Fic: day in the life (DW/TW, Fitz-centric)
Title: day in the life
Author: aces
Fandom: Doctor Who/Torchwood
Characters: *hangs head in shame* Fitz Kreiner, OFC, OMC, and a little bit Jack’n’Ianto. My own AU TAKES OVER MY BRAIN. It’s very sad.
Rating: Um, PG for swearing…ish? I really hate ratings, you know.
Word count: Approx. 3200 words
A/N: In this AU, Torchwood actually have some ability to hide what they do. Also, I wrote this yonks ago but never posted it, so this has turned into a holiday pressie for kindkit. No Doctor, alas, but I hope you’ll enjoy the Fitz-ness!
Summary: “In my job,” he told her seriously, “we deal with six ridiculous things before breakfast. We save the impossible things for after tea,” he added with what she thought was out-of-place pride.
She hated the bar scene, and she didn’t know why she kept coming back, and she really didn’t know why she was here tonight. She looked around the dimly lit room, the people in the deep sofas and on the high stools, and sighed.
Sod this, she thought to herself and picked up her bag. She’d had her drink, she’d escaped being chatted up by the pervert slouching in the trench at the bar, and she was ready for bed.
She started walking home.
Her mum had complained when she moved to Cardiff, particularly when she’d refused to get a car. Didn’t like her daughter wandering about the dirty city streets all by herself at all hours of the day. She’d assured her mum repeatedly that she was careful, that she kept an eye out and always had her keys and her mobile ready; she’d even taken a self-defense course soon after the move. She was still surprised her mum didn’t insist she call every night to make sure she got home alright.
She could hear footsteps following her tonight.
For the most part, her walk home consisted of busy thoroughfares; there were always people around. But the last jog was in a quieter residential area that also wasn’t very well-lit. And that was when she heard the footsteps. They didn’t sound that close, really, but she was having a bad night and they unnerved her.
When she reached her building, she slammed the front door shut with relief.
Sixty seconds later, somebody knocked on it and she jumped back in surprise, her heart pounding.
“Who is it!” she yelled.
“Um,” the person on the other side said. “This is probably going to sound ridiculous, but have you gotten any strange packages in the past few days?”
“Go away,” she said through the door, voice shaking, “before I call the police.”
“Actually, I am the police,” the voice said. If she’d been thinking more clearly, she would have noticed how surprised he sounded by the idea. “Or, well, affiliated with them or something, I think. Seriously, any strange packages? From your brother?”
She cracked the door open, her foot behind it ready to slam it back shut if necessary, and peered out. “You bastard,” she said, angry that her voice shook. “You were at the bar; I saw you. What the fuck do you think you’re doing, following me?”
It was the pervert in the trench, and he was still slouching. “I’m with Torchwood,” he said. “Do you know who that is? No, of course you don’t.” He sighed, ducked a look around the street. “Why couldn’t Jack bloody do this himself,” he muttered, apparently to himself, “stupid American git, probably trying to make a point. Look,” he looked up at her again, and she refrained from saying, Oh, so you remembered me, did you? because she wasn’t that mad, “I’m sure I seem like a nutter, but you only opened that door because I mentioned your brother, right?”
“What do you know about my brother?”
“I know he sent you something recently, without any explanation, and you haven’t heard anything from him since. Have you opened that package yet?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. If you don’t leave-”
“You’re going to call the police, yeah, so you said.” He took a hand out of one of his coat pockets to scratch his head, and he ducked another look around the street. “My name’s Fitz.”
“I don’t care! You followed me from a bar!”
“I would have talked to you in the bar,” he said defensively, “only you gave me the Death Glare and I’m very susceptible to those.”
“Get them a lot, do you?” she retorted. “You might want to try doing something about that.”
He sighed again. “I’m going to take something out of my pocket, okay? It’s my ID. I want you to look at it.”
He did what he’d said he would, and she looked over the card critically. “I’ve never even heard of Torchwood, Mister Kreiner,” she handed it back to him and began closing the door. “Good night and sod off.”
“Do you want to know what happened to your brother?”
She froze. “Is that a threat?” Her voice was shaking again.
“No!” It was starting to dawn on her that he really did seem intensely uncomfortable. “No,” he repeated more calmly, “I’m sorry if it sounded like that. He’s fine. He’s only being held for questioning. He’s here, actually, in Cardiff.”
“My brother lives in London; why is he-”
“Because Torchwood One doesn’t really exist right now and UNIT handed it off to us once they found out what happened to your brother’s, um, toy.” He came up the first step and looked up at her-imploringly. Police weren’t supposed to do that, she was pretty sure. “Can I come in and talk to you about this? It seems really daft making me stand out here like this.”
