VS3:03 -- "Limitation of Harm", Part One

[code_4268656637]

Weevils are turning up dead in unprecedented numbers, and a hungry young reporter is itching to write an expose on Cardiff's not-so-secret alien hunters. Will an understaffed Torchwood be able to resolve both problems?




Limitation of Harm

by: weaselett, invisible_lift, and lawsontl

The sun had long since set when Jeong-Jun Namkung - JJ to his friends and workmates - stepped out into Virgil Street. Grangetown was quiet that evening and, save for a few teenagers gathered along the edge of Sevenoaks Park, no one was around to notice him as he loaded his camera equipment into his car. He looked up and glared at the heavy, street-lit clouds. After an hour of listening to Cathy Biggs witter on about the tortoise she and her daughter kept in their back garden, the last thing he needed was for the sky to start pissing down on him.

Still, he was done with the bloody tortoise. It was beyond him how Gavin, his editor, even heard about these things. Once he did, though, JJ was certain he wrote them down and kept them in a little file. That way, whenever things started looking up, it would be easy to lean back in that nice leather chair (the nicest in the office, and no mistake) to shout, "Oi, Namkung! I've got something right up your alley!"

"Could have been worse," JJ mumbled to himself as he finished loading his gear into the boot of his blue Toyota Yaris, "could have had to shear a bloody sheep, again."

Rounding to the driver's side, he'd just slid into the seat and popped in the bud of his Bluetooth when the first fat drops of rain began to fall.

He grinned up at the sky. "That's right, you bastard, you just go ahead."

The first few chords of Kasabian's 'Reason Is Treason' reverberated from his iPod and into the cabin, the hum of the engine providing a backing track as he pulled into traffic and drove towards City Centre.

"If I'm lucky," he muttered to himself, "breaking news might have something worthwhile to follow up on." He flicked on the wipers as he made the turn onto Penarth Road.

"Pizza tonight?" He tapped his fingers idly against the steering wheel in time to the music, trying to recall how much money he had in his account. "Maybe a kebab." He eyed the sky critically before shaking his head. "No, Chinese, haven't... shit!"

A squeal of tyres and a flash of blue light startled him out of his reverie. He swerved into the oncoming lane to avoid the black SUV, only narrowly missing an oncoming car. Horns blared as he righted his car in the lane. He slammed his hand on the centre of the wheel for good measure. "Nice one, you cock," he spat, irritably and threw the vee through the windscreen. He was half-tempted to take down the number on the car's plate, call it in to the police.

"CF06..." He knew that number plate. "Oh, brilliant!" he shouted and stomped the accelerator, closing the distance between himself and the SUV. "Torchwood! That's Torchwood! Fantastic!"

Torchwood was off limits. Gavin liked to pretend that they were old hat - "Just some SoCo outfit, think they're rock stars." - but JJ knew better. He'd got curious, done a bit of homework, but found nothing. No official mention, nothing in the phone directory, nothing on any government website except some holiday spot in Scotland.

Torchwood, as far as he could tell, didn't properly exist. That meant it was some kind of spooky black project, and if that wasn't the story of the bloody decade, JJ didn't know what was. Gavin cocking Lytton could get stuffed. If he didn't know a good thing when he saw it, other papers would run it. Papers, hell. He could go to the BBC. Britain's action heroes, running the streets of Cardiff, guns blazing.

It sounded mad, but it was right in front of him. JJ followed the SUV through an illegal right turn. He ignored the new cacophony of horns. Whatever Torchwood was up to, it had to be somewhere near the Bay. That could mean anything. Terrorism? Maybe, but the government liked to crow about it when they prevented one group or another from executing an attack. With all the money invested in hotels and flats - flats that killed music venues, JJ thought bitterly - surely they'd want it reported if that's what Torchwood did.

Ahead of him, the SUV accelerated. He tried to follow it into the other lane as it merged over, but he was cut off when a minivan swerved in from a side street to take Torchwood's place. He slammed on his brakes and swore. In the rear windows of the minivan, a pair of twin boys in school jumpers pulled faces at him.

"Fuck this," he growled and zipped around the van to try and catch up with the SUV. He scanned the road ahead for any sign of flickering blue strip lights, but the nearest thing in sight was a rain-slick black Ford Transit van. Frustrated, he gunned his Yaris to pass the next few cars. Maybe they'd got further ahead somehow?

