Friends in Dead Places 7a/9
Chapter 7a, LJ is trying to ruin me!
I need coffee,” Owen groaned, stumbling though the cog door, his hands clamped over his ears in a desperate hung-over attempt to block out the noise. The scent of stale larger and gin clung to him, despite the shower he’d taken. It was as if the alcohol was simply seeping out of the man’s pores. Even he didn’t know how much he’d had to drink the night before.
“Well, it’ll have to be instant,” Jack’s cheery voice echoed from somewhere. Owen couldn’t quite pinpoint where, partly because of the acoustics of the Hub and partly because his head was killing him.
“Is the coffee machine broken?” There was a hint of panic and utter desolation in Owen’s voice at the thought of the coffee machine, beloved by them all and a valued member of Torchwood Three, being out of action.
Leaning over the railings on the gangway Jack grinned down at his delicate medic. “Nope, coffee machine is fine.”
“Then why the fuck can’t I have a coffee?” he yelled up to his smug captain. Then winced as his voice rang in his ears and added to the pounding of his head.
“Ianto isn’t here to work the machine. And you, better than anyone, know the penalty for touching the coffee machine without supervision.”
Owen winced as he remembered the long, tortuous week when he had been forced to survive on Tesco’s own label decaffeinated blend. He’d been in agony.
“Where’s the Tea-boy then? Having a lie in?”
Jack leered down at the implication, a naughty spark in his eyes and Owen rolled his own. Jack shook his head. “Nah. It’s his day off.”
“Day off? He can’t. What’s he need a day off for?” Jack might have been annoyed, had Owen not sounded so thoroughly pathetic. It was obvious that he didn’t care about Ianto having a day off, but about being taken care of.
Jack smiled and shrugged. “Oh, I don’t know, perhaps because he hasn’t had one in months. Because he works 18 hour days eight days a week?”
“But it’s not fair!”
“Owen, I’m sure you can survive one day without Ianto. And, if you do it without too much whining, I might not tell Ianto you missed him!” Jack chuckled at the growl Owen emitted and headed back to his office, shaking his head at the fact that the doctor never learned. He’d come into work so many times, hungover and hurting and swearing off alcohol. A week later he was at it again.
“How the hell am I meant to get through today without coffee?” Owen mumbled, quietly so Jack’s freakish hearing didn’t pick it up.
“Perhaps you should start with some Nurofen and a big glass of water.”
Owen jerked around, Tosh was sitting unobtrusively behind her desk, eyes fixed on one of her many monitors. He headed over to her and collapsed into the chair by her desk and laid his head on the blissfully cool metal of her table.
“Could you get me some?” he whimpered.
“Nope, busy, sorry.”
“Come on Tosh… please?” He tried giving her the puppy eyes that had worked on her so many times, but it failed. Partly because she didn’t look at him and partly because his eyes were bloodshot and watery.
She shook her head.
“Well, doesn’t this just take the fucking biscuit?” he griped into his arms, “The Tea-boy is finally needed and he’s no where to be found! Just sodding perfect.” Closing his eyes, he wondered whether he could just go to sleep here and wake up when his hangover was gone.
“Tea-boy has way too much fucking power,” he mumbled, his mind’s eye picturing the mess he’d left in the autopsy bay, and he just knew Ianto wouldn’t have cleared it before going home last night. He groaned and dug further into the burrow his folded arms made on the desk.
“Perhaps,” Tosh began gently, “If you didn’t demand he clean up and look after you like you were a toddler and not a fully qualified doctor, you wouldn’t be in such a mess now.”
“Shut up Tosh.”
He didn’t see her smile, nor the way it morphed into a smirk when her computer logged Gwen’s access code being punched in.
The alarm screamed out, red lights flashing and the cog door wheezingly rolled back. Owen valiantly tried to disappear into his arms and block out the sound, but it had been designed to be heard in the Archives and all he could do was grit his teeth and wait it out. Tosh chuckled quietly as she carried on working. She did so love it when Owen’s arrogance got the better of him.
“Good morning!” Gwen chirruped as she bounced into the Hub. She was bundled up in a warm wool coat, scarf and bobble hat and in her gloved hands was a pumpkin. “Happy Halloween!”