“Afraid somebody else will call the police on you?” she asked and reluctantly opened the door far enough to allow him inside. “If you make one bloody wrong move, I will scream so loud they will hear me in Swansea,” she warned.
He held up his hands. “Promise,” he said with a surprisingly endearing, if nervous, grin.
She led him up the two flights of stairs to her flat and had him sit down on the loveseat in the small living room. “Mind if I smoke?” he asked, pulling a packet of cigarettes out of his coat pocket.
“Yes,” she said, glaring at him, and he stuffed the cigs back into the pocket.
“Bloody twenty-first century,” she thought she heard him grumble, but before she could question that he went on, actually addressing her this time, “Have you opened that package from your brother?”
“Yes,” she said, “of course I did, why wouldn’t I? I was surprised he’d sent me anything; it’s not my birthday or Christmas, after all. I still don’t know what to make of it; it’s just a blue crystal.”
He slumped back in his chair and closed his eyes. “At bloody last,” he said and opened his eyes. “Your poncy brother-”
“Oi!”
“He is!” Fitz Kreiner looked and sounded aggravated. “He bloody well wouldn’t tell us for ages what he’d done with the damned thing. Finally he said he’d sent it to one of his sisters, and it took him another two hours to admit that it was you. Didn’t matter, of course; he’s only got the two of you and we’d already contacted your other sibling.”
“What’s so important about this blue crystal?”
Suddenly he looked shifty. “That’s, erm, classified.”
“You’re not very good at this, are you?”
“Sorry?” he looked startled.
“This ‘police’ thing or whatever it is you belong to. You’re a bit amateur, aren’t you?” She folded her arms and looked down at him.
“Everyone’s a critic,” he groaned. “Torchwood is not your typical-police organization.”
“Are you part of the government?”
“Not really,” he said. “In fact I’d say the government don’t usually like us much. That might have something to do with Jack,” he added reflectively. “He can be a real pushy domineering bastard when he wants to be.”
She blinked. He looked sheepish. “Sorry, personal issues, you don’t need to hear about that. Can I have the crystal please?”
“No,” she said, shocked. “Absolutely not.”
“But-!”
“I’m not just handing it over! I have no idea who you are, Mister Kreiner of the bloody Torchwood, whatever that is! You’ve already admitted you’re holding my brother hostage; why should I hand anything over to you?”
“Jack definitely should have done this one himself,” Fitz Kreiner said. “Or Gwen, Gwen would have been perfect for this-”
“Would you please stop muttering to yourself and just tell me once and for all what the hell is going on here?!”
She sat down in the easy chair and took a deep breath, resting her head in her hands. After a moment she looked up. Grey eyes looked back at her steadily-kindly, even.
“I’m really sorry about all this,” he said. “I’d say the next time you see your brother you give him a good kicking.”
“Oh, so I get to see him again, do I?” she snorted. She could feel tears gathering in the corners of her eyes and straightened, sniffing ruthlessly. “What’s he done?”
“He acquired something he shouldn’t have,” he told her. He was leaning toward her. His trench had fallen open and under it he wore jeans and a black t-shirt with a faded image and slogan. He had scraggly long graying hair and grey eyes and didn’t look like any sort of secret agent or policeman you might see on the telly or even around a car wreck or at a murder scene. She almost wished she’d stayed at the bar. “And then he tried to use it. And then when he should have turned it into the proper authorities, he panicked and sent it off to you.”
“It’s just a blue crystal,” she told him blankly. “What harm could possibly come from that?”
“You’d be surprised,” he told her, and he smiled, but the smile didn’t mean anything. He was serious. He was serious.
“You know this is ridiculous, right?”
“In my job,” he told her seriously, “and believe me, saying that I have a job is weird enough-in my job, we deal with six ridiculous things before breakfast. We save the impossible things for after tea,” he added with what she thought was out-of-place pride.
“I’m not handing over that stupid crystal until I see my brother,” she told him, looking down at her hands.
He hesitated. “I’ll have to talk with my boss, but I think that’s fair,” he replied at last. He stood up.
“What, now?” He shrugged and gave her that surprisingly endearing grin again. “Right, yes, might as well.” She stood up as well. “You know, you haven’t made today any better, and it was already a pretty shit day.”
“Sorry?” he said. It was her turn to sigh. “Back in a sec,” she said and went to her bedroom to dig the crystal out of her sock drawer.
