Revelations Part 7
Title: Revelations
Part: 7 of 10-ish...
Chapter Title: In Which an Old "Friend" Screws Things Up, Angry Sex Is Had, and There Are Robot Hippie Turtles
Pairing: Janto, mention of Gwen/Rhys, mention of Martha/Tom, Ianto/Martha fag-hag fabulousness
Rating: PG-13 this part
Warnings: Post Season 2 Spoilers, General Angst, Tortured!Ianto
Excerpt:
Ianto suddenly finds himself the subject of five shocked and confused stares. John Hart is the first to recover.
"I do hope this goes where I think it's going."
"Hardly," Ianto scoffs. "Any man who carries more than three weapons at once is obviously compensating for something."
A small speck of light suddenly appears in the middle of the darkened room. It expands until it becomes a mass of swirling, shining copper, a strange whispering sound marking the growth. Two figures materialize from the midst of it in an explosion of motion.
The larger figure slams the smaller against the wall, an incongruously sorrowful and vicious sound curdling from between two large, rubbery lips. The smaller form loses his breath in a puff of air, letting out a soft exclamation recognizable as a curse from the tone. He digs his heels in, pushing off the wall. With a smirk and a darting grab, he pulls out a weapon, raising it to chest level. A couple of loud cracks break the sounds of scrambling and grunting. Then silence.
He walks up to the alien, raising a foot to kick at the ruptured, steaming flesh. With a sneer of distaste, he flicks the greenish, slimy blood off of his boot to hear it spatter with a squelching sound against the floor. He holsters his weapon and takes in his new surroundings.
It's the changing room of a department store. A couple of the cheap, plywood cubicles have been scuffed up. The dead alien lays just inside one of them, the door torn off its hinges from the impact of the body crashing into it. Three tall mirrors stand against a wall. He stares at his reflection, brushes some filth from his jacket, and tilts his head to the side until he feels his neck crack.
There's a chair next to the mirrors. He walks to it and sprawls out, taking a moment to catch his breath. He winces at the sudden shock of clenching tightness that emanates from his left ankle and glares at the quietly blinking device strapped there. It looks to be made of some sort of bone or ivory. Five different colored lights flash in unison. He leans down and taps it rhythmically with a finger until the pressure lets up. He's not sure if the tapping actually does anything, but he's tried everything to affect it short of shooting it off. It seems to take more kindly to a soft touch.
He leans his head against the wall, counting down the time. It shouldn't take them long. There's no way they'll miss the scene he's just made, especially considering the damn thing strapped to his ankle. He's nearly certain it's emanating some sort of homing signal. It would explain why he can't seem to shake his pursuers, no matter how many tricks he pulls out of his rather-extensive game book.
It's six minutes, twenty four seconds before he hears muted movement outside in the department store. If he hadn't been listening specifically for them, he probably wouldn't have heard their approach at all. He slings one arm over the back of the chair, affecting a pose of nonchalance.
The door to the changing room bursts open, a tall man and a shorter woman rushing through the entryway, guns raised. From his seated position, the intruder lets his eyes slide up the man's figure, charting the soft lines of the elegantly cut suit clinging to the lean body. His gaze darts over to the woman. He smirks as her eyes widen when she fully takes in the scene, the shocked look exaggerating already markedly pixie-ish features.
The young man's blue eyes narrow before he lowers his gun, securing it in the holster strapped under his jacket around his chest and shoulders. The intruder can tell the apparent relaxation is highly controlled, the man's fingers twitching minusculely with tension. Interesting. He remembers a green field agent who trembled in rage and terror with a gun held to his forehead, but the cold calculation in this man's eyes speaks of maturity and experience.
Looks like the kids have done a little growing up in my absence.
The young man moves himself so he's subtly situated in a protective position between the intruder and the woman. A short glance and jerk of his head has Gwen putting her gun away. Ianto sighs exasperatedly.
"You have got to be joking," he says, managing to indicate not only the mess but also the intruder's presence with one frustrated wave of a hand.
Captain John Hart smiles and wiggles his fingers cheekily in greeting.
"Good to see you too, Eye Candy."
______________________________________
Jack stands with his arms crossed on the other side of the cog-wheel door, a look of guarded caution on his face. Gwen and Ianto follow behind John as he walks into the Hub, the proximity alarm flashing light into his eyes. There's a dark-skinned man and a woman he doesn't recognize standing on either side of Jack. John raises an eyebrow.
"Replacements, I see," he says. "Still no blonde, then?" Jack's lips twitch. It's not clear whether it's a show of amusement or irritation.
"Mickey Smith," Jack says, gesturing to the man next to him, "and Martha Jones. This is Captain John Hart."
"Charmed," Mickey says, walking forward with a scanner. "Now if you'd be kind enough to hand over any arms you have on you..." Martha joins them, carrying a box. Ianto steps forward so that he's standing slightly to the right and in front of John, holding out a hand expectantly.
"What, you still don't trust me?" John asks before beginning to remove his weapons and hand them over. Ianto takes them before carefully handing them to Martha, who in turn drops them into the box.
"Your reputation precedes you, Captain," Martha says, closing the box when it's full and stepping back. John sighs dramatically.
"It's hard being infamous," he moans. "Sure, at first it's all sex, drugs, and violence, but soon people are forming opinions about you before they've even met you."
"How awful for you," Ianto deadpans. "Since you always seem to take the judgment of others so seriously."
