Disclaimer: I do not own Torchwood, its characters, or it's backstory. This is not for Profit, I just like to write.

Warning: Season 3 Spoilers like you wouldn't believe. In fact, if you haven't seen all 5 episodes, you will be very lost.

THE UNCOVERING

February 13, 2110

"Jack? Jack, we've got another one."

A manila folder fell in front of Jack with a soft 'slap' as he sat up in his chair. He opened it to see photos of yet another gruesome murder, the fifth one in a week. He scanned over the information Tilden had brought up to him with reproach. Nothing ever changes.

It had been about 100 years since the demise of Torchwood Three, and yet the government had somehow revived the mission during Jack's absence. The notes in the digital archives had been reduced to a small cover up over the incidents surrounding 456. It was a fake report claiming instead that the explosion which decimated Torchwood Three had been a targeted attack by the alien species themselves, and not Parliament. However, the rift activity did not subside and Parliament had re-enforced the program in 2012. Jack had felt as though he had been away from Earth for nearly 350 years on a bright little planet called "Claret" before he had begun to wonder what became of the blue planet he had once been so fond of. It was with some regret that he'd found out upon his return 350 years on "Claret" had only barely equaled 90 Earth years.

However, it was not the same Earth or the same Britain that he had left. The world had fallen into chaos after his abandonment. The streets of London were cracked and battle scarred from decades of war in the last fifty years. Little had been done to reconstruct the larger cities, and the smaller towns had simply decomposed. The sky maintained a murky grey every day, because the sun was already beginning to burn out. Jack gave it another 2,000 years before the black hole began and the human race would either relocate or be obliterated.

There was nothing left for him here, nothing to save, and nothing to care for. Yet he found himself stuck to one spot each time he tried to leave again. Wales still held too many painful memories. At first, he had attempted to return to the United States, but there was not much for him to do there, no rifts or time portals around to quell, no alien landings or odd occurrences to investigate. At every turn, in Japan and even Africa, something brought him back to the United Kingdom. He couldn't explain it, but it pulled on his soul, tearing at his emotions, invading his nightmares until he once again stood on British soil. Jack couldn't bring himself to leave again. There had always seemed to be a reason he traveled and stayed wherever he went; similar to the Doctor's serendipitous adventures, but without a notepad or some kind of calling to reach out to him. He couldn't even bring himself to change his alias. Somewhere, deep down, it still held meaning for him. Dammit, he was getting soft. He had several lifetimes ahead of him. What were a few years to waste here one last time?

Soon after deciding that his landing on Earth was indeed his homecoming, Jack had set out to find what had happened to those he knew. Except, he realised with heaviness in his chest and a burning shame; the only people whom he had left alive were Gwen and Rhys. He couldn't bring himself to look up what had become of his daughter. There was no reason to after what he had done. Gwen, it turned out, had given birth to a baby girl whom she and Rhys had named 'Tosh,' after the fall of their teammate, Toshiko. Both adults had died twenty-six years after, in the Fourth World War. Tosh it seemed had never married, there so grimly ending the Williams' lineage when she passed of old age not soon before Jack's arrival. Martha had also remained happily married, though less was known about her as she had been sent back to the States as a spy later in life. The only notes on her death were that she had died in the line of duty, no other explanations were given.

Torchwood, too, had seen many faces while Jack had been away, too many considering no one seemed to stay alive for more than a couple of years. Now they were down to three: Himself, and two assistants. Tilden, whom everyone simply called 'Til' was the Nurse practitioner, as Doctors were hard to come by in those days assuming the schools were able to exist. Still, she was brilliant and more qualified to be a Doctor than some that remained in society today, and at a ripe age of thirty-seven she was probably the oldest agent to ever remain at Torchwood. Tilden had a shock of jet-black hair that fell around her shoulders in messy curls. She didn't bother too much with it, usually pulling it into a ponytail when working on corpses, but her taste in clothing was more than moderate for a world lacking design and fashion. Jack often wondered where she got such nice shoes from in these times.

His resident Pat technician, (they were no longer called "computers," but a shortened version of the words "personal attendant") Alec was a skinny boy of nineteen, with a mousy brown hair and wire framed glasses that constantly slipped off his nose. Jack had been reluctant to take on Alec, seeing as he was so young, but he outranked anyone on the planet with Pat systems. He could even hack an intergalactic army base when he tried, which he did often to prove himself to the team. It bothered Jack to no end when he pulled something so dangerous, but Alec was still a child and desperate to fit in among them. Every night Jack watched him return to home, thankful that the kid had lived another day. There were times that Alec reminded him of another Torchwood agent who had been eager to always fit in, but the memories were usually too painful for comparison.

Filing was a group effort. If you wrote it, pulled it, killed it, or let it loose, you were responsible for the filing that came after. Both Tilden and Alec had been accountable for labeling artifacts or bodies on multiple occasions. They complained more than their share for Jack to hire someone to take care of all that, but Jack's feelings had hardened since the last team he had led. The fewer people to staff Torchwood, the fewer casualties would befall them; though this was one of his golden secrets he kept from his team to avoid panic. They didn't even know he was immortal.