When she came back, she found him finishing a conversation on his Bluetooth. “Right, yeah, okay,” he was saying, “I’m bringing her with me. We’ll be there in a half-hour, probably.” He ended the call and took off his headset. “I really hate that thing,” he said, dumping it into yet another coat pocket. “I mean, really hate that thing. It’s just begging for some alien to take control of it and screw with us. Again.”
She thought about running back into the bedroom with the crystal and calling the police after all. He caught the look on her face and muttered a “Sorry” before escorting her hurriedly out of the flat.
He took a deep breath when they were out on the road, and for a while they walked in silence. She huddled inside her thin jacket. The breeze had picked up, and she didn’t know what the hell she was doing out here with this strange Fitz Kreiner, and she’d been worried about her brother for days because he’d sent her that damned mesmerizing blue crystal and hadn’t said a bloody thing about it, the prat, and Christ, she was cold.
“Thanks,” Fitz Kreiner said, breaking the silence. He glanced at her-shyly? She frowned in confusion. “For coming along with me so easily. I’m not very good at this sort of thing.”
She raised her eyebrows. “I’d noticed.”
He looked away. “Hmph.”
“You don’t exactly seem secret agent material,” she said tentatively.
He hunched deeper into his trench. “You’d be surprised.” He sounded moody. “You want to know the funny thing? This gig involves more oversight than what I’m used to. And this gig barely has any oversight at all. Just Jack being a git.”
“Who is this Jack?” she asked finally. “You keep talking about him.”
“Do I? Figures. Jack’s my boss. He’s the head of Torchwood, actually. He sent me to pick you up, or at least fetch the crystal. He doesn’t usually send me out on my own, at least he hasn’t so far, and I think tonight was a test.”
“Why?”
“I’m still the new guy.” And he still sounded moody. “And Jack likes to play bloody mind games. With me in particular.” He glanced sideways at her. “I can’t believe I’m telling you this.”
“I don’t believe half of what you’re telling me anyway,” she shrugged, “so why fuss about it?”
“Good point.”
“So why does he like to play mind games with you particularly?”
“Um.” He looked shifty again; honestly, he had to be the worst secret-agent-spy-policeman-whatever in the history of any sort of institutionalized enforcement groups. “It’s complicated.”
“He’s not your boyfriend, is he?”
“Good Christ, no,” Fitz said fervently. “No, but he does fancy me.”
She raised her eyebrows at him and started smirking.
“I’m serious!” he said, frowning repressively at her. “Not that it means anything, really; I think he fancies anything so long as it’s still breathing, and even that’s debatable.”
“Your boss certainly sounds…interesting,” she said, relaxing the tiniest bit as they walked toward the bus stop.
“We all are,” he assured her with a grin. “It’s a prerequisite for being on the team.”
They caught a bus-she worried briefly about being done with this mess before the buses stopped running and then she dismissed the worry as the least of her problems-and found a couple places to sit.
“Why was today so shit?” Fitz asked after they’d settled themselves.
“What? Oh. Work, life, the usual. And then this. My life’s really boring, right? But this doesn’t even feel like a proper adventure. It just feels like-like dealing with my brother’s usual cock-ups and bailing him out again.” She sat back against the uncomfortable seat and glanced over at him. “You could at least be James Bond,” she said with a wry smile.
He didn’t smile back, just looked sad, and she frowned. “What was your last gig?”
“What?” he looked up at her.
“You said something earlier, about your previous job having less-less oversight or something. What did you mean?”
“Did I say that?” He looked nervous again. She folded her arms in front of her chest and gave him a look that indicated he wouldn’t wiggle out of answering again. He scratched the back of his head. “I-I did a lot of traveling, with a friend. We were-independent adventurers. If you like. Not really at all like my current career choice, though we deal with some of the same sorts of issues.”
“I’ve always meant to do some traveling,” she said, wistful. “I just never seem to have the time, or the money.”
“It broadens your mind,” he told her seriously.
“This is our stop,” he said a few minutes later and waited for her to descend out of the bus first. “But-” she said when she saw where they were, and he grinned suddenly and shook his head, taking her hand.
“Come on,” he said, and he led her into a dingy old tiny shop with a bead curtain leading into further depths. As soon as they appeared, a nice-looking young man in a suit slipped in between the beads. When he saw them, he nodded.
“Hello, Ianto,” Fitz said cheerfully. “Jack coming with our guest?”
Ianto looked her over, then looked back at Fitz and gave him the blandest smile she had ever seen. “Soon,” he said and went back behind the curtain.
“That was Ianto,” Fitz said, turning to lean back against the counter, resting his elbows on it. “He’s what we call taciturn in the business.”