Jack snorts and gestures for them all to follow him. After Martha's taken care of locking up the stock-pile of weapons, she joins them in the conference room. Jack leans forward in his chair at the head of the table. John falls into his signature slouch-and-smirk pose.
"What are you doing here?" Jack asks.
"What, a man can't drop by to check on some old friends?" John says.
"No," Jack and Ianto say firmly, in unison. They share a brief look before focusing their attention back on John.
John takes stock of the situation. Jack's expression is intense and unreadable as always. There's open distrust and slight animosity on Mickey's face. Martha seems coldly interested and a bit cautious. Gwen, bless her empathic soul, looks politely questioning with an undertone of determination. Ianto's resting his chin on a fist looking bored, but there's a flash of cool threat in his eyes that John never would have associated with the man's butler-like stoicism before, much less taken seriously.
Grown-up, indeed.
In lieu of an explanation for his presence John leans further back in his chair and lifts his feet up onto the table, crossing them as if he's relaxing on vacation. It brings attention to the ivory cuff that's blinking with a quiet menace. The eyes of the Torchwood team immediately snap to his ankle.
"Got yourself into a spot of trouble, I see," Gwen says. "I really hope that's not got a timer on it or anything. Didn't work out too well the last time."
"Oh, I wouldn't say that. I seem to remember the last explosive device leading to a rather exciting tour of your fair city," John says, shooting a smirk at Gwen. "But no. Damn thing has been attached to me for three months, and there's been nothing to indicate any exploding."
"You seem to have a knack for getting harmful alien technology stuck to you," Ianto comments dryly.
"Such a shame, too, since there are other things I actually enjoy getting stuck to me," John quips with a leer in the Welshman's direction. Ianto rolls his eyes.
"What is it, then?" Mickey asks.
"Sadly, I haven't a clue," John says. "I think it might be some sort of tracking device."
"And what exactly do you expect us to do about it?" Martha asks.
"It's not like I need your help," John blusters, "but I figured with that great big archive of yours you might have some information I could use."
"Still doesn't explain why we'd let you use it," Mickey says.
"Well, new boy," John snaps toward Mickey, though his eyes are on Jack, "you definitely owe me one." He drums his fingers on the arm of the chair, a large, green ring on his index finger making a pointed clinking noise.
Jack sighs.
"Why don't you explain- starting from the beginning," Jack suggests.
"And please take your feet off the table," Ianto says.
With a flirtatious smile, John slowly complies. Ianto suppresses a wince at the alien blood and dirt left on the formerly clean surface.
"Three months ago," John starts, "I was doing a bit of work around the vicinity of the Omega Nebula-"
"By 'work', I assume you mean smuggling," Jack says.
"Who's telling the story here? It's rude to interrupt," John retorts. Jack raises an eyebrow but remains silent. "I was forced to make an emergency landing on a backwater planet by the name of Hextana 4. Supposedly deserted. Tore up a few trees setting down, but I came out in one piece.'
'I got out to survey my surroundings, blah, blah, blah, you know the drill. I'd been walking for an hour or so when the trees thinned out into a meadow. It was covered in huge patches of flowers; the beds seemed too organized to be naturally occurring. There was this giant bloom in the middle of the meadow with all the other flowers radiating out from it. I walked a bit closer to investigate, and no sooner had I reached the center of the garden than a group of a race of aliens I've never encountered before pops up out of no-fucking-where. Big shells on their backs, looked like some of them had cybernetic upgrades.'
'I was outnumbered. Next thing I remember, I woke up trussed in some sort of hut with a piece of blinky jewelry attached to my ankle. I was able to escape and used my wrist-strap to transport to the nearest planet, but since then, I haven't found anyone who can tell me what the thing is. Despite increasingly desperate attempts, the tracking device seems irremovable short of cutting off my own foot. On top of that, I get a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle paying me a visit every tenth day in my own linear time, no matter where or when I happen to be. It's a fucking nuisance, and I thought maybe if I-"
John's story is cut off by a bark of laughter. He glares over at Ianto who seems to be having some trouble getting himself under control. After another burst of chuckles, Ianto gives John the same evilly amused smile he sported when he was counting down the time to John's explosive demise.
"Something funny, Eye Candy?" John asks menacingly. It doesn't have the desired effect. If anything, it just sets Ianto off again.
"You twpsyn," Ianto manages to gasp out between laughs. "You've gone and gotten yourself engaged to a Chelonian."
________________________________________
____________________________________
Jack had insisted they break for lunch when Ianto couldn't seem to get his giggle-fit under control and John had developed a nasty eye twitch as a result. Jack knew that eye twitch, and it was generally followed by some form of death, dismemberment, or, in one memorable case, violent, mind-melting sex. Since Jack was fairly sure Ianto wouldn't take kindly to any of the three (at least not in front of an audience), he'd nipped the impending explosion in the bud.
Now, two hours later, it seems Ianto has taken the time to calm down enough to pull up the few obscure references to Chelonians in the Torchwood Three archives.
"The Chelonians are a humanoid race with large, protective shells. They resemble giant tortoises and are said to have a distinctly leather-like smell. Early in their history, they developed highly advanced medicinal technology that allows them to cybernetically upgrade their bodies," Ianto says, bringing up a few dated-looking sketches on the display screen.
"Originally, there was violent in-fighting between different ethnic groups, but when their numbers had dwindled due to several seemingly endless wars, a pacifistic faction rose to power. The remaining Chelonians became nomadic; some of their cybernetic upgrades allow them to teleport from planet to planet and, confirmed by John's story, apparently they're capable of limited time-travel as well. Their main occupation is-" Ianto pauses and coughs, failing to keep a smirk from twisting onto his lips, "flower arrangement.'