He took the tight turn off Lloyd George Avenue, in sight of the Millennium Centre, and sighed. Whoever Torchwood were, he'd lost them for now. Next time, though...

JJ cranked the stereo and turned toward home.

"It was crawling with bugs," Gwen protested, glaring at Jack as he happily continued to detail her earlier misdemeanour.

"That's no excuse. Dead weevils usually are." Jack paused for a moment. "Actually, weevils in general usually are. They don't exactly have the best personal hygiene."

"You're not the one who has to clean up after them all the time," Ianto pointed out, slightly shifting his grip on the body bag of weevil as they crossed the threshold into the Hub.

"I help," Jack said, lifting his own end of the body bag a little higher as they reached the autopsy bay stairs.

Ianto raised an eyebrow. "I'm not too sure that what you consider 'help' would actually stand up to the dictionary definition."

"And it smelt bloody awful," Gwen finished, ignoring them.

"Plus, brains," Ianto agreed as he and Jack laid the body bag on the table. He eyed the bag with distaste as he remembered the state of the corpse within. It certainly hadn't been pretty.

"Yeah, but you didn't see either of us throwing up," Jack returned, "despite the smell. And the brains."

"Right. Fine. I threw up. I'm sorry." Gwen leaned on the railing, looking down at the lump on the table. "I'll happily concede any claim on the autopsy."

Ianto winced, meeting Jack's gaze across the body bag. "You do not pay me enough."

"So if I increase your pay, you can do the autopsy?" Jack replied, quirking an eyebrow.

"We need a doctor," Gwen said, interrupting the staring match. "No, come on, Jack," she continued before Jack could argue. "This is the third dead weevil this week and we still have no idea what's killing them."

Ianto's gaze remained fixed on Jack as the other man shook his head, meeting Gwen's gaze steadily. "We'll figure it out."

"Jack," Gwen started to protest, but Jack cut her off with a brisk hand wave.

"I'm not getting into this with you right now, Gwen."

Gwen glared at him for a moment before cursing under her breath and heading out of the autopsy bay.

Ianto hesitated for a moment, watching Jack before he spoke. "She has a point. There's only so much longer we can go on with just the three of us."

Jack remained silent, focusing his attention on the weevil as he unzipped the body bag, not even reacting as the stink started to fill the space. Ianto retreated; he'd press the issue later. When the air was a little less noxious.

JJ slammed his mug of tea down onto his desk. "Damn Torchwood, that's the fourth time they've vanished on me!"

He leaned forward and dug around in the bottom drawer of his desk to find the file that he kept in there on Torchwood, and the CD with the matching digital copy. "Hell if I ever forget to back my stuff up again," he muttered.

He grinned as he found the file and managed to pull it free of the others, flipping it open and pulling out the CD and pushing it into his computer before plugging in his headphones.

JJ flicked idly through the thin stack of photocopies while he waited for the computer to recognise the disk. It was a sorry collection, one tied to loose ends, unproven links, or situations that screamed 'black ops', but for which he had not a single shred of proof.

Worse still was the fact that most of it came from the few good leads that he'd managed to pull from 'Dark Talk,' the radio show he'd listened to between classes. It had been more entertainment than a reliable source, though.

He eyed his handwritten notes from the few interviews he'd done. "Face it, Namkung, all you got were some bemused hotel staff and aggravated abattoir workers." Sighing, he closed the file and moved it to one side then turned his attention to his computer screen. "Might as well see if there's anything on the forums about last night."

He scanned the latest entries quickly, months of practise allowing him to quickly spot the few real gems amongst all the rubbish. He grimaced as yet another perfectly back-lit shot of Harkness's jaw line appeared. "Bastard, posing for the cameras."

He scrolled past the picture, scanning the accompanying text. "What attracted you lot to Bute Park?"

He skimmed a few more entries. No pictures of the scene; it’d been amongst the trees shielded from sight. Nothing helpful on any of the police scanners, either. “Something unpleasant found, just not anything human, so no one cared. Typical.” JJ huffed, slumping back in his chair. "Dead animal, my arse."

