Torchwood Fic: Mythology (3/?)
Title: Mythology (3/?)
Pairing: Jack/Ianto
Rating: R/NC17
Warning: None
Spoilers: Set after 2.13. Spoilers for both series 1 and 2, and a bit of DW: Last of the Time Lords and The Shakespeare Code
Summary: With mythical beasts turning up all over Scotland, Torchwood Two thought they were in charge; however, so did Torchwood Four. Unfortunately for both parties their main suspect was refusing to talk to anyone other than Torchwood Three’s Ianto Jones.
Beta: rakina and extra special thank you to srah_scottydog for her insider knowledge of Glasgow.
Disclaimer: Don't own 'em - unfortunately
A/N: Set after my stories Lynchpin and Constant. Okay folks... time to investigate the other side of Ianto’s family tree! This one is lighter in tone to Constant - time to have a bit of fun!
Lynchpin here: http://hel-bee.livejournal.com/21730.html
Constant here: http://hel-bee.livejournal.com/23390.html
Mythology chapter 1 here: http://hel-bee.livejournal.com/25464.html
Mythology chapter 2 here: http://hel-bee.livejournal.com/25667.html
Chapter Three
Snippet:
Slowly the guard appeared to regain his focus; he looked at Henshaw with huge, terrified eyes. “M-m-monster,” he finally managed to stammer.
Jack ended the call after assuring Henshaw and Dunston that Ianto would contact them immediately if he remembered who their guest was. “So, who is she?” he asked. “And don’t try to look innocent, Ianto, I now know when you’re hiding something.”
“She - well, her species - is the reason I can do what I do for Torchwood Four,” Ianto replied, realising that both Jack and Gwen would see through any lie he tried to make up on the spot. “She’s a Carrionite.”
Gwen looked confused, but Jack got his implication immediately. “A relative, then. Please tell me she’s not granny!”
Ianto laughed. “No, my grandmother was half human, and that side of her genetics reduced her lifespan considerably. That woman is my Great Aunt Kelis. She’s the half-sister of my grandmother - and one hundred percent Carrionite.”
“Er...” began Gwen.
Despite thinking that Gwen’s expression was rather comical, Ianto decided not to leave her hanging. “Carrionites are an alien species capable of distorting physics and the natural world using words. On more primitive planets they’re often mistaken for practising witchcraft. Apparently, since they’re usually female, my great aunt was sceptical when my mum had me, didn’t think I’d amount to much more than my father. Had the shock of her life when she first held me, said it felt as if I was humming.”
“No doubt the other side of the family helped in some way,” said Gwen with a chuckle.
Ianto smiled ruefully, remembering Gwen’s surprised reaction when he’d sat her down and explained about the recent intruder to the Hub. “You can say that again. No one quite knew what to expect with the Time Lord genealogy thrown in. I’m an aberration of nature, and to be honest - I’m quite proud of it,” he replied with a smirk. “But the point is, she wouldn’t have been taken prisoner that easily.”
“But given Torchwood Four...” interrupted Gwen.
“She could eat them for breakfast and then come back for more. The only explanation is that she let them capture her.”
“But why would she do that?” Jack asked.
“It’s pure supposition, but if someone from Torchwood Four used their abilities against her then she’d have recognised my energy trace. She’s a very curious woman, she wouldn’t have let that go, but she also wouldn’t have risked exposing me by asking too many questions.”
Jack nodded. “It’s a sensible conclusion.”
“If it’s all right with you, Jack, I’d like to see her. It’s been a long time - best part of ninety years.”
“Who am I to keep you from your family?” Jack replied with a grin. “Best make it sooner than later, I’m not sure we’d want to try her patience if she’s as powerful as some of the Carrionites I’ve heard of.”
“Put it this way: she’s no lightweight.” Ianto checked his watch. “I think I’ve missed the last flight out of Cardiff to Glasgow International, it leaves in half an hour.”
“That won’t be a problem,” said Jack, picking up the handset of the telephone. “We’ll just hold it due to ‘unforeseen delays’ until you get there. Go pack a bag, Ianto, you’re off to bonny Scotland. I’ll let the guys know you’ll be at the Armadillo first thing.”
