Title: In Loyal Service (13/?)
Author: joonscribble
Fandom: Torchwood/Dresden Files (TV Series) Crossover
Summary: In the aftermath of 'Exit Wounds,' Torchwood investigates a series of mysterious fires while Harry Dresden's latest case sends him back to Cardiff.
Timeline: Set between 'Exit Wounds' and 'Stolen Earth.'
Series: A sequel to >What Goes Around.
Pairings: Jack/Ianto
Rating: R for language
Spoilers: General spoilers for The Dresden Files TV series. Spoilers for all two season of Torchwood.
Disclaimer: Not mine, just borrowing.
/>Author's Notes: This chapter isn't as long as I'd like, but I'm also starting to get sick and with exams coming, I'm not entirely sure when the next update will be.

Harry stared blankly to where Pearce had stood before reaching down to snatch up the re-shrunken pendant. Shoving it back into his jacket pocket, he turned and began to stalk out of the warehouse. Baines’ house. He’d go back there and try another tracking spell. Or take a better look at the place. There had to be something. He ignored the scatter of voices calling his name as he tried to figure out how he was going to hail a taxi at this hour in this location.

A hand forcibly grabbed his arm. To his mild surprise, it was Gwen. Her hazel eyes were calm, almost commanding, but they also looked the slightest bit pitying, which tugged sharply at Harry’s temper.

“What’re you going to do?” she asked. She was gathering information, not fretting.

Harry politely detached his arm without making it seem like he was yanking it back. “Work,” he said, curtly. “What they hired me to do.”

“But if the cases are related, we can still help, yeah?” Gwen offered.

“No.”

“Yes, we can,” insisted Ianto, having caught up to them. “We can do a search back at the Hub. Give us the information on Philip Baines and we can see if there’s some sort of link.”

Harry shook his head and took a step back, including Harkness in his reply as the older man hung back. “I appreciate the offer, but seeing as how I’ve been pointedly forbidden to work with anyone else, I have to turn it down. Sorry for all the hassle, if I run into you guys during this…just…” he faltered. “Just ignore me.”

He quickly turned and made it as far as outside of the building before a bigger hand grabbed his arm this time.

“Harry, wait,” said Ianto. “You were right before. The investigation will go faster if we help you.”

This time the wizard did yank his arm away. “What about Pearce’s warning to me did you not get?” he demanded, angrily. “I can’t work with you. I can’t work with anyone. The Council’s set the rules, I have to play by them.”

“But if you can’t find Baines again, they won’t give Bob back to you,” argued Ianto, stubbornly.

“Listen to me,” Harry ordered. “If they find out I disobeyed them, they’re gonna cancel my rights to Bob’s skull and auction him off to whatever wizard will take him. If that happens, I’ll never get him back.” Saying the worse case scenario out loud, Harry felt the fear clamping down on his stomach. “He’ll either end up being someone’s glorified magic encyclopedia or some self-righteous jackass will lock him up and throw away the key!”

Ianto dropped the hand he’d still been holding up, even after Harry had pulled back from his grasp. “I’m…sorry,” he said, quietly.

“What the hell do you have to be sorry for?” Harry retorted. “I’m getting him back.”

“I…” He trailed off, looking miserable.

Harry took a breath and almost heard Bob chiding him for the pointless rant. “Look, it’s not your fault,” the wizard assured, going for calm. “It’s not anyone’s fault. The High Council just loves showing off what bastards they can be when it comes to Bob. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

It was then that Harry realized he still had all of Ianto’s letters still clenched in his hand. He thought about returning them to the original author for safekeeping. But giving them back to Ianto almost felt like he was allowing for the possibility that Bob would not be coming back home with him to Chicago. So instead he pushed the now heavily scrunched sheets of paper into his other pocket to hold onto until he could put them back in the toolbox for Bob later.

“What’re you going to do?” asked Ianto, sounding slightly desperate.

“Go back to Baines’ house and see what I can find there.”

“And if that’s nothing?” Ianto pressed.

Harry sighed, exasperated. “Then I’ll think of something else.”