He took a swallow of tea, glaring at his monitor. "Bloody Abigail Crowe," he muttered, "had to get yourself shut down didn't you?"

He leaned forward, opening up the file of 'Dark Talk' recordings he'd managed to save and played the security feed he'd found from the last show. It was grainy and skipped at random points, but that in no way diminished what was there: two of the Torchwood team in action. JJ glanced sideways idly and winced, catching sight of an approaching menace. He hurriedly closed down the video, making sure that the only thing visible on screen was his in-progress tortoise article.

"You still set on that Torchwood shit?" Gavin motioned towards the folder with his mug of coffee, raising one eyebrow.

JJ shrugged, shoving the stray papers into the folder before replacing it in its drawer and pushing it closed. He'd lost one copy to spilt tea as it was; he wasn't about to lose another. "I still say there's something going on there."

Gavin snorted, taking a swallow of coffee. "Yeah right, Namkung, you and every lunatic in Cardiff."

JJ resisted the urge to curse at his editor. Whatever his opinion of the man, it wasn't likely to get him out of the rut of fuzzy human interest stories. "Do you know what Torchwood do?"

Gavin shrugged. "God only knows. Maybe they catch aliens."

"Doesn't it bother you, though, not knowing anything about them?" JJ asked, frustrated.

"I know Harkness is an arrogant cock who thinks he owns the place, and that half of the local plods hate his guts. I know his type; that's more than enough for me," Gavin said dismissively. "Once you're done dabbling with the lunatic fringe, make sure you get that tortoise piece finished up." Gavin moved off down the office, pausing to make a comment about the sanity of the English as he passed Michelle Evans's desk, raising the appreciative giggle his wit always received.

JJ rolled his eyes, continuing to resist the urge to speak his mind, then turned back to his computer and the saccharine, drama-less world of Grampy the Tortoise. As he worked, though, he couldn't stop thinking about how close he'd been to catching up with Torchwood. His eyes lit briefly on the drawer containing the folder, then back to Gavin. Prick.

The bulk of the afternoon wound up poured into tortoise hell and a slightly less miserable assignment on historic buildings. By the time he emailed his drafts over to Mab and grabbed his coat, the office was nearly empty. Just as well, he thought, as he stuffed the Torchwood folder into his backpack. He didn't want to put up with the commentary if anyone saw him taking this particular bit of work home with him.

He picked up a takeaway on his way out of the city centre and hurried back to his flat. He had a sort of open half-space just where his lounge met the kitchen. He laid his food and the file out on the little table and set to work.

Where original, uncropped photos were available, he'd printed copies and clipped them to the articles. Some of it was old, and really nothing more than coincidence or curiosity. The newer stuff, though, he could work with. He picked through the photos as he ate, looking for commonalities and familiar faces. Torchwood themselves rarely appeared in frame, except by accident. Harkness, the Yank in the flash coat, seemed to thrive on attention, though he was as likely to avoid the lens as turn towards it. The others were a little more obscure; even so, he knew most of them on sight.

Which is what made one of the pictures that predated his job at the Gazette all the more interesting. It was a snapshot from a murder scene. The original clippings he'd kept with it said 'unidentified male,' though he'd later discovered that the victim's name was John Tucker. Off to one side, a pair of police constables in slickers chatted with one another. And one of those...

"Gwen Cooper," JJ said. He picked it up, fascinated. Torchwood was clearly some sort of authority, but they definitely weren't emergency services. He looked at the date on the photo. Could it be he'd stumbled on Gwen Cooper's previous job?

He'd only been able to find a couple more photos of her, and both of them were newer. Gone were the yellow slicker and uniform, replaced by a smart black jacket. She had a certain look about her that reminded him a little of Trinity from The Matrix, like she could go into a room and fight off a pack of baddies. In the case of this photo, she was just talking to the same PC from the earlier photograph. Lanky bloke, blondish. They seemed friendly.

JJ circled him in china pencil. He had no idea who PC Plod was, but, at a guess, he'd be the nearest person to actual Torchwood JJ had found in a while.

"Constable Davidson," the voice on the line answered. Welsh for sure and bored to boot. Probably knee deep in paperwork, at a guess.

JJ leaned back in his desk chair. "I'm glad I caught you. My name is JJ Namkung. I'm with the Cardiff Gazette."