'It's risen to a sophisticated art-form. In a few tribes, cultivation has become a type of religion. The garden John stumbled upon sounds like their version of a temple. Approaching the central bloom is considered blasphemous against the Chelonians' vengeful gods. The belief is that anyone who approaches the bloom without being struck dead is sacred and should be anointed the Chosen Mate of the village elder's oldest daughter."
Silence greets the end of Ianto's brief explanation.
"So what you're saying," Mickey says incredulously after a while, "is that Napoleon here is some kind of saint who accidentally proposed to the princess of a group of hippie robot turtles?"
"Hence my initial amusement," Ianto states solemnly with an inclination of his head.
"How do you know all of this, anyway?" John asks, eyes narrowed. "The stuff you've got there doesn't seem to be any more than a few half-arsed drawings."
Ianto's gaze shifts over to John briefly and then darts back to the screen.
"Torchwood London had rather more extensive archives than we do here," he says, "and I've a knack for remembering details."
"He's invaluable for pub quizzes," Gwen breaks in with a smile. "Rhys is always nagging me to invite him along."
"Tell him I'd be inclined to attend more often if he'd stop bringing his friend with the atrocious nickname," Ianto says.
"Banana Boat?" Gwen asks.
"He kept insisting that Descartes' cogito was a traditional Chinese proverb," Ianto explains, a horrified note in his voice.
"Alright," John says, slamming a hand onto the table. "None of that tells me what I'm supposed to do about this bloody awful thing on my leg."
"It is quite the fashion faux-pas," Jack mocks.
"Haha," John monotones. "I seem to remember you being rather fond of spandex at one point."
"I thought we agreed never to mention that again," Jack says.
Mickey, Martha, Gwen, and Ianto stare in disbelief.
"I was going through a phase," Jack states defensively.
"Thankfully," Ianto cuts in, "there's a fairly simple way of getting the Chelonians to cooperate. Strictly ceremonial. You'll need to give a polite refusal to the proposed marriage instead of killing every envoy they send to collect you."
"That doesn't sound too difficult," Martha says brightly.
"It does sound like absolutely no fun," John pouts.
"What does this polite refusal consist of?" Jack asks.
"That's a piece of information I think I'll hold onto for the time being if you don't mind, sir," Ianto says.
"Why not just tell me now?" John asks testily. "Once I have the information I need, I'll be out of your impeccably groomed hair for good."
"Because there's a chance that I could be wrong about it," Ianto replies. "If we let you go and what I suggest doesn't work, I'm fairly certain you'll just keep doing as you have been; killing another Chelonian every ten days until you get captured or they run out of envoys to send after you. It would be unconscionable for Torchwood to allow you to continue on a genocidal rampage, Captain, especially considering the Chelonians are practically an endangered species."
"Thank you, Greenpeace," John says.
"This way," Ianto continues, ignoring the comment, "you have to stay under our supervision until such time that we can make the attempt at negotiations, and if the plan falls through we'll hopefully be able to come up with a peaceful alternative."
"What do we do in the meantime?" Martha asks.
"Martha, you can get to work on the autopsy of the Chelonian John so handily dispatched," Jack suggests with a disapproving glance in John's direction. "We should also run some tests on the tracking device to see if there's any way of removing it that John may have missed."
"How do we know he's not trying to pull one over on us?" Mickey asks with a pointed glare at John. "From what I understand, he's got a history of doing that. What if this is just some sort of scam?"
"You know, he's got a point," John admits while shaking a finger for emphasis.
"While it's possible he's lying," Jack says, "we know for a fact that he's been serial killing aliens over a possible misunderstanding. Since I don't think there's any way we can just convince John to cut it out-"
"I'm not going back to murder rehab," John says.
"We can't sit back and let it continue to happen if there's something we can do about it. If everything works out, John gets his freedom, and we get the warm fuzzy feeling of having saved an alien species from the brink of extinction," Jack finishes.
"And there are lots of precautions we can take against a sociopath's flights of whimsy," Gwen says.
"Which we'll discuss later," Jack responds.
"I am right here, you know," John says, lazily unimpressed. "Trust me, if I'd wanted to kill you I would have done it by now. And I wouldn't have come up with such a ridiculous cover-story."
"It's true," Martha says, biting back a grin. "For some reason I don't think you'd willingly cast yourself in a romance opposite a tortoise."
"Gorgeous creatures like you are much more my type," John says with a wink. Then he turns to Jack, his expression turning downright predatory. "I assume I'll be prisoner in your secret base for the interim? I'll let you tie me up in a cell if you promise to be gentle."
Jack raises an eyebrow and opens his mouth to respond.
"Actually," Ianto says while standing up and leaning forward, palms open on the table, "I think it would be best if you stayed with me."
Ianto suddenly becomes the subject of five shocked and confused stares. John is the first to recover.
"I do hope this goes where I think it's going."
"Hardly," Ianto scoffs. "Any man who carries more than three weapons at once is obviously compensating for something."
"Ianto!" Jack interrupts firmly before John can respond. "Care to explain exactly why this is a good idea?"
