Sarah Pinborough - Into the Silence

High above the Millennium Centre, Jack Harkness let the rain run through his hair as he watched over the city, standing firm; his jaw set and eyes grim.

And, slowly, the clocks of Cardiff ticked round to dawn.

The Church of St Bartholomew was a little way back from the hum of traffic on Lloyd George Avenue but still quite near the busy centre of Cardiff Bay. Jack figured there wouldn't have been enough hours in the night to search through all the potentially perfect rehearsal spaces, and this one ticked most of the right boxes. It was up to Ianto's voice to bring the alien to them, after all, and it seemed it could turn up pretty much anywhere. Still, the church had a certain charm, he had to admit, and outside the traditional grey structure the grounds were filled with enough leafy trees to provide a sense of protective cover, but not so many that each couldn't be watched for movement by the well-placed armed police units placed carefully both in the car park and the roads immediately surrounding it.

From the inside, Jack looked up at the decoratively stained windows. There were five at the front of the building and four down the side of each wall.

'If it wants some glass to play with,' he muttered, 'I'll give it glass.'

He gritted his teeth and scanned the edges, locating the small charges rigged at the corner of each window designed to go off on impact with the glass, not to kill the alien but to send it tumbling in the direction Jack wanted it to go, disorienting it enough for him to trap it when it landed.

He checked his watch and felt a buzz of excitement flutter through his stomach. 10.50. Almost now or never time.

Ianto was checking the CD backing track for what seemed like the thousandth time since they'd arrived, his finger clicking play, then stop, then play, over and over.

'You ready?' Jack smiled at him. 'You're on in ten.'

For once, the press had done what it was told and the two minutes' silence had been advertised on all news programmes and radio shows. Even the other judges had announced that they would expect all the contestants in the show, whether they had reached the finals or not, to honour the silence and remember the dead. Rehearsal spaces were staying locked all over town. As much as any one person could control the volume of Cardiff, Captain Jack Harkness currently had his finger on the remote control.

'I'm ready.'

Jack touched his earpiece. 'Gwen?'

'I'm ready. Although what I'm doing stuck here when all the action is out there…'

Jack didn't have to see her to know that she'd be on her feet behind the desk, leather jacket zipped up, eager to be out in the field rather than Hub-bound.

'Hey, you amended the program, so you're the best one to operate it.'

'I should have done the work on the remote computer instead of here.'

'Well, it's too late for that now.' He grinned. 'And if you ask me, the geeky thing is working for you.'

'Yeah? Well, don't get too excited, I'm never wearing that white coat and glasses.'

'Shame. It's a sexy look.'

'Sod off, Jack.'

He laughed. 'Just stay in touch. Soon as you see any activity, I want to know about it.'

'Got that.'

Disconnecting, he checked his watch again. Five minutes to go.

'I don't mind going back to the Hub and wearing the white coat.' Standing still in front of the altar, Ianto looked nervous, one hand tugging at the sleeve of his shirt.

'You look best in a suit.' Jack winked.

'I thought you'd say something like that. Is it time?'

'Couple more minutes.' He pressed his earpiece again. 'Cutler?'

The gravelly London voice came straight back at him. 'Here. Out in the bastard rain. All quiet so far.'

'Good.'

Jack took a deep breath. All the preparations were done. All they could do now was sing and hope for the best.

Cutler leaned back in his seat and sighed. The window of the car was open so he could clearly see anything that might appear out of the grey skies or from behind the trees and bushes, and rain splattered his face in fine drops carried on the wind. His nerves jangled and he resisted the urge to light a cigarette. If only he had some idea of where and how the alien might appear, at least then he could focus. It seemed that right now he could use a spinning head like that girl from The Exorcist had. It was the only way he was going to see everything that was around him.

Movement in his wing mirror made his heart leap for a moment, and then he frowned, more wrinkles appearing in his already crumpled face. The figure wandering down the quiet street wasn't an alien. Well, technically not, but the next best thing to one as far as DI Cutler was concerned.

'Bloody students,' he muttered under his breath.

The girl with the long dark hair was definitely one of Cardiff's university types, he had no doubt about that. She was short, and her hair was tied back in an untidy ponytail, the Indian style chiffon scarf out of place against the rock band T-shirt that flashed under her tatty denim jacket as she strolled past his car. 'Franz Ferdinand' flashed in glitter against the black fabric, the letters coming and going with every stride.

He sighed. She was singing along to something pumping directly into her ears from an iPod or some such other under-25s' device. Her voice wasn't too bad against the pattern of the rain, but the rock music wasn't anything he recognised, although it did have a familiar sound. Maybe U2.

Singing.

'Hell.'

Grumbling at his bad luck, Cutler climbed out of the car, the rain immediately trickling down the back of his shirt and bringing a spine-shiver with it. He trotted forward, taking only a few steps to catch up with the girl, who had stopped and pulled her phone out of her pocket, texting happily, seeming oblivious to the chill and damp. No wonder he hated students. They were always so bloody young and full of optimism and ideals. No grown-up grumpy bastard like him needed that.

Cutler tapped her on the shoulder and her narrow frame jumped slightly, but at least she stopped singing. The last thing they needed was the alien going for another civilian, and, if it did, he didn't want to be the only one around. Having seen its handiwork, he didn't fancy his chances.

Her eyes clouded suspiciously in her pale face as she tugged the headphones out. Tinny music hummed in the air between them.

'Yes? Can I help you?'

'I'm going to have to ask you to leave the area as quickly and quietly as you can, miss…?'

'Nina.' The girl's suspicious expression was hit by a tidal wave of puzzled curiosity. 'Nina Rogers.' She raised an eyebrow. 'And you are?'

'Police.' He rummaged in his jacket and tugged free his ID. 'Detective Inspector Cutler.'

'So, what's going on, Mr Cutler?' She grinned cheekily. 'Are you on a stakeout?'

He forced himself to smile back. The girl was engaging, but this wasn't the time or the place for dealing with bloody youthful enthusiasm. He walked forward, forcing her to subconsciously match his pace. 'Something like that. Now, if you could just head back to uni or your digs or wherever you're going, then I'd be grateful. And without the music.'

She frowned, and he could see her gearing up for another question.

'Now.'

His gruff word cut her off and, although he could see she was still curious, she did as she was told and, with a smile and a wave goodbye, she picked up her pace and headed back towards the main street.

Cutler watched her until she was safely round the corner and, satisfied that she'd left the music off, he climbed back into the warmth of his car. The problem with the young was that they had no fear. They'd learn, though. Everyone did.

Feeling his own fear dancing with nerves in the pit of his stomach, he sat back, stared out of the window, and waited.