“That’s not a plan!”

“Playing it by ear’s worked out fine for me so far,” Harry shot back.

“This is fine?” demanded Ianto, gesturing to nothing in particular. “You need some kind of help. Just…please, let me-”

“Ianto, drop it,” Jack ordered.

For the first time, Harry felt grateful for the captain’s presence.

But despite the fact that the older man, along with Gwen, were practically dragging Ianto back from the wizard, the Welshman managed to ignore them to keep his stare locked to Harry.

“Please, Harry,” he begged. “Let me help.”

Taking the opportunity to take a few steps back, Harry answered, not unkindly, “If you want to help me, Ianto, then stay out of it.”

With that he turned and rapidly walked away.

**

Keeping his grip of Ianto’s arm, Jack steered him toward the parked SUV.

“Let’s go,” he said, firmly.

“Let me run a search on Philip Baines. His name might be in our records if the cases do overlap,” Ianto requested as he let himself be pushed toward the car.

“Ianto, you heard what Harry said,” Gwen gently pointed out with more patience than Jack was currently exuding. “It could make things worse for them.”

“He said we couldn’t help him, but if it’s part of our case, we’ll be investigating Baines for our own purposes,” Ianto argued, trying to utilize every verbal loop hole he could come up with.

Jack released Ianto’s arm, pushing the younger man roughly to spin him around. “We have our own case. Our own separate,” he stressed, coldly. “Case. And it’s time we started concentrating on it.”

“But they could be related,” Ianto protested.

“No amount of you insisting on it is going to make it true,” stated Jack.

“Neither will you denying it!”

“We’ve wasted far too much time running around after Dresden,” Jack snapped, reaching out a hand to this time pin Ianto against the car to keep him from moving away.

Gwen watched, growing increasingly uneasy at the furious staring contest Jack and Ianto seemed to fallen into. “Ianto,” she tried, placating. “Why don’t we just start on our end. Look at the reports of the fire and if it starts to go back toward Harry, maybe then we could-”

“No,” Jack cut her off, his expression stony. “We’re not getting involved with Dresden’s case. He doesn’t even want our help now. So we stay out of it.”

Ianto knocked off the hand holding him to the car. “You never stay out of anything. You’re only doing this because you don’t like Harry and you never liked me writing to Bob,” he accused.

“You’re damn right I didn’t and I had every reason!” Jack suddenly thundered. He lashed out, crushing the material of Ianto’s suit in his grip and slamming the younger man against the car. “You swore to me you weren’t going to write about anything related to Torchwood. You told them about Canary Wharf? The hell is wrong with you? What other classified information did you tell him?!”

“Jack, come on,” Gwen tried to calm, though slightly afraid to actually step between them.

Suddenly in the face of Jack’s rage, the churning emotions on Ianto’s face seemed to disappear, falling rapidly behind the unreadable mask he’d been wearing for the past several months. “Bob already knew about Canary Wharf,” he informed, coldly. “You showed both him and Harry the file on Doctor Tanizaki and on Lisa when they first came to Cardiff. When you first hired them without telling any of us and tried to hide them from us. You brought them here.” He glared at Jack and for a split second, Jack could see all the anger and resentment swirling in the other man for what had transpired the last time Dresden had been in Cardiff.

Abruptly, Jack let go and stepped back. “We work on our own case and leave Dresden alone,” he ordered, shortly. “It isn’t up for discussion.” Ianto only smoothed down the creases in his suit, still staring wordlessly at him. “Get in the car,” said Jack. “Both of you,” he added, sharply when Gwen opened her mouth.

Nervously, she complied, climbing into the back seat as Ianto opened the passenger door with an eerily detached calm.

**

After nine failed tracking spells at Baines’ house and six failed attempts at trying to establish at least a visual lock, Harry was out of on hand supplies. While the wizard knew he had to go back to his hotel to restock, he took a moment to just sit down in Baines’ living room and have a quiet minor meltdown.