***
A deep furrow had worked its way into the forehead of Stuart Dunston, and Henshaw doubted that even a course of alien-strength botox would restore the smoothness of the man’s skin. The reason for the display of such displeasure sat around a small dining table that obviously wasn’t designed to cater for more than four people at a time. And considering the rest of his team had arrived, and Mary had returned from her clean-up duties, it was a tight squeeze to fit all eight adults.
“You can’t stay here, there’s no room,” Dunston said, his tone stating that even if there had been room, Torchwood Four would not have been welcome.
Mary handed out mugs of strong tea liberally doused with milk - and no offer of sugar - and tutted. “I’ve already booked them into the usual hotel. Stop your whining, Stuart; they’re no keener to stay here than you are to have them.”
“And we’ve Jones arriving in the morning,” Dunston persisted.
“You’d be moaning if he weren’t. You contacted him, so you can’t complain that he thinks he’s remembered something and has decided to come,” she said banging down a mug of tea in front of him. “Now if you don’t mind, I missed the introductions earlier...”
Henshaw suddenly had a new respect for Mary Sinclair - maybe Torchwood Two’s leader did have someone to keep him in line after all. “The twins: Michael and Shaun,” he said pointing at the two blond men; they saluted in unison with their mugs as a hello. “And the brunette is Maria and that leaves us with Rosaline.”
The three woman exchanged nods as a printer fired into action behind them. Mary hastily got to her feet and retrieved the printout. She skimmed the sheet of paper and Henshaw thought that if her eyebrows raised much further they’d be lost in her hairline.
“This job gets fucking weirder by the day!”
Mary slammed the paper on the table. “I’m afraid your tea’ll have to wait. Apparently we have a half-man half-bull rampaging around St Enoch Shopping Centre! And a bloody winged horse at the Central Station.”
Sighing loudly, Dunston put down his mug, stood up and pulled on his coat. “We’re gonna have to split up. Right, Mary, you take the twins and Siobhan in the jag and the rest of you will have to make do with me and Bertha.”
In any other situation Henshaw thought he might have appreciated Bertha, but with the four of them bouncing along in the 1972 series III Land Rover en route to dealing with yet another mythical beast, he would have preferred expediency over fond memories from his youth. Bertha had seen better days, her gear box grumbled at Dunston’s rough handling and her engine whined loudly at speeds in excess of thirty miles an hour. Thankful that they had arrived in one piece, if not a little shaken, Henshaw stumbled out of Bertha as soon as they had come to a halt outside of the glass frontage of St Enoch Shopping Centre.
Henshaw spotted the ashen face of a security guard who was being comforted by a policeman and a paramedic, and was relieved that whatever was inside had at least had the decency to show up outside normal shopping hours. The guard was leaning against Boots’s shop front and didn’t seem to notice Henshaw as he approached him.
“What did you see?” Henshaw asked firmly, but not unkindly.
Slowly the guard appeared to regain his focus; he looked at Henshaw with huge, terrified eyes. “M-m-monster,” he finally stammered.
Sensing that he wasn’t going to get much more of a description, Henshaw asked: “Where did you last see it?”
“Inside.”
“I gathered that,” Henshaw said, managing to keep the irritation out of his voice. “Where inside?”
“Other entrance... by Debenhams.”
He turned back to the others who were waiting expectantly; even Stuart looked like he would be willing to follow Henshaw’s orders. “We could do with patching into the CCTV feed.”
Stuart dug a scanner out of the inside pocket of his coat and pressed a few buttons. He stared at the fuzzy image on the small screen. “Looks like our beastie has a penchant for ladies underwear.”
Henshaw gestured for Dunston to go ahead. “Lead on, Macduff,” he said with a smirk.
“If you're gonna take the piss, you could’ve at least got the fucking quote right!” growled Dunston. He stalked off, his coat flapping and the three others racing to keep up.
Even though the shopping centre was technically closed, it was still well lit from the shop window displays. Normally at this time of night there would have been a small army of cleaners and repairmen working behind the scenes to get the centre ready for the next day, but instead the malls were empty. Cleaning carts and toolboxes had been abandoned in the rush to leave and there was evidence that something had passed this way. Rubbish bins had been turned over, their contents scattered across the floor; benches ripped from their fixings and hurled indiscriminately at shop windows.
Dunston withdrew his gun from its holster hidden under his coat. He looked at Henshaw expecting him to do the same. “We don’t use those kinds of weapons,” said Rosaline, before Henshaw had the chance to reply.
“Well, us mere mortals have to rely on more conventional methods.”