"It simply occurred to me that alien homing signals and secret underground bases don't mix," Ianto replies dryly. "The less he's here, the less chance there is of some unfriendly race or organization besides the Chelonians picking up on our location. We can't let him loose at a hotel to terrorize the locals. Gwen can't take him because she's got Rhys moving in and out of her flat, which doesn't lend itself to very tight security or secrecy. Mickey and Martha have never experienced Hart's specific brand of sadism before, and you sleep on a bunk in the basement of your office. Process of elimination states that I'm the best equipped to deal with him."
"I like the way you think, Eye Candy," John says, leaning further back in his chair in an obvious attempt to get a better view of Ianto's ass.
Ianto shoots him a slightly disgusted look before pointedly taking his seat again. He turns to find Jack giving him an intense stare.
"Martha, go see to our friend in the autopsy bay," Jack says in a quietly commanding voice, his eyes still on Ianto. "Gwen and Mickey, take our guest and start running every scan you can think of on that tracking device. I'll expect a report on my desk in two days. Ianto, a word."
Martha glances over at Gwen, a concerned look passing between them before they both bustle out of the room. Mickey clears his throat awkwardly and waits to escort John out. John rises more slowly than the rest of them, a hint of mischief in his eyes.
"Oh, dear," he says, shaking his head derisively. "I hope you aren't going to quarrel on my account." Jack snaps cold blue eyes to fix on him.
"You'll have to excuse us," he says with a nod towards the door.
"Fine," John says. He turns to face Ianto. "Just to let you know, I prefer the right side of the bed." Ianto glares indignantly. John smiles coldly and turns to Jack. "Of course, you already knew my preferences." Then he swaggers out, shooting one last snide comment over his shoulder. "Perhaps you could get him up to speed while I'm gone?"
A good amount of tension dissipates the second John leaves the room. Jack sighs and turns to Ianto.
"There's no way this is happening," he states resolutely.
"Stop being stupid, Jack," Ianto says. "You know it's the most logical course of action to take. It's not like I'm planning on taking him home to meet my mum. In the next few hours, I can have CCTV set up to cover every corner of my flat and twelve different locks put on every door. Like Gwen said, there are precautions we can take. It'll allow us to monitor him without causing him to feel trapped enough to make a run for it."
"I still think we should consider keeping him at the Hub."
"To do what?" Ianto asks scathingly. "Break into our computer systems? Mess with the manipulator? Inadvertently betray our position to every alien that comes through the rift?"
"He can be managed," Jack says. "I can handle him."
Ianto smirks deprecatingly.
"Oh, I'm sure you can."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Jack asks. Ianto sighs.
"I don't trust him, Jack," he says in a calmer tone. "If we leave him here, it's practically giving him permission to wreak havoc. The worst damage he can do staying with me is to overload my hard-drive with downloaded porn and break my kitchen appliances."
"Or he could strangle you in your sleep."
"I'll take my chances," Ianto says. "Besides, it's not like I won't be on my guard. I honestly doubt he'll get the chance."
"There's no way I can talk you out of this, is there?"
"Trust me."
"It's not you I'm having trouble trusting," Jack says.
"You'll have a live CCTV feed of my flat in the Hub at all times," Ianto promises. "If he tries anything you can bust in and play the dashing hero... as long as I don't kill him first."
"You really don't like him, do you?" Jack asks. Ianto gives him a look like its the stupidest question he's ever heard.
"Of course I don't like him," Ianto bites out angrily. "Even if it wasn't for all the destruction he's caused, whether on purpose or not, he has a consistent habit of hurting the team. Not to mention he's an arrogant prick with no class or redeemable qualities, and I don't think I'll ever be able to understand why you once-" Ianto cuts himself off and looks away.
"Why I once, what?" Jack asks gently after a moment.
"Never mind. It doesn't matter," Ianto says.
"Yes it does. We're supposed to be trying here, remember?" Jack says, placing a hand over the fist Ianto's left clenched on the table. Though he's still not making eye contact, Ianto's expression softens when Jack laces their fingers together.
"It's stupid and irrational, and I refuse to let it bother me."
"All the same," Jack says. "I'd like to know."
Ianto finally turns to look at him.
"When you two were...partners," Ianto begins haltingly, "did you love him?"
Jack's first instinct is to refuse to answer the question and tell Ianto it's none of his business. But then he takes in the look of quiet resignation and marked lack of judgment in the young man's eyes. Jack sighs sadly.
"Yes," he admits. Ianto flinches and closes his eyes for a moment. Jack squeezes his hand tighter.
"But I don't want you wondering how I could love him and not you," Jack continues. "It's true I loved him once, but when I knew him... I was a different person then, Ianto. You have to understand- you are so much more than he will ever be. I'm proud of the person I am now. You're a part of that. He's not."
Jack tugs on Ianto's hand, pulling them both up to gather Ianto into a hug. They cling to each other for a moment or two, their foreheads resting together. Ianto stares into Jack's eyes sadly.
"I'm sorry I thought... well. You know what I mean. I'm kind of rubbish at this, aren't I?" he asks. Jack laughs and holds him tighter.
"No more than I am. Don't worry; we'll figure it out together."
Ianto tugs him into a soft, lingering kiss before pulling back to run his palms down Jack's chest as if he's straightening wrinkles.
"Come on," Ianto says at last, playfully snapping Jack's braces. "This is hardly work appropriate behavior. We'd better go make sure the bastard isn't staging a hostile takeover."
"And there are still plenty of upgrades to be made to your flat before the night is out," Jack says. Ianto raises an eyebrow.
"Planning to help me install some of them?" he asks.
Jack grins wickedly.
"Among other things."