The early afternoon sun was now up and streaming in through the windows, the bright light deceptively underplaying the chilliness of the temperature. Slouched on Baines’ standard couch, Harry tried to think of a way to modify the tracking spell, maybe amp it up and failed to come up with anything. Was he this useless without Bob? Had he really come to rely on his former teacher so much that he’d forgotten the majority of what the ghost had taught him when he’d been a child?

The wizard’s wallowing was interrupted by a rush of heat emanating from one of his pockets. Reaching in, Harry pulled out the now glowing summoning pendant. He trudged up to Baines’ bedroom where he’d seen a full length mirror and pressed the pendant to the top of it. Slowly, the form he now hatefully recognized as Pearce’s formed in the smoky glass.

“Have you made any progress?” asked Pearce.

“Is this why you’re calling me? The day’s not even half over, Pearce,” Harry snapped.

Unfazed by Harry’s irritation, Pearce only shook his head. “No, it’s to tell you that Morgan is ready for questioning.”

The image of the warden stepped back as a silent invitation. The smoky mirror now cleared considerably until Harry could see what was the depressingly familiar interior of the prisoners’ holding location.

As the image wavered slightly like rippling water, Harry moved forward and stepped into the mirror. He winced as an icy chill bit into his skin, hating this kind of spatial jump as much as transportation potions. But at least there was no horrendous after taste involved. After a few seconds of pushing limbs through the viscous barrier, the wizard found himself standing next to Pearce.

“This way,” the warden directed down a corridor.

They walked down, passing wooden doors on either side. None of them had handles, only a flat strip of metal bolted to where the handle should have been, etched heavily with sigils. Since the last time Harry had seen a holding location via being incarcerated in one, they hadn’t changed the décor much.

“Where’re you keeping Bob?” the wizard asked Pearce.

“The Council has the skull safely secured away,” stated the warden, neutrally.

Harry zeroed suspiciously in on the choice of phrasing. “You don’t have him really in a Deprivation Lock, do you?” Pearce didn’t answer, but the silence was as much an indicator as anything. “Christ, it’s not like he can try and get away! What’s the point of locking him inside the skull?”

Pearce tilted his head toward Harry at his outburst, the expression on his youthful face strangely inquisitive. “You think our practices to be cruel?” he assessed.

Harry barked a laugh. “What gave it away?”

“And by what do you make this judgment?” Pearce inquired. “You seem to think the ghost is deserving of our kindness and care. It is a cursed soul for a reason.”

“It’s been over 800 years,” said Harry. “He’s done the damn time.”

“Hm,” Pearce mused. “And does the passing of years negate the crimes?” he asked. The two wizards now stood in front of one of the decorated doors. Pearce’s gray eyes studied Harry, a genuine interest shining within them. “Does the passing of years bring back all the lives the ghost ended? All the families it decimated with little mercy in its quest to raise the dead?”

Harry stubbornly held his ground. “He did it because he loved her.”

“Ah, that argument,” nodded Pearce. “And love gives carte blanche, does it?”

“No!” answered Harry, hotly. “But you’re all acting like he did what he did for kicks and nothing else. Like he didn’t have any other feelings other than just being-”

“We are well aware the ghost has feelings,” Pearce interrupted. “Or else why would the Council have sentenced such a punishment?” The warden took a step closer toward Harry, his gaze unwavering. “You speak of his love as the reason for his crimes. But his reasons do very little to change that men and women died at his feet and he barely looked down. You say we are cruel to him. We are only treating him in kind.”

It was the first time Pearce referred to Bob as “him” instead of “it.” And strangely, it somehow made it a lot worse.

“He’s paid for his crimes,” Harry persisted as Pearce placed a hand over the sigils of the door. “He deserves to be forgiven. Or at least be given a break.”

“You will find, Dresden,” said Pearce, concentrating on the door. “That some wrongs can never be rectified. Not in the eyes of those who matter.”

As the warden slid his hand down the row of sigils on the door, a series of clangs and clicks echoed from behind. When he gave it a push, the door slid open.

“You have ten minutes with Morgan,” said Pearce. He stepped back to let Harry through.

TBC