Number One With A Silver Bullet [5/?]
Title: Number One With A Silver Bullet
Rating: teen [language and sexual situations]
Characters: PC Andy, Jack, Ianto, Owen, Tosh, Gwen, George, Mitchell, Nina
Spoilers: TW s2/BH s1, inclusive
Advisories: crossover with Being Human
Disclaimer: somebody please stop me, no, seriously...
Summary: Torchwood Three is finally back up to full strength, although its new hires bring... unconventional skillsets.
**********
His first waking sight through supernaturally sharp eyes was a bright spark that resolved itself into a six-pointed star cupped in the palm of a fingerless glove. "Come on, sleepyhead, Nina's already in the shower."
George swopped collar for chain and let the vampire haul him up to his feet. Andy had lingered to be sure his guest was back in possession of enough of his faculties to make it back into the house, the littlest werewolf of their cohort peering out from a cocoon of blankets in his arms. "He's made it through another one all right," George said, hitching his own blanket closer around himself.
The copper nuzzled the toddler's forehead. "Wolves are very protective of their pups. I've looked it up."
Mitchell reached out to ruffle Euan's dark curls. "Has to be hard on you, letting him go again every month."
Andy's smile faltered. "Well, what am I, going to teach him to speak dog and lift his leg on things? Rhys is his Tad, it's... well, it's bollocks, yeah, but he's safe."
George wasn't about to argue that point. He padded along after his host through the cold grass, thinking of all those mornings when safety and comfort had been so much farther away than this short walk to a warm kitchen. When even the hope of safety and comfort had seemed too much to ask in his new life. The hot tea and toast Gwen thrust upon them were almost embarrassing luxury.
Off in the bath George could hear the closing of taps. And then the distinct sounds of Nina shutting herself in the guest bedroom to have a bit of a lie-down. Andy cocked his head towards the sudden silence: "Do you mind if I have the shower next? I think I found this month's dead badger."
George had been wondering what the tactful way to bring that up was, actually. "I could do with a kip anyway," Mitchell admitted, jerking a thumb vaguely over his shoulder, and sloped off in the direction of the lounge.
Leaving George alone in the kitchen with Gwen. And a baby werewolf, sat on the floor waving about a piece of toast that was getting to look the worse for wear, but he wasn't the one George was worried about -- Gwen plopped herself in the chair opposite at the kitchen table to grin at him brightly. "So, how have things been with you and Nina?"
He sighed and decided to try the frontal assault this time. "Sometimes I don't know whether I should ask her to marry me, or to hit me about the head and neck if I should ever suggest anything that mental."
"Come on, it's not mental."
George buried his head in his hands. "Yes, it is. All of this is. I've taken away her future, I've, I've taken away Andy's... although he does seem to be doing quite well with it.... And Euan, oh, god, Euan --"
"Is a perfectly healthy boy who's just a bit... different," Gwen said firmly. "He'll learn to deal with it as he grows up, is all." One of those pauses that George never knew quite what to do about. "Maybe... if you and Nina did..."
"We've already dealt with the question of who converts, haven't we --" George laid his head down on the table. "Oh, I am going to, well, I'm already in hell and I'm Jewish, but now I'm going to the special-needs hell and I'll spend eternity gluing dried pasta to bits of card."
Gwen was trying not to smile when he looked up. "I think everything would look a little better after a hot shower, you. Go on, I'll see you next month."
Everything did usually look better after a hot shower. The problem was what to do with himself once he'd got out of it. George had learnt the hard way that Nina reacted badly to being disturbed whilst she was processing the experience; better to rap at the other door off the corridor when he sought the reassurance of naked human skin against another's, to creep in and work his way past the pile of true dogs to make his way to their master's bed.
Andy still bore the mark of George's fingers on his shoulder, friend of a friend of a friend dragged along to one of Mitchell's blasted house-parties and more than pissed enough already by that point in the evening to fall victim to an equally tipsy werewolf's subtler charms. He turned over with a sleepy grin as George sat on the edge of the bed. "Bugger what my neighbours think, eh?"
"I've seen Mitchell's notes, the last time it rained we spent most of the night in the barn licking ourselves. And each other." The vampire had promised to redact some of the more incriminating bits from the section of his field notebook that concerned the werewolves' mating practices before he submitted the record into Torchwood's archive. "I suppose it's not as if there's much worse we could do with thumbs."
"Better, I'd think."
"I meant, we're already sort of... in this, with each other. Werewolves. So, at least this isn't putting anyone else at risk."
"Keep it in the family, yeah." A shrug. "It is nice, not to have to worry about hurting you, or biting you, or having to retcon you in the morning..."
"How is Mrs Price, by the way?"
Andy coloured. "Still thinks I drove her home from the pub and, erm... it's not as if we're seeing each other. Exactly. That often."
"You dog, you."
The copper guffawed. "Ah, god, y'see, gotta have proper mates to laugh at it with. Dunno how you managed all that while."
Not well, George had to admit, thoughts of those first nightmarish months before Mitchell clawing up from the darkness where he tried to keep them shut away. It was so much easier, with a mate to guard his rest.
