Number One With A Silver Bullet [9/?]
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.
Note: Muse obviously took a break there to... um, never you mind, but the important bit is that she reports that this fic will continue to be set after the end of Being Human season 1, so there won't be any spoilers RE future BH seasons. In this fic. Which is not to say that she hasn't already started me working on s2-compliant material... {sigh}
**********
As much as Nina had grumbled about her old job, Mitchell thought she rather enjoyed hands-on patient care when it was only a matter of occasionally patching up the results of Torchwood's casual attitude towards workplace safety standards. "The problem with your idiot-proofing scheme is that all you've done is selectively breed a better grade of idiot."
"It's more of a Jack-proofing scheme," Ianto protested wearily, as if this were so far from the first time he'd had to address this question that even complaining about it had lost its shine. "If he can't find certain things then they won't turn up at inappropriate moments." (Possibly inside a well-lubricated condom, Ianto's face was very carefully not adding for him, but Mitchell had already been here long enough to fill that much in for himself.) "I'll admit it's a work in progress."
"And I wouldn't call storing dangerous alien artefacts in an unmarked cardboard box with bits of rusty Meccano idiot-proofing anything," George pointed out, scowling as Nina dabbed at the largest scratch down his neck. It was probably a good thing that the werewolf's lifestyle already led to a certain paranoid insistence on being sure that his tetanus jabs were always current. "More like some passive-aggressive game of russian roulette."
"You should only have been here the last time Jack found that one," the ghost of Doctor Harper said from Mitchell's workstation with a suggestive leer. "Wasn't anything passive about where he tried to --"
"Right, sorry, could we leave the graphic anecdotes about alien sex-toys out of this before George sicks up on me? This job already has too many 'show us on the doll' moments." Nina gave the ghost a pointed look. "If you're so desperate for something to do you could help me to write up this case for the files?"
Harper, sadly, seemed as immune to the application of logic as a five-year-old. "I'd rather sit here trying to grow a superfluous nipple."
"It's a mole," George snapped, pulling his shirt back on.
"As it happens, I was in the middle of something relevant when all of you came running up here to play veterinarians-and-nurses," Harper went on, attempting a casual-seeming swivel and actually managing to shift the chair slightly. "But I can't work when you're all shouting. It makes Tosh too nervous to take dictation."
Mitchell glanced at the window that hadn't been open on his terminal before, then did a double-take. "You're seriously writing a paper on whether lycanthropy is transmissible as an STI."
Harper shrugged in feigned modesty. "I am just trying to work out how it is that his mate Dudley Do-Right went literally barking from it and Gwen only gets up the duff. With a wolf pup, granted, but --"
George had that look again, the one Mitchell always wanted to caption as it wasn't my bloody squeaktoy and I should like it back please. "Andy and I were not having unprotected sex, I scratched him."
"While you were having sex," Mitchell felt mysteriously compelled to point out. "Sorry, hot protected werewolf sex."
"It was your bloody party, Mitchell! And why are you suddenly siding with Harper?"
"Spirit of scientific enquiry? I mean, think about it, George, research is research, if he could even come up with theories for things like why some werewolves go straight down to four feet and others take longer for it that would be something you didn't know before."
Nina gave them a look as if she'd have thought this should have been obvious even to a better grade of idiot. "Well, the conspicuous difference amongst our current study population is that George and I were dealing with fresh memories of traumatic attacks and Andy was just trying to think what his mates could have done with his trousers. His inner wolf won out first go because he didn't know there was anything to fight. And he's bloody Welsh, they're raised on all this supernatural rubbish."
"Oi!"
Nina fixed Ianto with a jaded eye. "Can you honestly deny to me that Cardiff is the perfect place for a rift in time and space because nobody thinks any of this is out of the ordinary? We're pants as a secret organisation and it doesn't even matter because no one cares."
"...Suppose I do have to grant you that."
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.
Note: Muse obviously took a break there to... um, never you mind, but the important bit is that she reports that this fic will continue to be set after the end of Being Human season 1, so there won't be any spoilers RE future BH seasons. In this fic. Which is not to say that she hasn't already started me working on s2-compliant material... {sigh}
**********
As much as Nina had grumbled about her old job, Mitchell thought she rather enjoyed hands-on patient care when it was only a matter of occasionally patching up the results of Torchwood's casual attitude towards workplace safety standards. "The problem with your idiot-proofing scheme is that all you've done is selectively breed a better grade of idiot."
"It's more of a Jack-proofing scheme," Ianto protested wearily, as if this were so far from the first time he'd had to address this question that even complaining about it had lost its shine. "If he can't find certain things then they won't turn up at inappropriate moments." (Possibly inside a well-lubricated condom, Ianto's face was very carefully not adding for him, but Mitchell had already been here long enough to fill that much in for himself.) "I'll admit it's a work in progress."
"And I wouldn't call storing dangerous alien artefacts in an unmarked cardboard box with bits of rusty Meccano idiot-proofing anything," George pointed out, scowling as Nina dabbed at the largest scratch down his neck. It was probably a good thing that the werewolf's lifestyle already led to a certain paranoid insistence on being sure that his tetanus jabs were always current. "More like some passive-aggressive game of russian roulette."
"You should only have been here the last time Jack found that one," the ghost of Doctor Harper said from Mitchell's workstation with a suggestive leer. "Wasn't anything passive about where he tried to --"
"Right, sorry, could we leave the graphic anecdotes about alien sex-toys out of this before George sicks up on me? This job already has too many 'show us on the doll' moments." Nina gave the ghost a pointed look. "If you're so desperate for something to do you could help me to write up this case for the files?"
Harper, sadly, seemed as immune to the application of logic as a five-year-old. "I'd rather sit here trying to grow a superfluous nipple."
"It's a mole," George snapped, pulling his shirt back on.
"As it happens, I was in the middle of something relevant when all of you came running up here to play veterinarians-and-nurses," Harper went on, attempting a casual-seeming swivel and actually managing to shift the chair slightly. "But I can't work when you're all shouting. It makes Tosh too nervous to take dictation."
Mitchell glanced at the window that hadn't been open on his terminal before, then did a double-take. "You're seriously writing a paper on whether lycanthropy is transmissible as an STI."
Harper shrugged in feigned modesty. "I am just trying to work out how it is that his mate Dudley Do-Right went literally barking from it and Gwen only gets up the duff. With a wolf pup, granted, but --"
George had that look again, the one Mitchell always wanted to caption as it wasn't my bloody squeaktoy and I should like it back please. "Andy and I were not having unprotected sex, I scratched him."
"While you were having sex," Mitchell felt mysteriously compelled to point out. "Sorry, hot protected werewolf sex."
"It was your bloody party, Mitchell! And why are you suddenly siding with Harper?"
"Spirit of scientific enquiry? I mean, think about it, George, research is research, if he could even come up with theories for things like why some werewolves go straight down to four feet and others take longer for it that would be something you didn't know before."
Nina gave them a look as if she'd have thought this should have been obvious even to a better grade of idiot. "Well, the conspicuous difference amongst our current study population is that George and I were dealing with fresh memories of traumatic attacks and Andy was just trying to think what his mates could have done with his trousers. His inner wolf won out first go because he didn't know there was anything to fight. And he's bloody Welsh, they're raised on all this supernatural rubbish."
"Oi!"
Nina fixed Ianto with a jaded eye. "Can you honestly deny to me that Cardiff is the perfect place for a rift in time and space because nobody thinks any of this is out of the ordinary? We're pants as a secret organisation and it doesn't even matter because no one cares."
"...Suppose I do have to grant you that."