__________________________________
TRANSLATION: Twpsyn- Welsh for "idiot"
Part: 7 of 10-ish...
Chapter Title: In Which an Old "Friend" Screws Things Up, Angry Sex Is Had, and There Are Robot Hippie Turtles
Pairing: Janto, mention of Gwen/Rhys, mention of Martha/Tom, Ianto/Martha fag-hag fabulousness
Rating: PG-13 this part
Warnings: Post Season 2 Spoilers, General Angst, Tortured!Ianto
Excerpt:
Ianto suddenly finds himself the subject of five shocked and confused stares. John Hart is the first to recover.
"I do hope this goes where I think it's going."
"Hardly," Ianto scoffs. "Any man who carries more than three weapons at once is obviously compensating for something."
A small speck of light suddenly appears in the middle of the darkened room. It expands until it becomes a mass of swirling, shining copper, a strange whispering sound marking the growth. Two figures materialize from the midst of it in an explosion of motion.
The larger figure slams the smaller against the wall, an incongruously sorrowful and vicious sound curdling from between two large, rubbery lips. The smaller form loses his breath in a puff of air, letting out a soft exclamation recognizable as a curse from the tone. He digs his heels in, pushing off the wall. With a smirk and a darting grab, he pulls out a weapon, raising it to chest level. A couple of loud cracks break the sounds of scrambling and grunting. Then silence.
He walks up to the alien, raising a foot to kick at the ruptured, steaming flesh. With a sneer of distaste, he flicks the greenish, slimy blood off of his boot to hear it spatter with a squelching sound against the floor. He holsters his weapon and takes in his new surroundings.
It's the changing room of a department store. A couple of the cheap, plywood cubicles have been scuffed up. The dead alien lays just inside one of them, the door torn off its hinges from the impact of the body crashing into it. Three tall mirrors stand against a wall. He stares at his reflection, brushes some filth from his jacket, and tilts his head to the side until he feels his neck crack.
There's a chair next to the mirrors. He walks to it and sprawls out, taking a moment to catch his breath. He winces at the sudden shock of clenching tightness that emanates from his left ankle and glares at the quietly blinking device strapped there. It looks to be made of some sort of bone or ivory. Five different colored lights flash in unison. He leans down and taps it rhythmically with a finger until the pressure lets up. He's not sure if the tapping actually does anything, but he's tried everything to affect it short of shooting it off. It seems to take more kindly to a soft touch.
He leans his head against the wall, counting down the time. It shouldn't take them long. There's no way they'll miss the scene he's just made, especially considering the damn thing strapped to his ankle. He's nearly certain it's emanating some sort of homing signal. It would explain why he can't seem to shake his pursuers, no matter how many tricks he pulls out of his rather-extensive game book.
It's six minutes, twenty four seconds before he hears muted movement outside in the department store. If he hadn't been listening specifically for them, he probably wouldn't have heard their approach at all. He slings one arm over the back of the chair, affecting a pose of nonchalance.
The door to the changing room bursts open, a tall man and a shorter woman rushing through the entryway, guns raised. From his seated position, the intruder lets his eyes slide up the man's figure, charting the soft lines of the elegantly cut suit clinging to the lean body. His gaze darts over to the woman. He smirks as her eyes widen when she fully takes in the scene, the shocked look exaggerating already markedly pixie-ish features.
The young man's blue eyes narrow before he lowers his gun, securing it in the holster strapped under his jacket around his chest and shoulders. The intruder can tell the apparent relaxation is highly controlled, the man's fingers twitching minusculely with tension. Interesting. He remembers a green field agent who trembled in rage and terror with a gun held to his forehead, but the cold calculation in this man's eyes speaks of maturity and experience.
Looks like the kids have done a little growing up in my absence.
The young man moves himself so he's subtly situated in a protective position between the intruder and the woman. A short glance and jerk of his head has Gwen putting her gun away. Ianto sighs exasperatedly.
"You have got to be joking," he says, managing to indicate not only the mess but also the intruder's presence with one frustrated wave of a hand.
Captain John Hart smiles and wiggles his fingers cheekily in greeting.
"Good to see you too, Eye Candy."
______________________________________
Jack stands with his arms crossed on the other side of the cog-wheel door, a look of guarded caution on his face. Gwen and Ianto follow behind John as he walks into the Hub, the proximity alarm flashing light into his eyes. There's a dark-skinned man and a woman he doesn't recognize standing on either side of Jack. John raises an eyebrow.
"Replacements, I see," he says. "Still no blonde, then?" Jack's lips twitch. It's not clear whether it's a show of amusement or irritation.
"Mickey Smith," Jack says, gesturing to the man next to him, "and Martha Jones. This is Captain John Hart."
"Charmed," Mickey says, walking forward with a scanner. "Now if you'd be kind enough to hand over any arms you have on you..." Martha joins them, carrying a box. Ianto steps forward so that he's standing slightly to the right and in front of John, holding out a hand expectantly.
"What, you still don't trust me?" John asks before beginning to remove his weapons and hand them over. Ianto takes them before carefully handing them to Martha, who in turn drops them into the box.
"Your reputation precedes you, Captain," Martha says, closing the box when it's full and stepping back. John sighs dramatically.
"It's hard being infamous," he moans. "Sure, at first it's all sex, drugs, and violence, but soon people are forming opinions about you before they've even met you."
"How awful for you," Ianto deadpans. "Since you always seem to take the judgment of others so seriously."