“I didn’t take you for a Halloween fan Gwen,” Tosh stated, finally looking up from her screens and smiling at the pumpkin and the black cat sweater Gwen was sporting.
“What? Oh I love it! Rhys is taking me to a fancy dress party tonight down at the pub. You should come,” she nodded, wide eyed and encouraging.
“We’ll see.” Tosh nodded. “You dressing up?”
“Yup. Though I’m torn between being a witch or a cat.” She pointed at her top. “Rhys is keen on the cat outfit, though I think its something to do with the leather boots.”
Tosh raised a querying eyebrow, but before Gwen could go into detail of her costume choices, they were rudely interrupted by an almost pitiful groan.
“Oh god, kill me now,” Owen moaned.
Gwen glared in his direction before turning to Tosh who mouthed ‘hangover’ over his head. Gwen pulled a mock sympathetic pout before tiptoeing over to the beleaguered man. Leaning in she grinned before yelling, “Trick or Treat!”
“Oh fuck! Knock it off!”
“Did I hear the mention of leather boots?” Jack had appeared from his office the moment the alarms had sounded, and had listened with interest to Gwen’s plans. If he’d thought of it earlier, he could have dragged Ianto out to one of the many themed evenings all the local pubs seemed to sporting. What he’d give to see that man dressed up to his own specifications.
“Mornin’ Jack.” Gwen turned, bright grin on her face and looked up at her boss. She’d long grown immune to his (and Ianto’s) ability of appearing out of nowhere and Owen’s soused death threats.
“You’re perky this morning.”
“Trick or Treat?” she asked, heading back to her desk.
Jack frowned in confusion, darting a glance at Tosh, who just shrugged, and Owen, whose bleary eyes refused to focus.
“Well, you know me! I never could resist a challenge.” Jack cocked his head to the side and folded his arms. “Did I ever tell you about-”
“Ahem!”
Oh, right… Treat?” He flashed her the patent ‘Harkness Grin’, copyrighted and trademarked on over forty worlds throughout the universe.
She smiled sweetly, and practically skipped up the stairs towards him, hands behind her back. As she drew closer his smile grew. Finally drawing level, Gwen handed him an envelope. His name was on the front.
“Tickets to a party?” he asked hopefully.
“Dunno,” she shrugged. “It was on the mat in the Tourist Office. Ianto obviously hasn’t been up there this morning.”
“No, it’s his day off,” Jack replied distractedly, turning the envelope over in his hands.
“Yeah, apparently Tea-boy has a stressful job,” Owen grouched.
Jack was too interested in the envelope though to reprimand Owen though. It was thick, good quality cotton paper. The writing was old-fashioned. Loops and slants and written in proper ink, which had bled slightly into the fine weaves.
“Well?” Gwen was looking over his shoulder. “Aren’t you going to open it?”
“Can’t.” Jack headed down the stairs. “Standard Torchwood protocol. When receiving mail at a Torchwood office that is specifically labelled for one of its officers the mail must be subjected to tests.”
“X-rays, UV irradiation and the Bekeran scanner,” Tosh picked up where Jack left off, “It has to go through all of them before it can be opened.”
“Why?” Gwen asked.
“Torchwood One used to get a lot of terrorist threats.”
“And also,” Jack said, “Better safe than sorry.”
A few hours later and the envelope had undergone every test Torchwood had to offer and had passed them all with flying colours. Owen had dosed it heavily with their modified UVGI unit, guaranteeing that no matter where or when the letter came from it wasn’t carrying any type of germicide. It looked totally innocuous lying on Jack’s desk, totally undeserving of the glare being levelled at it.
Jack loomed over the envelope; hand’s bracing his weight on the desk, trying to work out what was wrong. Something about the bland piece of stationary rattled his teeth. Jack wasn’t used to receiving mail of the non digital variety. And even then, all of his emails came from UNIT or Torchwood or the PM’s office. None of them were personal, although Martha did ask how he was when she emailed him. The only ones he ever got that were for him, and him alone, not for Torchwood Three’s team leader or Captain Jack Harkness, were random little notes sent by his team during the day. But they didn’t really count because they were nothing more than substitutions for coming up and talking to Jack face to face.