An almighty crash came from somewhere overhead, and without needing telling they sprinted up a nearby escalator to the upper floor of the shopping centre. Henshaw arrived at the top to see a brown blur race past the large hole in Debenhams’s metal security shutters. He jumped back just in time as an empty clothes rail, thrown from the direction of the store, landed in front of him.
“I guess we’ve found our beastie,” drawled Dunston as he came to a halt at Henshaw’s shoulder.
“Yeah, and it isn’t particularly happy by the looks of it.”
The four of them peered into the store at a distance, still unable to get a clear view of whatever it was they were chasing. “Can you get a better look using the CCTV?” Henshaw asked Dunston.
Dunston checked the scanner. “Still rather blurry, but from what I can make out the description was fairly accurate. It’s a bloke with a bull’s head. Great - that’s all this city needs: the fucking Minotaur!”
“If this Debenhams is anything like one where I used to live, he’ll be right at home - they’re bloody mazes,” joked Rosaline, but it fell flat, her timing coinciding with the sound of breaking glass.
“Okay, guys, I suppose a triangular formation is in order. I think an energy mesh is likely to be the easiest option,” said Henshaw to his team. “Dunston? Cover us!”
Henshaw stepped through the hole in the shutters, warily surveying the carnage in front of him. The usually pristine shop floor was littered with clothes and twisted rails that had been thrown around, and a chair stuck out awkwardly from the shattered remains of a glass display cabinet. A loud grunt drew his attention to his left and he turned to see the creature they’d been chasing. Dunston had been right in his description of the beast. Its body was of an athletic man, and all that spared its modesty was a loin cloth and a pair of sandals, but its bull’s head and tail meant there could be no mistaking it as human.
He motioned for his team to follow him in and take their positions so that they stood in a triangle around the beast, while Dunston looked on, Henshaw sensing the other man’s feeling of inadequacy.
This wasn’t new to them anymore; the months since Ianto had linked the team had given them time to really learn each other’s skills and reactions. Without needing to voice the order, Rosaline, Maria and Henshaw all extended their arms. Henshaw was the first to act; his original skills had been in telekinesis - since broadened thanks to his involvement with Torchwood Four - meaning he was able to still the creature, anchoring it in place. Maria and Rosaline sent forth identical energy strands of a pure, white light which weaved and danced around the Minotaur, the strands looping and flowing around each other, tying the beast securely in ropes of energy. It struggled, trying to move, but Henshaw was too strong and the women’s restraints served to hold it tighter the more it fought against them. Finally, it lost its balance and toppled forward, landing heavily on the floor, face down.
They broke their connection and Henshaw looked at the struggling beast, still fighting against its shimmering bonds. “I think we’d better see if that paramedic is still outside - we’re going to need one hell of a sedative.”
***
Siobhan thought she could almost taste its fear. She held her hand out in a way she hoped was unthreatening, walking toward the white stallion that had the most beautiful wings which trembled with apprehension. The right wing looked damaged, it had an awkward bend to it that didn’t appear natural, and Siobhan thought it was probably the only reason the winged horse hadn’t flown away.
Hoping that her experience of handling horses would help, she edged forward, only for the creature to take a step back along the deserted platform of Glasgow’s Central Station. The twins and Mary had stayed back, mindful of the horse’s frightened state, but ready to act on Siobhan’s instruction.
Siobhan made gentle shushing noises and made sure to keep eye contact until, after what seemed an eternity, the winged horse allowed her close enough to touch its face and she gently stroked its nose. Wordlessly she called the twins forward, telling them what she wanted them to do. As she kept the horse distracted, Michael silently edged closer and from his hands spun a ribbon of energy, which Shaun touched, pouring his own power into it to make the ribbon stronger. The horse whinnied as they approached, but Siobhan managed to calm it as the twins slipped the ribbon around its neck, tying it in place and making a rudimentary rein which they handed to Siobhan.
With a little gentle persuasion the winged horse walked forward, Siobhan leading it down the platform. “Thankfully there’s not many people about, we're only gonna need a minimal amount of retcon,” she said to Shaun.
Mary shook her head and sighed as she followed behind. “Great. Where the fuck am I meant to keep this thing?”
TBC
Sorry this took so long - real life has been...er...interesting! All comments are very much appreciated.
Chapter four here: http://hel-bee.livejournal.com/26608.html