all ran forward. For an instant, Gwen had an absurd notion of a startled j.a.panese tourist, snapping excitedly away as they came down. But the reality was far, far stranger.

All of them stood there, open-mouthed, as the lift revealed its pa.s.senger.

Standing on the lift's stone slab was an elegant woman dressed in elaborate Victorian clothes. She was holding a parasol and a carpet bag, and she had fixed them all with a prim, complacent smile. She appeared unconcerned by the speed of the lift. She just looked completely at ease, like Mary Poppins' posher sister. In control. She seemed totally at home in the Hub.

Behind her, Gwen heard Jack use a word. It was, she thought, the very last word she'd ever imagine him using. It just didn't seem like him. But it was short, and rude and surprisingly blunt.

As the lift came to the bottom with a smooth click, the woman... no, the lady lady strode forward, reaching out a gloved hand to Jack. strode forward, reaching out a gloved hand to Jack.

'Harkness,' she said crisply. 'My compliments on still being here. Am I to take it that you are now in charge?'

Jack nodded. 'Like a bad penny, ma'am.' He sounded grim. But also... afraid?

The woman looked around her and fixed her eyes on Gwen and Ianto.

'Well, Captain,' she said, her voice purring with carefully controlled elocution, 'are you going to introduce me to your colleagues?'

Jack turned around, face squirming like he had a mouthful of slugs. 'This...' his voice dried, and he began again, 'Gwen Cooper. Ianto Jones, may I introduce you to Miss Agnes Havisham?'

Do you know what, thought Gwen to herself, b.u.g.g.e.r me backwards with a bent pole, now I've seen it all.

II.

BLEEDING HEART.

YARD.

In which something quite remarkable must account for herself, there is sad mention of a submarine, and the domestic skills of Mr Jones are brought into question They were all sitting in the Boardroom. Rather like a loveless marriage, Agnes was at one end of the enormous table and Jack at the other. Gwen sat tactfully in between, and warmed up a carefully friendly expression.

Ianto brought in coffee. He offered Agnes a cup. She looked up at him with her blue eyes and smiled brightly. 'Why, thank you so much, dear child, but could I possibly have a cup of tea? If that is not too much trouble?' Her smile widened a little more, and Ianto hurried away.

For a minute, there were just the three of them in the room. Agnes looked around herself placidly. 'Well, this is nice,' she said. 'Most pleasant, to be sure.'

Gwen nodded. She couldn't think of anything to say.

'Did you have a pleasant journey?' murmured Jack.

Agnes looked at him sharply and then beamed at Gwen. 'Miss Cooper, my dear, did you know, in the old days, when I awoke, I would be greeted with a carriage or, in recent times, a limousine. Positively spoiled, really.' She giggled. 'But Captain Harkness knows me better than that. I am a martyr to self-sufficiency. I made my way here using First Great Western.'

'Ohhhhhh,' groaned Jack despondently.

'Quite,' said Agnes. 'The seat had fleas.'

A silence settled on the room.

Ianto returned, carrying a cup on a trembling saucer and a teapot. He set them down before Agnes and scurried over to sit near Gwen.

Agnes looked around expectantly. 'Will the others be joining us?'

Jack coughed. He'd once spent two thousand years underground. To Gwen, he looked as though he was contemplating burying himself again.

'This is it, Miss Havisham,' he said, eventually. 'My Team!'

'Really?' said Agnes, and she looked at Ianto and Gwen. Hard. And then back at Jack. 'Are you trying to tell me, Captain Harkness, that the entire staff of Torchwood Cardiff now consists of a woman in trousers and a tea boy?'

'... yes,' whispered Jack.