Part VII b is here
I need coffee,” Owen groaned, stumbling though the cog door, his hands clamped over his ears in a desperate hung-over attempt to block out the noise. The scent of stale larger and gin clung to him, despite the shower he’d taken. It was as if the alcohol was simply seeping out of the man’s pores. Even he didn’t know how much he’d had to drink the night before.
“Well, it’ll have to be instant,” Jack’s cheery voice echoed from somewhere. Owen couldn’t quite pinpoint where, partly because of the acoustics of the Hub and partly because his head was killing him.
“Is the coffee machine broken?” There was a hint of panic and utter desolation in Owen’s voice at the thought of the coffee machine, beloved by them all and a valued member of Torchwood Three, being out of action.
Leaning over the railings on the gangway Jack grinned down at his delicate medic. “Nope, coffee machine is fine.”
“Then why the fuck can’t I have a coffee?” he yelled up to his smug captain. Then winced as his voice rang in his ears and added to the pounding of his head.
“Ianto isn’t here to work the machine. And you, better than anyone, know the penalty for touching the coffee machine without supervision.”
Owen winced as he remembered the long, tortuous week when he had been forced to survive on Tesco’s own label decaffeinated blend. He’d been in agony.
“Where’s the Tea-boy then? Having a lie in?”
Jack leered down at the implication, a naughty spark in his eyes and Owen rolled his own. Jack shook his head. “Nah. It’s his day off.”
“Day off? He can’t. What’s he need a day off for?” Jack might have been annoyed, had Owen not sounded so thoroughly pathetic. It was obvious that he didn’t care about Ianto having a day off, but about being taken care of.
Jack smiled and shrugged. “Oh, I don’t know, perhaps because he hasn’t had one in months. Because he works 18 hour days eight days a week?”
“But it’s not fair!”
“Owen, I’m sure you can survive one day without Ianto. And, if you do it without too much whining, I might not tell Ianto you missed him!” Jack chuckled at the growl Owen emitted and headed back to his office, shaking his head at the fact that the doctor never learned. He’d come into work so many times, hungover and hurting and swearing off alcohol. A week later he was at it again.
“How the hell am I meant to get through today without coffee?” Owen mumbled, quietly so Jack’s freakish hearing didn’t pick it up.
“Perhaps you should start with some Nurofen and a big glass of water.”
Owen jerked around, Tosh was sitting unobtrusively behind her desk, eyes fixed on one of her many monitors. He headed over to her and collapsed into the chair by her desk and laid his head on the blissfully cool metal of her table.
“Could you get me some?” he whimpered.
“Nope, busy, sorry.”
“Come on Tosh… please?” He tried giving her the puppy eyes that had worked on her so many times, but it failed. Partly because she didn’t look at him and partly because his eyes were bloodshot and watery.
She shook her head.
“Well, doesn’t this just take the fucking biscuit?” he griped into his arms, “The Tea-boy is finally needed and he’s no where to be found! Just sodding perfect.” Closing his eyes, he wondered whether he could just go to sleep here and wake up when his hangover was gone.
“Tea-boy has way too much fucking power,” he mumbled, his mind’s eye picturing the mess he’d left in the autopsy bay, and he just knew Ianto wouldn’t have cleared it before going home last night. He groaned and dug further into the burrow his folded arms made on the desk.
“Perhaps,” Tosh began gently, “If you didn’t demand he clean up and look after you like you were a toddler and not a fully qualified doctor, you wouldn’t be in such a mess now.”
“Shut up Tosh.”
He didn’t see her smile, nor the way it morphed into a smirk when her computer logged Gwen’s access code being punched in.
The alarm screamed out, red lights flashing and the cog door wheezingly rolled back. Owen valiantly tried to disappear into his arms and block out the sound, but it had been designed to be heard in the Archives and all he could do was grit his teeth and wait it out. Tosh chuckled quietly as she carried on working. She did so love it when Owen’s arrogance got the better of him.
“Good morning!” Gwen chirruped as she bounced into the Hub. She was bundled up in a warm wool coat, scarf and bobble hat and in her gloved hands was a pumpkin. “Happy Halloween!”
