Fic: Protect and Survive 1/1 [PG] Highlander/Torchwood
Author: A Lanart
Title: Protect and Survive
Fandom: Highlander/Torchwood
Characters: Siannon O'Niall (OFC) & John Hart
Rating: PG
Warnings/Spoilers: It's a non-fixit post Children of Earth fic (though this isn't immediately obvious)
Disclaimer: Anything you recognise is not mine.
Title from the song by Manuskript
A/N: Written for my occhallenge table - Prompt: metal - which puts me past the halfway mark. I haven't written anything solely about Siannon O'Niall for a while and she decided she wanted an outing, though she's a little darker here than usual which I don't think is surprising considering it's post CoE. For some reason the muses demanded John Hart knuckle in on the act too. I've never written him before so apologies if you find him OoC.
~*~
Protect and Survive
*
Years of practice enabled Siannon to maintain a hold on her silence as life returning slammed back into her again with all the subtlety of a herd of elephants. Her cheek was resting in a puddle of something vaguely warm and sticky; blood, most likely her own she realised by the metallic tang against her lips. At least with her lying face down the sight of the bullet hole in her head closing up would not have been obvious to the person who was still in the warehouse with her. She could hear him muttering away to himself about pity and favours, debts and payment and what the hell was he going to do about Torchwood now… The last comment made her eyes flick open in concern; she’d already realised the muttering man was not the same being who had taken her down and she was beginning to wonder just *who* he was. She turned her head a little, silently, just enough to give herself a sliver of vision of her current roommate. Roommates, she mentally corrected as she caught sight of the other unmoving bodies in the place, though she could make out in the dim light that the blood surrounding them was a rather disturbing shade of green. Definitely under Torchwood’s jurisdiction then, despite the protests of the one she’d been ‘talking’ to; damn her for being 40,000 sorts of fool and not realising it had been acting in concert with another. Stupid; amateurish; no wonder she’d been shot. She shifted again slightly, trying to bring the mutterer into focus without revealing she wasn’t a corpse any longer. There. She had him.
Siannon watched for a moment, and frowned to herself. There was something familiar about him, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. He wasn’t particularly tall and his accent had that odd not-quite-English tone to it that told her that he was definitely not local, and possibly not even human. Nice boots, military jacket, more firearms than you could shake a stick at (which explained all the blood) and, most surprisingly of all, a *sword*. The presence of the last puzzled her, this guy was definitely no immortal - incipient or otherwise - and it was the puzzlement about the sword that finally identified him from her memories. She bit her tongue to stop the growl that threatened to escape from deep within her; it seemed that John Hart was still not averse to causing Torchwood trouble, even with Jack gone from the planet. Knowing Hart, though, that could well be *why* he was causing them trouble. She grinned savagely to herself; if that was his intention, then he was about to get a nasty surprise. She wiggled slightly, confirming that her sword was still right where it should be and then she slowly got to her feet, careful not to make a sound in the process. The faint snick and hiss of metal as she drew her sword was the only warning of her living presence that she gave Hart. He was quick to react, she had to give him that, but his instinctive movement turned him beautifully to meet her sword and the edge of her blade was resting against his neck before he had time to draw either guns or breath. The hitch in his breathing and the slight widening of his eyes told her that he was truly surprised, and possibly more than a little nervous besides, to be facing her. Whether that was because she’d risen from the dead or because she looked like a reject from a bad horror movie - there was blood caked in her hair and smeared over her face - she didn’t really care, he was off balance and that was all to her advantage. Maybe she’d take him back to Gwen and let her work off some of her post-pregnancy hormones on him. The idea had a degree of merit and Siannon could feel the smile stretch across her face, scattering flakes of dried blood off her skin in its wake. He swallowed convulsively against the blade.
“Nice sword,” he commented, his eyes caressing the blade. Siannon had to bite back a laugh; she hadn’t expected the kinky bastard to be turned on by having a blade - and an obviously deadly sharp one at that - held to his throat but she couldn’t say it exactly surprised her from what she’d heard about him. She delicately applied just enough pressure to nick his skin and watched as he licked his lips at the bloom of his blood on the metal.
“Thanks,” she replied. “It might look better buried in your guts though. What do you think, *Captain* Hart?”
“I think there’s no need to be so… hasty.”
“Maybe not, but I’m not a very patient sort of person. I should just chop off your head and be done with it.” She shifted her stance, knowing he would feel the difference in pressure where the sword blade kissed his neck.
“Wait!”
“Give me one good reason why.”
“I was trying to help!”
“Great help you were. It’ll take *ages * to get the blood out of my hair. I *hate* the feeling of blood in my hair, especially my own.”
“I can relate to that.” He nodded at the green blooded aliens - the very dead green blooded aliens - on the warehouse floor. “I did neutralise them for you, though I didn’t expect you to be in a position to discuss that with me, after...” Hart indicated the area of the floor where she had been lying. The red of her blood was startling amongst all the green. She gave him a feral grin.