Jack rubbed the bridge of his nose as he poured over the documents Alec had pulled together on each of the victims. The papers were printed out for Jack to read and he shifted them around while reaching into a drawer for the other four murder files from that week. When he had re-joined Torchwood there had been a scrabbling over printed material versus the large touch screens that were so popular in the days before technological advancements had ceased. Nonetheless, it made Jack comfortable to see everything on paper where he could move things around, or jot down notes where necessary. He smiled inwardly as he recognised the technique Gwen had used from her Police workdays. He often found she rubbed off on him in weird ways. Criminal research was turning out to be one of many.

He scanned through the information on each victim, nothing particularly jumping out at him. The only connection they had to each other was that each body had been found in Cardiff. Jack was already sorry he was taking on this investigation. He didn't want to drag up old memories any more than he had to. Carefully, he piled the folders on top of one another and moved into the meeting room. It was smaller than the one in Torchwood Three, but it had a similar boardroom feel to it. Clearing out a space on the wall where some of the last projects had been left behind he tacked each picture at eye height and studied the corpses. Each one had puncture marks on their necks, indicating the beast either had fangs, or the machine with which they had been killed was pronged. One woman with extremely dark frizzy hair had had her neck broken. Another woman's face had been mangled so badly that dental records were necessary to identify her as a Korean foreign exchange student on holiday. One man had been murdered, along with two more random female victims. Jack spent an hour moving from photograph to photograph before calling his team in for a fresh eye. They needed some kind of plan by sundown before the killer could claim a sixth victim.

Alec leaned back in his chair, chewing some bubble gum that was making Jack's head ache from the smell. "What is that? Nair flavored gum?" He asked, holding out the office bin. Alec frowned as he spat his gum inside.

"It's watermelon. What the hell is Nair?" He asked innocently.

Tilden rolled her eyes. "Something I wouldn't want Jack to explain his reasons for using." Jack flashed her a cheeky grin.

"Are you sure about that?" He asked, earning a reproachful look from Til and an even more confused look from Alec. The boy was smart – no doubt he'd look it up on the Pat later.

Jack set the bin down and walked over to the wall of pictures. "There's a connection here, I just can't put my finger on it," He brought up his hands to block out one picture then another. "Maybe you two can spot something." Jack backed up and sat on the table, rather than one of the chairs.

Alec went through the paperwork in front of him. "Nothing seems to coincide; Volunteer activities, recent hangouts, acquaintances, neither of them match up."

"So let's start from the beginning," Jack moved to slide into a chair. "What do we know about them?"

Tilden went to stand by each of the photographs, reciting names, ages, addresses, and any other bits of information they had found in the last few days. She reached the picture in the middle and pointed, droning on.

"Lisa Trumbull, age 24," Tilden began to ramble as she pointed to the picture of the dark woman. Something snapped into place. Jack jumped up and examined her picture. "What was her name?"

Tilden re-read the file. "Lisa," She began from the beginning again.

Jack put up a hand to silence her as he walked over to the next picture. The woman that had been killed the night before had an interesting license photo next to the one of her wounded body. She was smiling in the picture; her teeth were all neatly lined except for the middle two, which were a considerable distance apart. Jack began to rip down the pictures as he noticed similarities each of them had that he hadn't seen before in his office. The man was nothing special, except that he was tall and fit, with thin lips and a close haircut. A haircut just like Own used to have.

"Damn!" Jack shouted, throwing the papers down on the table. "A woman in her early thirties with frizzy hair; Suzie. A young Asian girl; smart like Toshiko. The dark, young woman named Lisa. A man who looks like it could have been Owen and the most recent one who resembles Gwen's dark hair and smile. Someone is picking of look-a-likes from Torchwood a hundred years ago. Someone who knew who we were!"

Tilden and Alec looked at Jack as though he had grown a second head. "How would you know who was running Torchwood a hundred years ago?" Tilden asked slowly. Jack gripped the edge of the table and looked at them both.

"Company Profiles." He lied.

Alec seemed to think the answer made plausible sense, but he was just as slow to speak. "So who would they target next? There has to be a pattern."

Jack tried to hold on as he searched for an excuse. The killer would be out for him next. Either that or he was sending a message to Jack and the next body would be a man in of considerable size to either Rhys or Ianto, most likely wearing a suit if it was meant to be the latter.

He was halfway out the door before Til and Alec could catch his orders. "Alec, stay here and monitor the CCTV's. Til, you're riding with me." Alec returned to his workstation while Jack got his jacket and waited for Tilden to prepare for the trip.

He paused for a moment at the door out of the hub when he heard Alec shout from the desk. "Aw, GROSS!" Tilden rolled her eyes again. "Would it kill you to keep those things to yourself?"