“I didn’t take you for a Halloween fan Gwen,” Tosh stated, finally looking up from her screens and smiling at the pumpkin and the black cat sweater Gwen was sporting.
“What? Oh I love it! Rhys is taking me to a fancy dress party tonight down at the pub. You should come,” she nodded, wide eyed and encouraging.
“We’ll see.” Tosh nodded. “You dressing up?”
“Yup. Though I’m torn between being a witch or a cat.” She pointed at her top. “Rhys is keen on the cat outfit, though I think its something to do with the leather boots.”
Tosh raised a querying eyebrow, but before Gwen could go into detail of her costume choices, they were rudely interrupted by an almost pitiful groan.
“Oh god, kill me now,” Owen moaned.
Gwen glared in his direction before turning to Tosh who mouthed ‘hangover’ over his head. Gwen pulled a mock sympathetic pout before tiptoeing over to the beleaguered man. Leaning in she grinned before yelling, “Trick or Treat!”
“Oh fuck! Knock it off!”
“Did I hear the mention of leather boots?” Jack had appeared from his office the moment the alarms had sounded, and had listened with interest to Gwen’s plans. If he’d thought of it earlier, he could have dragged Ianto out to one of the many themed evenings all the local pubs seemed to sporting. What he’d give to see that man dressed up to his own specifications.
“Mornin’ Jack.” Gwen turned, bright grin on her face and looked up at her boss. She’d long grown immune to his (and Ianto’s) ability of appearing out of nowhere and Owen’s soused death threats.
“You’re perky this morning.”
“Trick or Treat?” she asked, heading back to her desk.
Jack frowned in confusion, darting a glance at Tosh, who just shrugged, and Owen, whose bleary eyes refused to focus.
“Well, you know me! I never could resist a challenge.” Jack cocked his head to the side and folded his arms. “Did I ever tell you about-”
“Ahem!”
Oh, right… Treat?” He flashed her the patent ‘Harkness Grin’, copyrighted and trademarked on over forty worlds throughout the universe.
She smiled sweetly, and practically skipped up the stairs towards him, hands behind her back. As she drew closer his smile grew. Finally drawing level, Gwen handed him an envelope. His name was on the front.
“Tickets to a party?” he asked hopefully.
“Dunno,” she shrugged. “It was on the mat in the Tourist Office. Ianto obviously hasn’t been up there this morning.”
“No, it’s his day off,” Jack replied distractedly, turning the envelope over in his hands.
“Yeah, apparently Tea-boy has a stressful job,” Owen grouched.
Jack was too interested in the envelope though to reprimand Owen though. It was thick, good quality cotton paper. The writing was old-fashioned. Loops and slants and written in proper ink, which had bled slightly into the fine weaves.
“Well?” Gwen was looking over his shoulder. “Aren’t you going to open it?”
“Can’t.” Jack headed down the stairs. “Standard Torchwood protocol. When receiving mail at a Torchwood office that is specifically labelled for one of its officers the mail must be subjected to tests.”
“X-rays, UV irradiation and the Bekeran scanner,” Tosh picked up where Jack left off, “It has to go through all of them before it can be opened.”
“Why?” Gwen asked.
“Torchwood One used to get a lot of terrorist threats.”
“And also,” Jack said, “Better safe than sorry.”
A few hours later and the envelope had undergone every test Torchwood had to offer and had passed them all with flying colours. Owen had dosed it heavily with their modified UVGI unit, guaranteeing that no matter where or when the letter came from it wasn’t carrying any type of germicide. It looked totally innocuous lying on Jack’s desk, totally undeserving of the glare being levelled at it.
Jack loomed over the envelope; hand’s bracing his weight on the desk, trying to work out what was wrong. Something about the bland piece of stationary rattled his teeth. Jack wasn’t used to receiving mail of the non digital variety. And even then, all of his emails came from UNIT or Torchwood or the PM’s office. None of them were personal, although Martha did ask how he was when she emailed him. The only ones he ever got that were for him, and him alone, not for Torchwood Three’s team leader or Captain Jack Harkness, were random little notes sent by his team during the day. But they didn’t really count because they were nothing more than substitutions for coming up and talking to Jack face to face.
Part VII b is here