“Get used to it; I’m a very persistent person by nature. As for neutralising them, how about you tell me *why* you decided to do that?” The blade turned slightly in her hands, becoming more of a caress than a threat and he leaned into its touch with an inarticulate sound, making her idly wonder just how far his sword kink went and how much he was playing it up for her benefit. Part of her wanted to have the opportunity to find out, the rest just wanted to get him away from her, from Torchwood and from Cardiff. She met his eyes, the blade shining strong and true between them. As Siannon held his gaze, something seemed to melt away from his eyes. He shrugged, or shrugged as much as he was able with a sword to his throat.
“They had something I wanted, of course. It was only later that I realised they also had something that rightfully belonged to Torchwood. I decided I would get that back, too.”
“To keep for yourself?” That would be more like the John Hart she’d heard about, always looking out for himself and not considering the ramifications of his actions. He gave a tiny shake of his head - probably all he could manage.
“To buy my way in.”
That was something she hadn’t considered, and she wasn’t sure she truly believed him; she *did* believe he would never try to get into Torchwood simply by asking.
“You expect me to believe that?” Siannon challenged.
“Torchwood has no reason to love me, or even to trust me. I thought if I had something you wanted, I might at least get a fair hearing before you decided to either kill me or kick me off the planet. I’ve grown to like it here and I…” His voice trailed off as his eyes traced the path of the sword from point to hilt.
“What?” She pressed the sword closer into his skin, strictly business now. He didn’t flinch, but likewise he didn’t relax into the touch of the blade as he had done earlier.
“I wanted the chance to make amends. Sick, I know, but…” He made another attempt at a shrug, this one less successful as her blade was pressed that much more aggressively against him.
“Luckily for you, I am not the person who gets to decide if that is an option or not. However, I am the person who is going to ensure you get to where you need to be with the minimum of disruption. Don’t forget, I have certain advantages over you.” A flick of eyes sideways to her blood on the floor ensured he made the connection.
“What are you? Torchwood’s secret weapon?”
“Worse than that, I’m afraid.” Siannon twisted, spun, *danced* around him and before he had a chance to react she was extremely up close and personal with her arm wrapped round his neck, conveniently extending and exposing his throat to her sword in such a way that a mere twitch in the wrong direction would have him exsanguinated in no time.
“Worse?” Hart croaked against the blade.
“Worse,” she hissed into his ear. “I’m the medic.”
Title: Protect and Survive
Fandom: Highlander/Torchwood
Characters: Siannon O'Niall (OFC) & John Hart
Rating: PG
Warnings/Spoilers: It's a non-fixit post Children of Earth fic (though this isn't immediately obvious)
Disclaimer: Anything you recognise is not mine.
Title from the song by Manuskript
A/N: Written for my occhallenge table - Prompt: metal - which puts me past the halfway mark. I haven't written anything solely about Siannon O'Niall for a while and she decided she wanted an outing, though she's a little darker here than usual which I don't think is surprising considering it's post CoE. For some reason the muses demanded John Hart knuckle in on the act too. I've never written him before so apologies if you find him OoC.
~*~
Protect and Survive
*
Years of practice enabled Siannon to maintain a hold on her silence as life returning slammed back into her again with all the subtlety of a herd of elephants. Her cheek was resting in a puddle of something vaguely warm and sticky; blood, most likely her own she realised by the metallic tang against her lips. At least with her lying face down the sight of the bullet hole in her head closing up would not have been obvious to the person who was still in the warehouse with her. She could hear him muttering away to himself about pity and favours, debts and payment and what the hell was he going to do about Torchwood now… The last comment made her eyes flick open in concern; she’d already realised the muttering man was not the same being who had taken her down and she was beginning to wonder just *who* he was. She turned her head a little, silently, just enough to give herself a sliver of vision of her current roommate. Roommates, she mentally corrected as she caught sight of the other unmoving bodies in the place, though she could make out in the dim light that the blood surrounding them was a rather disturbing shade of green. Definitely under Torchwood’s jurisdiction then, despite the protests of the one she’d been ‘talking’ to; damn her for being 40,000 sorts of fool and not realising it had been acting in concert with another. Stupid; amateurish; no wonder she’d been shot. She shifted again slightly, trying to bring the mutterer into focus without revealing she wasn’t a corpse any longer. There. She had him.