"Probably," Jack said, not missing a beat as he moved out into the garage and climbed into the van Torchwood now used to get around.

Tilden slid into the passenger seat and buckled her seat belt. "He's only nineteen."

Jack turned the engine and looked at Tilden with one raised eyebrow. "Til, You'd be surprised what a man of nineteen would already know."

Before she could retort, Jack had thrown the car into fifth gear and they were racing through the streets that led around the bay from Bristol to Cardiff.

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February 14, 2110

Jack walked past the old factory on the pier and around to the wharf itself. The night was quiet save for the waves crashing against the dock, his steps landing silently on the concrete as he surveyed the area. A sound of rubbish bins knocking together alerted him and he swung around, gun raised and torch pointing to the alley in the back. A woman giggled nervously as the light shone on her with a man nibbling at her neck.

Jack lowered the gun and flashlight, moving to switch on his earpiece and blushing a little at the unexpected interruption. "Til, the dock is clear. Meet me back at the van; we've got more ground to cover before the sun comes up." It was already six in the morning. Despite the winter solstice, it would only be another hour before dawn would begin to break.

He turned to make his way back towards the street, setting the gun back in its holster when the woman screamed, and not in a way Jack had remembered a woman would from any form of pleasure. He pulled out his gun again and released the safety.

The man who had been with the woman walked out from the alley, wiping blood from his mouth then licking the residue from the back of his hand. He was wearing a fairly old suit, but the light didn't catch his face as he turned away from Jack to head further down the pier. Jack followed him, the street lamp he passed under showcasing the girl's dark curls splayed about the cement by the corner of the alley. She was dead.

Jack cocked the gun in his hand, aiming it directly at the head of the man and stepped closer to him. "Get on the ground, hands above your head!"

The man stopped. He seemed to be thinking about what to do next and raised his arms, almost jokingly, before turning around and laughing at the gun pointed at him. Jack went completely still.

"Ianto?"

The man's eyes opened wider and stared at Jack with cool confusion. "Interesting. You know my name."

"No, this can't be. You're dead."

The man scoffed. "What part tipped you off? The pale skin," he raised his upper lip to show off his teeth, "or the blood lust with matching fangs?" He licked the corner of his mouth absently as though there was still a drop left behind from his last victim.

Jack's brain shot into overdrive. He didn't believe what he was seeing. The thing in front of him, wearing Ianto's face and suit to match that of a PA in the early 21st century, lowered his arms and bowed dainty, as though he were meeting the Queen herself. "Ianto Jones, at your service." He cooed.

Jack began to ramble on about the facts. They were all he knew, this thing that stood before him didn't match up to those facts. It didn't belong here. "Ianto Jones, born August 19, 1983. Killed July 9, 2009 at Thames House in London by an alien species named the 456." It could be an alien, or something messing with his head; something that reached into his personal memories in an attempt to destroy him by driving him mental. Anything!

The being smiled down the gun's barrel. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You can't be Ianto Jones!" Jack shouted as he took in the sight before him. Ianto stood there, paler than Jack remembered him, and yet much stronger, confident even.

"But I am." He smiled wickedly, crooking one finger in Jack's direction. "Come closer, take a look." His voice was smoother than Jack recalled, but the temptation was there.

He moved closer. Slowly at first, then a little faster as the face in front of him remained every bit the same as he had seen it 100 years ago. His arm shook a little and the gun lowered as Ianto's smiled widened. The irises in his eyes glowed an eerily dull shade of red. That's when Jack saw the fangs, two elongated canine teeth that spread down to his lower lip, and he knew exactly what he was facing.

Before he could lift the gun Ianto hissed and sprang at him. Jack shouted and fired three shots into the figure above him, hitting its chest. The body stumbled back, coughing a little before it attempted to lunge at him again. Jack raised his gun again and fired another shot into the side of Ianto's head. The man went still, tipping backwards over the low chains that fenced the wharf and falling into the ocean.

Jack collapsed, hitting the ground as he gasped for air. It must have been raining, there were wet drops on his face and hands, and his heart was beating erratically. He looked up at the sky, stars blurring and lights becoming fuzzy as he realized he was crying. He screamed.

Jack was still shouting when Tilden came barreling around the corner in the van, and jumping out with her gun raised to check the surroundings. When it was clear, she ran over to her boss, kneeling beside him.

"Jack? Jack, what was it? Jack!" Tilden grabbed his shoulders and shook him a littler, more terrified at his reaction than whatever it was that she had just seen. His screaming stopped, but the tears continued to fall down his face and he stuttered as he came to terms with what he just saw. "Vampire." he whispered, a little hysterically.

Ianto Jones was a Vampire.

AN: I know what you're thinking! But I promise it makes sense, once the other chapters post. Try to keep reading-Pretty please? :) You're also welcome to review!

As always, thank you to my wonderful Betas! Jen and JonesIantoJones :) Without them, this story would be...unedited :P