"Oh. Hi," Davidson replied. "Sorry. What can I help you with? If it's about a case-"

"Oh no, nothing like that," JJ said quickly. "Actually, your name got passed on to me because I'd like to do a series of features about the everyday face of Emergency Services."

"Passed on to you? Really?"

"Yeah. Though I'm having trouble selling my editor on the idea. I think he'd warm up to it if I had some preliminary work to show him. Maybe a partial article with an initial interview?" JJ tried not to grin. People could hear that sort of thing over the phone. "Not the final version, mind. If he says 'yes,' I'd want to do a full feature. Couple of pages, you know. Photos."

"Photos," Davidson repeated like he was trying the idea on for size. "And you really think I'm the one you want for something like this?"

JJ finally let himself crack a smile. "For the real face of the beat? I'd say you're perfect." He tapped the tip of his pencil on his notepad. "When are you free? I figure we could knock the whole thing out over a couple of pints."

Come on, JJ thought. Say yes already.

"Tonight's probably really short notice, isn't it?" Davidson asked after a second. "I mean, next week is probably better for you, and I'm on late rotation for the next four days, but if you're free around seven, the pub by the station is pretty good-"

"Seven tonight is great." JJ was grinning now. This was like shooting fish in a barrel. "How's Brydons? I'll buy the first round."

"Oh," Davidson paused, "yeah, sure. Alright."

JJ put down his pencil and sat back. "Great. Meet you at seven."

He moved to ring off, but Davidson spoke up before he could. "But hang on. How will I find you?"

"Oh, don't worry." JJ picked up one of the photos he'd accumulated. The gangly blond constable wore a stab vest, hands in his pockets. He looked bored, and maybe a little bit annoyed. Torchwood's SUV was parked in the background. "I'll find you. Journalist, remember?"

"Oh. Right." Davidson let out an awkward chuckle. "See you there."

"So anyway, we go back 'round and sure enough, there he is back on the bloody park bench where we'd found him the first time!"

JJ snickered into his pint. "You're kidding."

Andy shook his head. "Hand on heart. And he just looks up at us like he's surprised to see us, like we haven't just spent the last hour chasing him around."

In person, Andy Davidson was surprisingly likable. At first blush he came off a little bit like the living Welsh equivalent of the scarecrow from The Wizard of Oz, loose-limbed, wide-eyed and eager. Maybe a little high-strung, though it could just be nerves. Beer helped. JJ kept things businesslike for the first pint and then relaxed the tone.

By the third round, they were sharing war stories. They were good - might even be great if he could actually get them into the Gazette - but the more he listened, the clearer it became that Davidson wasn't an idiot. He was actually good at what he did. He just managed to come out of it at the end of the day and still be a nice bloke.

"It's funny," Andy went on. "We don't really get a lot of the sort of serious crime you see in London or Manchester and those sorts of places. When we do, though..." He shook his head.

"That's what Torchwood's about, though, isn't it? Some sort of CSI thing?"

Andy snorted. "Torchwood. I'd like to see Torchwood try and get by without us plods."

"Too big for their boots, eh?" JJ put down his empty glass and gave Davidson what he considered his most sympathetic look. "I mean, I've seen the way they drive."

"Yeah."

Judging by the face Davidson pulled, he'd hit a nerve, but those were definitely mixed feelings JJ was seeing on his face. "Sorry. You used to work with one of them, didn't you?"

Andy nodded. "My partner, actually. Chased after them and got recruited. I had to walk all the way from A&E to the bloody Millennium Centre because she'd taken the car going after them." He smiled, looked a bit nostalgic.

"The Millennium Centre?"

"Yeah, said she'd gone running after them, lost sight of them somewhere on the Plass." Davidson looked over from his drink. "You alright, mate? You look like someone just walked over your grave."

"Fine." Hadn't he lost them on Lloyd George Avenue? All the other times he'd come close weren't far from there, either. How had he not noticed before? "Sorry. I just remembered I told someone I'd cover the late shift on the news desk tonight. I'd better go."

"Oh."

JJ stuffed his recorder in his pocket and grabbed his bag. "I'll call sometime this week and let you know what my editor says. Here's my card just in case."

"Thanks." Davidson tucked it in his shirt pocket.