Jack snorts and gestures for them all to follow him. After Martha's taken care of locking up the stock-pile of weapons, she joins them in the conference room. Jack leans forward in his chair at the head of the table. John falls into his signature slouch-and-smirk pose.
"What are you doing here?" Jack asks.
"What, a man can't drop by to check on some old friends?" John says.
"No," Jack and Ianto say firmly, in unison. They share a brief look before focusing their attention back on John.
John takes stock of the situation. Jack's expression is intense and unreadable as always. There's open distrust and slight animosity on Mickey's face. Martha seems coldly interested and a bit cautious. Gwen, bless her empathic soul, looks politely questioning with an undertone of determination. Ianto's resting his chin on a fist looking bored, but there's a flash of cool threat in his eyes that John never would have associated with the man's butler-like stoicism before, much less taken seriously.
Grown-up, indeed.
In lieu of an explanation for his presence John leans further back in his chair and lifts his feet up onto the table, crossing them as if he's relaxing on vacation. It brings attention to the ivory cuff that's blinking with a quiet menace. The eyes of the Torchwood team immediately snap to his ankle.
"Got yourself into a spot of trouble, I see," Gwen says. "I really hope that's not got a timer on it or anything. Didn't work out too well the last time."
"Oh, I wouldn't say that. I seem to remember the last explosive device leading to a rather exciting tour of your fair city," John says, shooting a smirk at Gwen. "But no. Damn thing has been attached to me for three months, and there's been nothing to indicate any exploding."
"You seem to have a knack for getting harmful alien technology stuck to you," Ianto comments dryly.
"Such a shame, too, since there are other things I actually enjoy getting stuck to me," John quips with a leer in the Welshman's direction. Ianto rolls his eyes.
"What is it, then?" Mickey asks.
"Sadly, I haven't a clue," John says. "I think it might be some sort of tracking device."
"And what exactly do you expect us to do about it?" Martha asks.
"It's not like I need your help," John blusters, "but I figured with that great big archive of yours you might have some information I could use."
"Still doesn't explain why we'd let you use it," Mickey says.
"Well, new boy," John snaps toward Mickey, though his eyes are on Jack, "you definitely owe me one." He drums his fingers on the arm of the chair, a large, green ring on his index finger making a pointed clinking noise.
Jack sighs.
"Why don't you explain- starting from the beginning," Jack suggests.
"And please take your feet off the table," Ianto says.
With a flirtatious smile, John slowly complies. Ianto suppresses a wince at the alien blood and dirt left on the formerly clean surface.
"Three months ago," John starts, "I was doing a bit of work around the vicinity of the Omega Nebula-"
"By 'work', I assume you mean smuggling," Jack says.
"Who's telling the story here? It's rude to interrupt," John retorts. Jack raises an eyebrow but remains silent. "I was forced to make an emergency landing on a backwater planet by the name of Hextana 4. Supposedly deserted. Tore up a few trees setting down, but I came out in one piece.'
'I got out to survey my surroundings, blah, blah, blah, you know the drill. I'd been walking for an hour or so when the trees thinned out into a meadow. It was covered in huge patches of flowers; the beds seemed too organized to be naturally occurring. There was this giant bloom in the middle of the meadow with all the other flowers radiating out from it. I walked a bit closer to investigate, and no sooner had I reached the center of the garden than a group of a race of aliens I've never encountered before pops up out of no-fucking-where. Big shells on their backs, looked like some of them had cybernetic upgrades.'
'I was outnumbered. Next thing I remember, I woke up trussed in some sort of hut with a piece of blinky jewelry attached to my ankle. I was able to escape and used my wrist-strap to transport to the nearest planet, but since then, I haven't found anyone who can tell me what the thing is. Despite increasingly desperate attempts, the tracking device seems irremovable short of cutting off my own foot. On top of that, I get a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle paying me a visit every tenth day in my own linear time, no matter where or when I happen to be. It's a fucking nuisance, and I thought maybe if I-"
John's story is cut off by a bark of laughter. He glares over at Ianto who seems to be having some trouble getting himself under control. After another burst of chuckles, Ianto gives John the same evilly amused smile he sported when he was counting down the time to John's explosive demise.
"Something funny, Eye Candy?" John asks menacingly. It doesn't have the desired effect. If anything, it just sets Ianto off again.
"You twpsyn," Ianto manages to gasp out between laughs. "You've gone and gotten yourself engaged to a Chelonian."
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Jack had insisted they break for lunch when Ianto couldn't seem to get his giggle-fit under control and John had developed a nasty eye twitch as a result. Jack knew that eye twitch, and it was generally followed by some form of death, dismemberment, or, in one memorable case, violent, mind-melting sex. Since Jack was fairly sure Ianto wouldn't take kindly to any of the three (at least not in front of an audience), he'd nipped the impending explosion in the bud.
Now, two hours later, it seems Ianto has taken the time to calm down enough to pull up the few obscure references to Chelonians in the Torchwood Three archives.
"The Chelonians are a humanoid race with large, protective shells. They resemble giant tortoises and are said to have a distinctly leather-like smell. Early in their history, they developed highly advanced medicinal technology that allows them to cybernetically upgrade their bodies," Ianto says, bringing up a few dated-looking sketches on the display screen.
"Originally, there was violent in-fighting between different ethnic groups, but when their numbers had dwindled due to several seemingly endless wars, a pacifistic faction rose to power. The remaining Chelonians became nomadic; some of their cybernetic upgrades allow them to teleport from planet to planet and, confirmed by John's story, apparently they're capable of limited time-travel as well. Their main occupation is-" Ianto pauses and coughs, failing to keep a smirk from twisting onto his lips, "flower arrangement.'