Wolves were pack animals, after all.
Rating: teen [language and sexual situations]
Characters: PC Andy, Jack, Ianto, Owen, Tosh, Gwen, George, Mitchell, Nina
Spoilers: TW s2/BH s1, inclusive
Advisories: crossover with Being Human
Disclaimer: somebody please stop me, no, seriously...
Summary: Torchwood Three is finally back up to full strength, although its new hires bring... unconventional skillsets.
**********
His first waking sight through supernaturally sharp eyes was a bright spark that resolved itself into a six-pointed star cupped in the palm of a fingerless glove. "Come on, sleepyhead, Nina's already in the shower."
George swopped collar for chain and let the vampire haul him up to his feet. Andy had lingered to be sure his guest was back in possession of enough of his faculties to make it back into the house, the littlest werewolf of their cohort peering out from a cocoon of blankets in his arms. "He's made it through another one all right," George said, hitching his own blanket closer around himself.
The copper nuzzled the toddler's forehead. "Wolves are very protective of their pups. I've looked it up."
Mitchell reached out to ruffle Euan's dark curls. "Has to be hard on you, letting him go again every month."
Andy's smile faltered. "Well, what am I, going to teach him to speak dog and lift his leg on things? Rhys is his Tad, it's... well, it's bollocks, yeah, but he's safe."
George wasn't about to argue that point. He padded along after his host through the cold grass, thinking of all those mornings when safety and comfort had been so much farther away than this short walk to a warm kitchen. When even the hope of safety and comfort had seemed too much to ask in his new life. The hot tea and toast Gwen thrust upon them were almost embarrassing luxury.
Off in the bath George could hear the closing of taps. And then the distinct sounds of Nina shutting herself in the guest bedroom to have a bit of a lie-down. Andy cocked his head towards the sudden silence: "Do you mind if I have the shower next? I think I found this month's dead badger."
George had been wondering what the tactful way to bring that up was, actually. "I could do with a kip anyway," Mitchell admitted, jerking a thumb vaguely over his shoulder, and sloped off in the direction of the lounge.
Leaving George alone in the kitchen with Gwen. And a baby werewolf, sat on the floor waving about a piece of toast that was getting to look the worse for wear, but he wasn't the one George was worried about -- Gwen plopped herself in the chair opposite at the kitchen table to grin at him brightly. "So, how have things been with you and Nina?"
He sighed and decided to try the frontal assault this time. "Sometimes I don't know whether I should ask her to marry me, or to hit me about the head and neck if I should ever suggest anything that mental."
"Come on, it's not mental."
George buried his head in his hands. "Yes, it is. All of this is. I've taken away her future, I've, I've taken away Andy's... although he does seem to be doing quite well with it.... And Euan, oh, god, Euan --"
"Is a perfectly healthy boy who's just a bit... different," Gwen said firmly. "He'll learn to deal with it as he grows up, is all." One of those pauses that George never knew quite what to do about. "Maybe... if you and Nina did..."
"We've already dealt with the question of who converts, haven't we --" George laid his head down on the table. "Oh, I am going to, well, I'm already in hell and I'm Jewish, but now I'm going to the special-needs hell and I'll spend eternity gluing dried pasta to bits of card."
Gwen was trying not to smile when he looked up. "I think everything would look a little better after a hot shower, you. Go on, I'll see you next month."
Everything did usually look better after a hot shower. The problem was what to do with himself once he'd got out of it. George had learnt the hard way that Nina reacted badly to being disturbed whilst she was processing the experience; better to rap at the other door off the corridor when he sought the reassurance of naked human skin against another's, to creep in and work his way past the pile of true dogs to make his way to their master's bed.
Andy still bore the mark of George's fingers on his shoulder, friend of a friend of a friend dragged along to one of Mitchell's blasted house-parties and more than pissed enough already by that point in the evening to fall victim to an equally tipsy werewolf's subtler charms. He turned over with a sleepy grin as George sat on the edge of the bed. "Bugger what my neighbours think, eh?"
"I've seen Mitchell's notes, the last time it rained we spent most of the night in the barn licking ourselves. And each other." The vampire had promised to redact some of the more incriminating bits from the section of his field notebook that concerned the werewolves' mating practices before he submitted the record into Torchwood's archive. "I suppose it's not as if there's much worse we could do with thumbs."
"Better, I'd think."
"I meant, we're already sort of... in this, with each other. Werewolves. So, at least this isn't putting anyone else at risk."
"Keep it in the family, yeah." A shrug. "It is nice, not to have to worry about hurting you, or biting you, or having to retcon you in the morning..."
"How is Mrs Price, by the way?"
Andy coloured. "Still thinks I drove her home from the pub and, erm... it's not as if we're seeing each other. Exactly. That often."
"You dog, you."
The copper guffawed. "Ah, god, y'see, gotta have proper mates to laugh at it with. Dunno how you managed all that while."
Not well, George had to admit, thoughts of those first nightmarish months before Mitchell clawing up from the darkness where he tried to keep them shut away. It was so much easier, with a mate to guard his rest.
Wolves were pack animals, after all.