JJ stood a few yards away from the water tower, hands shoved into his pockets as he eyed the Plass, ignoring the odd looks a few people sent his way. It wasn't like tourists weren't down here every bloody day, snapping pictures of everything in sight.

He looked across at the front of the Millennium Centre, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he considered his next move.

Clearly, Torchwood didn't have themselves set up out on the Plass. The Millennium Centre itself also seemed unlikely, though some possibility remained that a secret underground Batman-esque base lurked beneath it. There'd have to be an entrance somewhere, some harmless-looking doorway. Not that he'd have a clue where to start looking for such a doorway. Instead, he settled at one of the tables in the glass-windowed Millennium Centre café, deciding he'd move on if he hadn't spotted any of the Torchwood lot by lunch time.

Three hours later, he'd seen a dog piss on the water tower, several groups of giggling girls posing for photos, and a group of teenagers who had used the steps to demonstrate their skills, or lack of skills in one case, on their BMXs. He was honestly starting to wonder if he'd forgotten that it was the school holidays or something. He'd failed utterly at spotting any member of Torchwood. Not so much as a glimpse of swirling coat, something that the chattier of the two waitresses had happily described in great detail. She apparently had a thing for guys in long coats.

JJ sighed, gathering his laptop and shoving it back into his messenger bag along with his notebook and pen, then he stood, leaving the money and tip for his two pots of tea behind on the table. If the few tidbits that coat girl had offered him were right, he might have more luck if he staked out Mermaid Quay. He wandered a bit before settling on a table outside one of the Quay's numerous cafes. It had a good view of the central throughway. Not too close to the edge, but close enough that people at other tables wouldn't block his view. He felt a tiny bit like a spy, but the diminishing amount of money in his wallet argued otherwise. He ordered another tea. Just a cup this time, plus a sandwich. His stomach had made it clear that it was long overdue for feeding.

Just as he was finishing his sandwich, his long wait finally bore fruit. It was the suited man, all too familiar to JJ via repeated viewings of a certain grainy video. JJ stood quickly, wincing as he caught his cup, nearly spilling tea all over his trousers. He took a moment to carefully pull the strap of his bag over his head before he hurried out from the mass of tables and into the path of his prey.

"You're Ianto Jones." JJ hurried to keep pace with the man.

"Yup, that would be my name," Ianto replied, transferring his clutch of Tesco's bags into one hand as he manoeuvred around a group of tourists.

"You work for Torchwood."

Ianto frowned, glancing back at JJ. "I work for the Welsh Tourist Board. I've never heard them called 'Torchwood' before."

"You're making a lot of effort for the tourists," JJ commented, nodding to Ianto's suit.

"I like to make a good impression."

"I've seen you with the others, driving around in that SUV of yours," JJ pressed, moving to block Ianto's way down the steps that led to the Dockside.

The man shook his head. "I'm sorry, you must have me confused with someone else."

JJ frowned, taking a moment to consider his options before he stepped to one side, letting Jones pass. "OK then, let's see this tourist office of yours."

Ianto shrugged, reaching into his pocket to retrieve his keys as he made his way down the steps.

JJ followed a few steps behind, ignoring the looks they were drawing. He could have just been another irate English tourist, planning on complaining about people speaking in Welsh accents and not being able to read some of the signs.

Ianto pushed the door open, lifting his bags a little as he stepped into the office, and held the door open for JJ. After they were both inside, Ianto made his way across the tiny room, disappearing behind a beaded curtain for a moment before returning empty-handed.

JJ paused on the threshold of the tourist office before he moved further in, letting the door slam shut behind him. He eyed the room warily, finding himself reviewing his opinion of the other tourist offices he'd been in; they had all had windows, at least. There'd also been a bit more besides leaflets, a few packs of red 'Welsh' pencils, a weird toy boat, and two bedraggled looking stuffed dragons. It almost made him long for the Welsh shop off Queen Street. "Well, this is cheery."

Ianto smiled politely. "I do my best."

JJ frowned, taking the last step needed to bring him even with the desk. He really hoped that no one else came in; it felt cramped enough with just the two of them.

Ianto regarded him silently, smile still in place. "So, do you need me to tell you the way to the Castle?"

"It's a nice cover, especially with it being so," JJ motioned around, "unwelcoming."