'It's risen to a sophisticated art-form. In a few tribes, cultivation has become a type of religion. The garden John stumbled upon sounds like their version of a temple. Approaching the central bloom is considered blasphemous against the Chelonians' vengeful gods. The belief is that anyone who approaches the bloom without being struck dead is sacred and should be anointed the Chosen Mate of the village elder's oldest daughter."
Silence greets the end of Ianto's brief explanation.
"So what you're saying," Mickey says incredulously after a while, "is that Napoleon here is some kind of saint who accidentally proposed to the princess of a group of hippie robot turtles?"
"Hence my initial amusement," Ianto states solemnly with an inclination of his head.
"How do you know all of this, anyway?" John asks, eyes narrowed. "The stuff you've got there doesn't seem to be any more than a few half-arsed drawings."
Ianto's gaze shifts over to John briefly and then darts back to the screen.
"Torchwood London had rather more extensive archives than we do here," he says, "and I've a knack for remembering details."
"He's invaluable for pub quizzes," Gwen breaks in with a smile. "Rhys is always nagging me to invite him along."
"Tell him I'd be inclined to attend more often if he'd stop bringing his friend with the atrocious nickname," Ianto says.
"Banana Boat?" Gwen asks.
"He kept insisting that Descartes' cogito was a traditional Chinese proverb," Ianto explains, a horrified note in his voice.
"Alright," John says, slamming a hand onto the table. "None of that tells me what I'm supposed to do about this bloody awful thing on my leg."
"It is quite the fashion faux-pas," Jack mocks.
"Haha," John monotones. "I seem to remember you being rather fond of spandex at one point."
"I thought we agreed never to mention that again," Jack says.
Mickey, Martha, Gwen, and Ianto stare in disbelief.
"I was going through a phase," Jack states defensively.
"Thankfully," Ianto cuts in, "there's a fairly simple way of getting the Chelonians to cooperate. Strictly ceremonial. You'll need to give a polite refusal to the proposed marriage instead of killing every envoy they send to collect you."
"That doesn't sound too difficult," Martha says brightly.
"It does sound like absolutely no fun," John pouts.
"What does this polite refusal consist of?" Jack asks.
"That's a piece of information I think I'll hold onto for the time being if you don't mind, sir," Ianto says.
"Why not just tell me now?" John asks testily. "Once I have the information I need, I'll be out of your impeccably groomed hair for good."
"Because there's a chance that I could be wrong about it," Ianto replies. "If we let you go and what I suggest doesn't work, I'm fairly certain you'll just keep doing as you have been; killing another Chelonian every ten days until you get captured or they run out of envoys to send after you. It would be unconscionable for Torchwood to allow you to continue on a genocidal rampage, Captain, especially considering the Chelonians are practically an endangered species."
"Thank you, Greenpeace," John says.
"This way," Ianto continues, ignoring the comment, "you have to stay under our supervision until such time that we can make the attempt at negotiations, and if the plan falls through we'll hopefully be able to come up with a peaceful alternative."
"What do we do in the meantime?" Martha asks.
"Martha, you can get to work on the autopsy of the Chelonian John so handily dispatched," Jack suggests with a disapproving glance in John's direction. "We should also run some tests on the tracking device to see if there's any way of removing it that John may have missed."
"How do we know he's not trying to pull one over on us?" Mickey asks with a pointed glare at John. "From what I understand, he's got a history of doing that. What if this is just some sort of scam?"
"You know, he's got a point," John admits while shaking a finger for emphasis.
"While it's possible he's lying," Jack says, "we know for a fact that he's been serial killing aliens over a possible misunderstanding. Since I don't think there's any way we can just convince John to cut it out-"
"I'm not going back to murder rehab," John says.
"We can't sit back and let it continue to happen if there's something we can do about it. If everything works out, John gets his freedom, and we get the warm fuzzy feeling of having saved an alien species from the brink of extinction," Jack finishes.
"And there are lots of precautions we can take against a sociopath's flights of whimsy," Gwen says.
"Which we'll discuss later," Jack responds.
"I am right here, you know," John says, lazily unimpressed. "Trust me, if I'd wanted to kill you I would have done it by now. And I wouldn't have come up with such a ridiculous cover-story."
"It's true," Martha says, biting back a grin. "For some reason I don't think you'd willingly cast yourself in a romance opposite a tortoise."
"Gorgeous creatures like you are much more my type," John says with a wink. Then he turns to Jack, his expression turning downright predatory. "I assume I'll be prisoner in your secret base for the interim? I'll let you tie me up in a cell if you promise to be gentle."
Jack raises an eyebrow and opens his mouth to respond.
"Actually," Ianto says while standing up and leaning forward, palms open on the table, "I think it would be best if you stayed with me."
Ianto suddenly becomes the subject of five shocked and confused stares. John is the first to recover.
"I do hope this goes where I think it's going."
"Hardly," Ianto scoffs. "Any man who carries more than three weapons at once is obviously compensating for something."
"Ianto!" Jack interrupts firmly before John can respond. "Care to explain exactly why this is a good idea?"
