Sarah Pinborough - Into the Silence

'Maybe. At first.' He frowned. 'Where's Jack?'

'Said he had some stuff to do.'

'What, back at the Hub?'

Gwen shook her head. She'd seen the grim set on Jack's face as the ambulance pulled away. 'I doubt it. He had that look.' Glancing up to Ianto, she watched him nod. He knew what she meant.

'We won't see him for a few hours then.'

'No.'

He sniffed. 'What were you planning to do? Go home?'

'If I went home this early, Rhys would go into shock. He's probably just opening a beer in front of the football.' The machine pinged again and she wondered what the point of it was. Maybe its purpose was just to momentarily relieve the oppressive hush of the ward and allow the occupants to breathe.

'So, what's the plan? Stay here all night?'

She shook her head. 'I thought I might take a look at the data from just before the attack. For a few seconds it seemed like there was Rift activity all over the city, then it suddenly spiked at the church. I'm going to see if there's any way to refine the program. Maybe we can get it to show us where the alien's going to appear with enough time for us to get there.' She gritted her teeth and, although she was staring at Drew, her mind had rewound to the moment they'd burst into the church. 'We were only round the corner, but if you hadn't distracted it we'd never have saved this poor sod.'

Ianto smiled at her. 'Refining the program, eh? Tosh would be proud. We'll make a geek of you yet.'

'I'm more likely to break the bloody monitor than get it working better. Still, I've got to try something.'

'You want a hand?'

Gwen smiled. 'Definitely. That way the blame gets split when we wreck the computer.'

The bar was dimly lit with various pink and blue neon strips running along the bench seating and under the chrome edge of the marble top that Jack was leaning his elbows on. The sleeves on his blue shirt were rolled up, and for once it felt like his braces were digging into his shoulders. Or maybe it was just psychosomatic. It sure felt like something was causing that tense ache that sat tight in his muscles and he'd rather think it was the braces than the alien.

Picking up his bottle of water he took a long swallow, avoiding looking in the mirror that lined the back wall. It was only partly hidden by bottles of spirits in the kinds of colours you just know are going to disagree with your insides, and his own face was one he could do without looking at right now.

'Have you got ten sets of that clobber or something?'

The stool next to him grated roughly on the floor as it was tugged out, and Jack looked up and smiled.

'Something like that.'

Cutler wore jeans and a V-neck sweater, the casual clothes suiting his scruffy hair and stubble. Sitting down, he nodded at the barman. 'JD and coke. Double.' He looked over at Jack who tilted his bottle. 'And another of whatever that piss-water is.'

'I thought you'd stood me up.'

Cutler snorted out a laugh and passed a ten pound note over to the barman. 'Yeah, right. Where else am I likely to be? Everywhere I go there's a phone ringing for me.' He picked up his drink and swallowed nearly half of it. 'Not too different for you either, I should imagine.'

'Ain't that the truth.'

They sat in silence for a moment, Cutler staring into the black liquid glowing slightly in the reflected light. 'We had a lucky escape today. If that poor bastard had died…'

'Yeah, I know.'

And Jack did know. It was easy for the brass above Cutler to start screaming at the DI about results, but it wasn't them out chasing the unknown and everything else that the Rift spat out in their faces. The world was angry and needed people to blame, and it was human nature always to look to others rather than themselves. Where would Earth be without Torchwood and the people that risked — and lost — their lives to keep the planet safe? He hated himself for the moment of bitterness, but sometimes it was just too damned hard. If only they understood just how much was really going on.

'It's the twenty-first century,' he muttered. 'And that's when everything changes.'

'What was that?' Cutler looked sideways.

'Nothing. Nothing relevant.' Jack sighed and stretched out his back. 'Nothing that can't wait. At least for a while.' He turned away from his reflection and looked into the tired face of the DI. 'I'm sorry we haven't gotten this taken care of quicker. It can't be easy for you.'

Cutler shrugged. 'I've seen that creature at work. Your team's doing its best. So no apology needed.' He drained his glass and signalled for a refill before catching the flash of concern that must have showed on Jack's face.

'Don't worry.' He grinned, but the expression was carved into his face, lacking the spontaneous warmth of someone undamaged. 'I'll take it slowly with this one. But at least allow the condemned man to see in the death of his career with a decent hangover.'

'Is it that bad?'

'It's not good. And neither is my track record if you believe what you read on paper, which of course my bosses don't, but it's the paper record that the rest of the world have access to. Hence the big worry back at HQ is what the press will make of it when they eventually start digging around on me.' His laugh was bitter. 'Better to ship me off to somewhere even more in the sticks than Wales.' He looked over at Jack. 'No offence.'

'None taken.'

'Although I'm not entirely sure what's left. The bloody Orkney Islands? Don't really see it for me.'

'You think they're going to fire you?' Jack watched him thoughtfully.

'Maybe. Hang me out to dry, definitely. They can't afford to take the flack.' He raised an eyebrow. 'This is a high-profile serial killer case. And I'm a DI with a big black mark on his record where killers are concerned.'

'I read your file.'

'So, you've read those papers then.' In the haze of blue neon light, Cutler's face had the smooth sheen of marble. Jack presumed his own looked the same. Perhaps it was apt for both of them. Men made of stone. He was unable to die, and Cutler had hardened himself against the world to the point where he seemed untouchable. Maybe that was the only way he'd kept his head.

'No.' Jack leaned in. 'I read your Torchwood file.' He paused. 'You did a very noble thing.'

'Oh yeah. And look how it paid off. My wife left me and my career's all but dead.' Cutler stared into his drink. 'Looking back, noble might not have been the best move.'

Turning on his chair, Jack studied the other man. 'So why did you do it?'

'What exactly does the file say I did?' Cutler's eyes were cool mirrors of defensiveness. 'I'm not a great believer in what can be read on paper.'

'It's pretty frank. It says you told the court that you falsified evidence which stopped Mark Palmer going to prison for the sexual abuse and rape of three young boys.' He let a mouthful of water fizz against his tongue before swallowing. 'I checked out the newspapers too. Seems like he was definitely going down until you admitted that. He was looking at life with no chance of parole. Not that he would have lasted too long without a knife in the back in the rec yard.'

'That was my problem.'

'How do you mean?' Jack had read the file. He could figure out pretty much what had been going on in the policeman's head, but he wanted to hear it from him. He wanted to hear it from the Cutler that existed now, the man that had survived the aftermath of that decision. Making a choice was easy. It was the consequences that changed you.

'I couldn't let an innocent man go to prison.'

'Torchwood One was going to.' Jack felt no pride in that statement. 'And from what I read from the trial reports, Mark Palmer wouldn't have fought it too hard.'

'Palmer's head was too messed up to know what was going on.' The small muscle in the side of Cutler's head twitched at his temple, the only indication that under the calm voice, his emotions were raging. 'By the time he got to court he was half-convinced he