Ianto's smile tightened a little, and he straightened in his chair. "We get a lot of visitors coming in, not one of whom has ever described this place as 'unwelcoming'."

JJ grinned. "You're good." Ianto stared at JJ impassively, remaining silent. "Seriously, you don't need to keep it up for my sake." JJ moved around the desk, ignoring Ianto's disapproving gaze. "So, I'm guessing the secret door is back there, behind the cheesy beaded curtain."

"No," Ianto replied. "There's a kettle, some mugs, a fridge, the filing cabinets and the boxes of spare display items."

"Of course." JJ moved to brush past Ianto, who in return held out an arm to stop him.

"Staff only." He nodded towards the sign to the left of the door.

JJ grinned in triumph. "On account of the secret door."

Ianto rolled his eyes, reaching out to pull the beaded curtain to one side, exposing the small space beyond. "Unfortunately, my job really isn't that interesting."

JJ frowned, taking a step out of Ianto's personal space, searching the office for any other places that could hide a secret door. At the same time, Ianto lowered the curtain carefully back into place, settling in his chair and watching JJ out of the corner of his eye. He pretended to be occupied by straightening the leaflets spread across the desk.

JJ eyed Ianto for a long moment before he lowered his gaze, having caught a glimpse of something on the back of the desk. It was a button. A large, impossibly visible, black button, which he would have noticed before if he hadn't seen the curtain first. He blamed the fact that most people had abandoned beaded curtains ages ago in favour of doors or plain old curtains.

"I suppose that's just the panic button."

Ianto looked down, following JJ's finger. "We can't be seen to be discriminating. Should we employ a blind person, the panic button would need to be as accessible as possible."

JJ stared disbelievingly at Ianto, mouth hanging open a little. The man seriously had an answer for everything, which was a little stupid really. Made it obvious that he was operating the cover for a secret organisation. "Right."

Ianto's polite smile made a reappearance. "Was that all, or did you need something else?"

JJ shook his head. "Nah, that's all for now. Thanks." He cast one last glance down at the so-called 'panic button' before he turned and crossed to the door, pulling it open and stepping back out into the cold Cardiff air.

He'd be back soon enough, either when the guard dog wasn't present, or once he had something that they couldn't deny.

Then, he'd press that button and see just what it was they were hiding.

Jack leaned back in his chair, beaming as Ianto appeared in his office doorway, bearing coffee.

Ianto's eyes narrowed, and he backed up, coffee mug still in hand. "What've you done?"

Jack's grin widened, and he nodded towards his monitors. "I see you've got yourself a stalker."

Ianto rolled his eyes. "He's a reporter, not a stalker. Jeong-Jun Namkung; he's the one that had all the notes on his computer about us."

"He's been out there for hours," Jack continued. "He started out on the Plass, not far from the lift, then he wandered for a bit…"

"Anyone would think you didn't have anything better to do with your time." Ianto moved closer to the desk, putting down the mug and shifting the ever-growing pile of paperwork and personnel folders pointedly, while refusing to look at the monitor that was undoubtedly still trained on his new 'friend'.

"Gwen's normally the one acquiring stalkers. I've only had two recently. One, well he had a great ass, really filled out his jeans. The other one, she had the cutest uniform." Jack smiled to himself, taking a swallow of coffee. "I'm surprised actually, considering, that this is your first."

Ianto rolled his eyes again, nodding pointedly at the monitors. "There was me thinking I already had the one stalker."

Jack grinned, waggling his eyebrows. "With those suits of yours, can you really blame me?"

Ianto shook his head faintly. "So, how do you want to handle him? Retcon? Or do we go on ignoring him and hope he'll go away?"

"He works for the Gazette, local interest stories, right?" Jack asked, waiting for Ianto's nod of confirmation before he continued. "So, unless you've got a prize marrow hidden somewhere on your person, this is an independent investigation. Keep an eye on him, see if he does anything more interesting. I'll give Gwen a heads up when I get the chance."

"Speaking of…" Ianto said, nodding significantly, "reminds me of her a bit. Minus the pizza."

Jack shook his head. "Don't you think we should hire a doctor or a tech first?"

"You've been looking?"

Jack patted the stack of folders. "You have. Same thing."

Limitation of Harm: Part Two