Siannon watched for a moment, and frowned to herself. There was something familiar about him, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. He wasn’t particularly tall and his accent had that odd not-quite-English tone to it that told her that he was definitely not local, and possibly not even human. Nice boots, military jacket, more firearms than you could shake a stick at (which explained all the blood) and, most surprisingly of all, a *sword*. The presence of the last puzzled her, this guy was definitely no immortal - incipient or otherwise - and it was the puzzlement about the sword that finally identified him from her memories. She bit her tongue to stop the growl that threatened to escape from deep within her; it seemed that John Hart was still not averse to causing Torchwood trouble, even with Jack gone from the planet. Knowing Hart, though, that could well be *why* he was causing them trouble. She grinned savagely to herself; if that was his intention, then he was about to get a nasty surprise. She wiggled slightly, confirming that her sword was still right where it should be and then she slowly got to her feet, careful not to make a sound in the process. The faint snick and hiss of metal as she drew her sword was the only warning of her living presence that she gave Hart. He was quick to react, she had to give him that, but his instinctive movement turned him beautifully to meet her sword and the edge of her blade was resting against his neck before he had time to draw either guns or breath. The hitch in his breathing and the slight widening of his eyes told her that he was truly surprised, and possibly more than a little nervous besides, to be facing her. Whether that was because she’d risen from the dead or because she looked like a reject from a bad horror movie - there was blood caked in her hair and smeared over her face - she didn’t really care, he was off balance and that was all to her advantage. Maybe she’d take him back to Gwen and let her work off some of her post-pregnancy hormones on him. The idea had a degree of merit and Siannon could feel the smile stretch across her face, scattering flakes of dried blood off her skin in its wake. He swallowed convulsively against the blade.
“Nice sword,” he commented, his eyes caressing the blade. Siannon had to bite back a laugh; she hadn’t expected the kinky bastard to be turned on by having a blade - and an obviously deadly sharp one at that - held to his throat but she couldn’t say it exactly surprised her from what she’d heard about him. She delicately applied just enough pressure to nick his skin and watched as he licked his lips at the bloom of his blood on the metal.
“Thanks,” she replied. “It might look better buried in your guts though. What do you think, *Captain* Hart?”
“I think there’s no need to be so… hasty.”
“Maybe not, but I’m not a very patient sort of person. I should just chop off your head and be done with it.” She shifted her stance, knowing he would feel the difference in pressure where the sword blade kissed his neck.
“Wait!”
“Give me one good reason why.”
“I was trying to help!”
“Great help you were. It’ll take *ages * to get the blood out of my hair. I *hate* the feeling of blood in my hair, especially my own.”
“I can relate to that.” He nodded at the green blooded aliens - the very dead green blooded aliens - on the warehouse floor. “I did neutralise them for you, though I didn’t expect you to be in a position to discuss that with me, after...” Hart indicated the area of the floor where she had been lying. The red of her blood was startling amongst all the green. She gave him a feral grin.
“Get used to it; I’m a very persistent person by nature. As for neutralising them, how about you tell me *why* you decided to do that?” The blade turned slightly in her hands, becoming more of a caress than a threat and he leaned into its touch with an inarticulate sound, making her idly wonder just how far his sword kink went and how much he was playing it up for her benefit. Part of her wanted to have the opportunity to find out, the rest just wanted to get him away from her, from Torchwood and from Cardiff. She met his eyes, the blade shining strong and true between them. As Siannon held his gaze, something seemed to melt away from his eyes. He shrugged, or shrugged as much as he was able with a sword to his throat.
“They had something I wanted, of course. It was only later that I realised they also had something that rightfully belonged to Torchwood. I decided I would get that back, too.”
“To keep for yourself?” That would be more like the John Hart she’d heard about, always looking out for himself and not considering the ramifications of his actions. He gave a tiny shake of his head - probably all he could manage.
“To buy my way in.”
That was something she hadn’t considered, and she wasn’t sure she truly believed him; she *did* believe he would never try to get into Torchwood simply by asking.
“You expect me to believe that?” Siannon challenged.
“Torchwood has no reason to love me, or even to trust me. I thought if I had something you wanted, I might at least get a fair hearing before you decided to either kill me or kick me off the planet. I’ve grown to like it here and I…” His voice trailed off as his eyes traced the path of the sword from point to hilt.
“What?” She pressed the sword closer into his skin, strictly business now. He didn’t flinch, but likewise he didn’t relax into the touch of the blade as he had done earlier.
“I wanted the chance to make amends. Sick, I know, but…” He made another attempt at a shrug, this one less successful as her blade was pressed that much more aggressively against him.
“Luckily for you, I am not the person who gets to decide if that is an option or not. However, I am the person who is going to ensure you get to where you need to be with the minimum of disruption. Don’t forget, I have certain advantages over you.” A flick of eyes sideways to her blood on the floor ensured he made the connection.
“What are you? Torchwood’s secret weapon?”
“Worse than that, I’m afraid.” Siannon twisted, spun, *danced* around him and before he had a chance to react she was extremely up close and personal with her arm wrapped round his neck, conveniently extending and exposing his throat to her sword in such a way that a mere twitch in the wrong direction would have him exsanguinated in no time.
“Worse?” Hart croaked against the blade.
“Worse,” she hissed into his ear. “I’m the medic.”