"It simply occurred to me that alien homing signals and secret underground bases don't mix," Ianto replies dryly. "The less he's here, the less chance there is of some unfriendly race or organization besides the Chelonians picking up on our location. We can't let him loose at a hotel to terrorize the locals. Gwen can't take him because she's got Rhys moving in and out of her flat, which doesn't lend itself to very tight security or secrecy. Mickey and Martha have never experienced Hart's specific brand of sadism before, and you sleep on a bunk in the basement of your office. Process of elimination states that I'm the best equipped to deal with him."
"I like the way you think, Eye Candy," John says, leaning further back in his chair in an obvious attempt to get a better view of Ianto's ass.
Ianto shoots him a slightly disgusted look before pointedly taking his seat again. He turns to find Jack giving him an intense stare.
"Martha, go see to our friend in the autopsy bay," Jack says in a quietly commanding voice, his eyes still on Ianto. "Gwen and Mickey, take our guest and start running every scan you can think of on that tracking device. I'll expect a report on my desk in two days. Ianto, a word."
Martha glances over at Gwen, a concerned look passing between them before they both bustle out of the room. Mickey clears his throat awkwardly and waits to escort John out. John rises more slowly than the rest of them, a hint of mischief in his eyes.
"Oh, dear," he says, shaking his head derisively. "I hope you aren't going to quarrel on my account." Jack snaps cold blue eyes to fix on him.
"You'll have to excuse us," he says with a nod towards the door.
"Fine," John says. He turns to face Ianto. "Just to let you know, I prefer the right side of the bed." Ianto glares indignantly. John smiles coldly and turns to Jack. "Of course, you already knew my preferences." Then he swaggers out, shooting one last snide comment over his shoulder. "Perhaps you could get him up to speed while I'm gone?"
A good amount of tension dissipates the second John leaves the room. Jack sighs and turns to Ianto.
"There's no way this is happening," he states resolutely.
"Stop being stupid, Jack," Ianto says. "You know it's the most logical course of action to take. It's not like I'm planning on taking him home to meet my mum. In the next few hours, I can have CCTV set up to cover every corner of my flat and twelve different locks put on every door. Like Gwen said, there are precautions we can take. It'll allow us to monitor him without causing him to feel trapped enough to make a run for it."
"I still think we should consider keeping him at the Hub."
"To do what?" Ianto asks scathingly. "Break into our computer systems? Mess with the manipulator? Inadvertently betray our position to every alien that comes through the rift?"
"He can be managed," Jack says. "I can handle him."
Ianto smirks deprecatingly.
"Oh, I'm sure you can."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Jack asks. Ianto sighs.
"I don't trust him, Jack," he says in a calmer tone. "If we leave him here, it's practically giving him permission to wreak havoc. The worst damage he can do staying with me is to overload my hard-drive with downloaded porn and break my kitchen appliances."
"Or he could strangle you in your sleep."
"I'll take my chances," Ianto says. "Besides, it's not like I won't be on my guard. I honestly doubt he'll get the chance."
"There's no way I can talk you out of this, is there?"
"Trust me."
"It's not you I'm having trouble trusting," Jack says.
"You'll have a live CCTV feed of my flat in the Hub at all times," Ianto promises. "If he tries anything you can bust in and play the dashing hero... as long as I don't kill him first."
"You really don't like him, do you?" Jack asks. Ianto gives him a look like its the stupidest question he's ever heard.
"Of course I don't like him," Ianto bites out angrily. "Even if it wasn't for all the destruction he's caused, whether on purpose or not, he has a consistent habit of hurting the team. Not to mention he's an arrogant prick with no class or redeemable qualities, and I don't think I'll ever be able to understand why you once-" Ianto cuts himself off and looks away.
"Why I once, what?" Jack asks gently after a moment.
"Never mind. It doesn't matter," Ianto says.
"Yes it does. We're supposed to be trying here, remember?" Jack says, placing a hand over the fist Ianto's left clenched on the table. Though he's still not making eye contact, Ianto's expression softens when Jack laces their fingers together.
"It's stupid and irrational, and I refuse to let it bother me."
"All the same," Jack says. "I'd like to know."
Ianto finally turns to look at him.
"When you two were...partners," Ianto begins haltingly, "did you love him?"
Jack's first instinct is to refuse to answer the question and tell Ianto it's none of his business. But then he takes in the look of quiet resignation and marked lack of judgment in the young man's eyes. Jack sighs sadly.
"Yes," he admits. Ianto flinches and closes his eyes for a moment. Jack squeezes his hand tighter.
"But I don't want you wondering how I could love him and not you," Jack continues. "It's true I loved him once, but when I knew him... I was a different person then, Ianto. You have to understand- you are so much more than he will ever be. I'm proud of the person I am now. You're a part of that. He's not."
Jack tugs on Ianto's hand, pulling them both up to gather Ianto into a hug. They cling to each other for a moment or two, their foreheads resting together. Ianto stares into Jack's eyes sadly.
"I'm sorry I thought... well. You know what I mean. I'm kind of rubbish at this, aren't I?" he asks. Jack laughs and holds him tighter.
"No more than I am. Don't worry; we'll figure it out together."
Ianto tugs him into a soft, lingering kiss before pulling back to run his palms down Jack's chest as if he's straightening wrinkles.
"Come on," Ianto says at last, playfully snapping Jack's braces. "This is hardly work appropriate behavior. We'd better go make sure the bastard isn't staging a hostile takeover."
"And there are still plenty of upgrades to be made to your flat before the night is out," Jack says. Ianto raises an eyebrow.
"Planning to help me install some of them?" he asks.
Jack grins wickedly.
"Among other things."
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TRANSLATION: Twpsyn- Welsh for "idiot"