WHAT NEVER SHOULD BE: NEW BEGINNINGS
The Brigadier watched with a sombre expression as UNIT troops swarmed the roof of the Millennium Centre, securing Fischer for transportation and gathering what evidence remained. "Excuse me, Brigadier?" The aging Scotsman looked around as a younger lieutenant approached, with Fischer's gun in hand. "Yes, Lieutenant?" "Sir, you say that General Fischer shot Captain Harkness once. Correct?" "That's correct." "Well, the weapon appears to have two bullets unaccounted for, sir." The Brigadier frowned, and brought out the bullet he'd removed from the gun's chamber. "I removed this one from the gun, Lieutenant. That should have left four bullets in the chamber. It is a standard six-shot." "Yes, sir, but there are only three bullets still in the chamber." "Fischer must have gotten a second shot off at the same moment I shot him," the Brigadier mused. "Damned good thing that he obviously missed. Jones wouldn't have stood a chance. That extra bullet must be around here somewhere, Lieutenant. Have your men search the area." The Lieutenant left to give the order to his men, leaving the Brigadier to stand there in silence, marvelling at the close call they'd had. Ianto grimaced as he removed his clothing one piece at a time in the bathroom that adjoined his and Jack's room. Jack was dozing again, and Toshiko had offered to sit with him whilst Ianto had a quick shower and changed his blood-stained clothes. He hadn't cared at the time, but now that the situation had been dealt with and the danger was past, he couldn't help but lament the ruined suit. "Damn you, Fischer," he muttered to himself as he undid his pants, and then pulled his bloodied shirt off. The sound of something landing on the floor with a metallic clatter drew his attention, and Ianto scanned the floor until he spotted something that sent a chill through him. On the floor at his feet was a single bullet. His heart pounding, Ianto crouched down and picked it up in trembling fingers for a closer examination. It was definitely one of the bullets from Fischer's gun. The carved tip gave it away in an instant. How, though, had a single bullet managed to find its way inside his shirt? Wondering suddenly whether he'd actually been grazed by the bullet, and not noticed it in all the panic and excitement, Ianto twisted around a little in an effort to look at himself. He had not a mark on him, though. Not a bruise, or even a scratch. He hadn't been shot, then. Bullet still clutched in one hand, he shook his head and picked up his shirt, intending to toss it in the disposal bin in the corner of the bathroom. He was halfway across the floor when he found the hole. Feeling light-headed all of a sudden, Ianto spread the shirt out to reveal a small hole in the material low down on the right side of the shirt. It was a bullet hole, and he didn't need to compare the bullet in his hand to the hole in the shirt in order to confirm it. His mind reeled as he tried desperately to come to some logical conclusion. He had a bullet hole in his shirt, and a bullet that had apparently been caught within his clothing. Ianto shut his eyes against the sudden threat of a serious headache. He didn't understand how the velocity of the bullet had not simply caused it to pass clean through his clothes and keep going, and he had no intention of raising the subject with anyone else – especially Jack. If his somewhat overprotective lover knew what a close call he'd had today, Ianto knew it would be weeks before Jack would let him out of the Hub to do so much as a lunch run. Feeling a little bit sick, Ianto dropped the bullet along with the shirt into the disposal bin, and murmured a soft plea to the TARDIS to effectively dispose of both items. He was never going to tell Jack just how close he'd come to dying today, and he could only hope that his nightmares didn't give it away for him. Fin.