'Oh, I do want to do it,' Gwen said. 'Believe me, I do.' Five seconds passed. Then she put the gun away. 'But I'm not going to,' she said. 'Because you're not worth the anguish that Rhys will go through, trying to come to terms with a wife who can shoot someone in cold blood.'
She shuddered, as though shaking off something cold and clammy, and then she said, 'Let's go, Rhys.'
He nodded, slipping an arm around her shoulder as they walked towards the gap in the wall.
Behind them the old man wailed, 'What about me?'
Gwen looked about to retort, but Rhys held up a hand. He walked back to the old man.
'If I were you, mate,' he said acidly, 'I'd find somewhere to hide, and I'd pray that lot in there don't sniff you out. I won't say good luck because I don't wish you any.'
Without another word he turned and walked away.
TEN
Jack sat up with a cry on his lips, and immediately began gulping at the air, with the intention of filling his lungs, re-oxygenating his blood.
He still didn't really understand the physical mechanics of his condition. What seemed to happen was that his just-deceased body was held in stasis while time ran backwards over it, repairing wounds and mending broken bones.
Then he became aware that his throat was hurting — really stinging, in fact — and that he had the mother of all headaches. That wasn't supposed to happen. He brought a hand up to his throat, and found some partly scabbed-over gouges there, and some very painful bruising. He cried out as his fingers prodded the tender areas, then sank back onto the bed, feeling dizzy. He realised straight away what had happened. He hadn't died. That zombie kid had opened his throat, and he had lost some blood, but the injuries hadn't been fatal. The long and the short of it was, Jack had simply slipped and knocked himself out.
How embarrassing, Jack thought. And how inconvenient. Sometimes it was better to die than not. At least when he died, the time-forces did their stuff, making him good as new, leaving him with no wounds, no scars, no pain. But injuries were merely injuries. They took time to heal. And what was more they bloody hurt.
Suddenly aware that he was wet and sticky, Jack looked down to see that the front of his shirt was soaked in congealing blood. He grimaced. 'Oh, gross,' he said.
He looked around, wincing at the throbbing pain in his head. He was back in the Hub, lying on the table in the Autopsy Room. Home sweet home. He wondered how long he'd been out for.
Next second he scrambled to his feet, hand moving instinctively to his gun, as someone screamed.
It was a woman. Gwen? Rising above the pain of his injuries, as he had had to do on so many previous occasions, he ran up the steps and into the main Hub area, his eyes sweeping across the gantries and walkways, the workstations with their glowing computer screens and cluttered glass table tops, the metal tower in the centre constantly streaming with water. There was no one. Or at least no one that he could see. The scream had been brief, but ratcheting, full of pain.
'Gwen?' he shouted, his voice echoing back off the brick walls. 'Ianto?'
'In here, Jack,' Ianto shouted from somewhere below him. He sounded stressed.
'Where's here?' Jack called back.
'Boardroom.'
The Boardroom was in the depths of the Hub, at the end of a corridor that had been converted from a vast pipe, which Jack suspected, from the faint but lingering odour, might once have been one of Cardiff's major sewer outlets. He ran down there, feet clanging on the metal walkways, his speed increasing as another scream came tearing up from below. What the hell was Ianto doing down there? Torturing someone?
It was only when he burst into the room, gun at the ready, that his still somewhat fractured memories snapped back into place. Ianto, in his shirtsleeves, hands encased in blood-smeared surgical gloves, eyed the Webley disapprovingly.
'I don't think you're going to need that,' he said.
Sarah Thomas, the pregnant woman they had rescued earlier, was lying on a mattress which had been placed on the long, glass-topped table in the Boardroom. Pillows had been bunched behind her back and head, allowing her to half sit up. Her hair was drenched in sweat and her red face was contorted in pain. Jack looked down and saw that she was in the latter stages of giving birth. The mattress was covered in blood and he could see the top of the baby's head.
'My, you have been busy,' he remarked, putting his gun away. Then he realised what Sarah was lying on. 'Hey, is that my mattress?'
Ianto scowled at him. 'Shut up, Jack, and give me a hand here.'
Jack grinned and said to Sarah, 'I love it when he's masterful.'
Sarah just rolled her eyes, clearly not in the mood for frivolity.
Abruptly becoming serious, Jack said, 'You look as though you're doing a brilliant job here. Both of you.'
Ianto flashed him a brief smile and said, 'You ready for another push, Sarah?'
Sarah inhaled and exhaled rapidly through her mouth, and nodded.
'Whenever you're ready,' Ianto said.
Sarah opened her mouth, screamed and pushed. The baby's head, dark hair plastered to its scalp, bulged between her legs and then slipped back again.
'Again,' Ianto said gently. 'Come on, Sarah, you're nearly there.'
She tried again. And again. Finally, after ten minutes of exhausting effort, the little body, purpley-blue and smeared in blood and vernix, suddenly slithered out from between her legs, trailing the thick blue rope of its umbilical cord. Jack caught the baby as it emerged, gently cradling its tiny head. Ianto, clutching Sarah's hand, laughed with sheer joy. Sarah slumped back onto the pillows in relief and exhaustion.
'It's a boy,' Jack said softly, and grinned. 'Well done.'
He leaned forward and kissed Sarah's cheek. Ianto kissed the other.
Sarah lifted her head. She looked utterly drained, yet suddenly radiant. 'Is he all right?' she asked.
'He's beautiful,' said Jack, 'just like his mother.'
'Can I hold him?'
Jack wrapped the baby in one of the clean towels which Ianto had thought to bring down from upstairs and handed the baby to Sarah. His eyes sparkled as he watched mother and baby together for the first time.
'See?' he said to Ianto. 'This is what it's all about. The miracle of life amidst all this death.'
Ianto looked anything but his usual immaculate self, but he was grinning. All at once he noticed the wounds to Jack's throat and said, 'I thought when you died, it was supposed to-' 'I didn't die,' Jack interrupted curtly.
'You didn't? I thought you had. I told Gwen you had. When she phoned.'
'Yeah, well. I didn't.'
There was an almost embarrassed silence, and then Ianto murmured, 'What about the umbilical cord? The baby's, I mean. And the placenta?'
Jack held up his hands. 'I'll handle it. I've delivered babies before.'
'Have you?' said Ianto surprised. 'When?'
'Long story,' said Jack. 'Why don't you put some coffee on? I think we could all do with some.'
'Good idea,' Ianto said and started to trudge away. Sarah called his name and he turned back.
'Thanks,' she said. 'For everything. For being here with me.'
He nodded, and though he remained composed he looked absurdly touched. 'You're welcome,' he said, a little choked.
Ten minutes later, Jack, cleaned up and wearing a fresh shirt, joined Ianto as he was pouring the coffee.
'That smells good,' he said.
'How is she?' Ianto asked.
'Mother and baby are doing just fine. You did a great job back there.'