She blinked. Before she could ask, the curtain swung aside again and another man swept in the room, a man who seemed like he really, really wanted to be back fighting the Nazis. Or maybe just in a movie about fighting the Nazis. “Fitz,” the man grinned in an American accent, “I see you made it.” He turned to her and flashed her another, even more charming, grin. “Hi,” he said, holding his hand out, “I’m Jack.”
She shook the hand, noting Fitz’s eye-rolling out of the corner of her eye. “Hi,” she said. “Where’s my brother?”
“He’s inside,” the man immediately sobered, giving her a look of deep professional caring, and she glanced at Fitz. He shrugged. “Where’s the crystal?” Jack dragged her attention back to him.
She put her hands in her jacket pockets. “My brother first,” she said.
He looked her over, the way that Ianto had, and nodded. “Reasonable,” he said. “Okay, hold on.”
It was his turn to disappear.
She looked at Fitz Kreiner. “Jack,” he said.
“Jack,” she replied. “I think I see what you mean about him.”
“Talking about me behind my back, Fitz?” Jack had already returned, her brother in tow. The instant he saw her, he slumped in relief, and she went up to punch him on the shoulder, hard, before giving him a fierce hug.
“Occupational hazard,” Fitz was telling Jack sourly, and she heard the American laugh softly. When she released her brother, Jack was staring at her expectantly. “Crystal?”
She reached into her pocket and brought it out, handing it over. “What is so important about that stupid thing?”
“You wouldn’t believe me even if I told you,” Jack smiled at her. It was a very nice smile, and her brother put his arm back around her shoulders, and she took a slight step closer to him. “But don’t worry; I’m not going to tell you. You two okay to get back to your flat? Good, good.” He stepped up to shake her brother’s hand. “Sorry about all the trouble-but you know, a lot of it really was your own fault.”
“Next time I find a stupid blue crystal, I’ll make sure to hand it over to the military,” her brother muttered, glaring at Jack. He was wearing sweatpants and a sweatshirt, probably whatever he’d been wearing when they pulled him out of his flat, and he looked like he hadn’t showered in a couple days. She almost felt like hitting him again.
“Glad to hear it,” Jack said to him. “Have a good night. C’mon, Fitz, let’s wrap this up.”
Fitz Kreiner paused as he walked past the siblings. “Uh, good luck, I guess?” he said to them both. “I hope the rest of your week’s pleasanter, anyway.”
She almost laughed. “Thanks,” she said. “I wouldn’t exactly say it was nice meeting you, Fitz Kreiner, but…”
He gave her that surprisingly charming grin again. “Yeah,” he said. “Have a good night.”
He walked through the curtain, and she turned to survey her brother. He looked back at her mournfully.
She smacked him on the shoulder again. “C’mon,” she sighed, “let’s get you back to my flat and cleaned up. Poncy git,” she added under her breath as they left the shop.
“Oi!” her brother protested.
“Don’t make me hit you again,” she said.
Author: aces
Fandom: Doctor Who/Torchwood
Characters: *hangs head in shame* Fitz Kreiner, OFC, OMC, and a little bit Jack’n’Ianto. My own AU TAKES OVER MY BRAIN. It’s very sad.
Rating: Um, PG for swearing…ish? I really hate ratings, you know.
Word count: Approx. 3200 words
A/N: In this AU, Torchwood actually have some ability to hide what they do. Also, I wrote this yonks ago but never posted it, so this has turned into a holiday pressie for kindkit. No Doctor, alas, but I hope you’ll enjoy the Fitz-ness!
Summary: “In my job,” he told her seriously, “we deal with six ridiculous things before breakfast. We save the impossible things for after tea,” he added with what she thought was out-of-place pride.
She hated the bar scene, and she didn’t know why she kept coming back, and she really didn’t know why she was here tonight. She looked around the dimly lit room, the people in the deep sofas and on the high stools, and sighed.
Sod this, she thought to herself and picked up her bag. She’d had her drink, she’d escaped being chatted up by the pervert slouching in the trench at the bar, and she was ready for bed.
She started walking home.
Her mum had complained when she moved to Cardiff, particularly when she’d refused to get a car. Didn’t like her daughter wandering about the dirty city streets all by herself at all hours of the day. She’d assured her mum repeatedly that she was careful, that she kept an eye out and always had her keys and her mobile ready; she’d even taken a self-defense course soon after the move. She was still surprised her mum didn’t insist she call every night to make sure she got home alright.
She could hear footsteps following her tonight.
For the most part, her walk home consisted of busy thoroughfares; there were always people around. But the last jog was in a quieter residential area that also wasn’t very well-lit. And that was when she heard the footsteps. They didn’t sound that close, really, but she was having a bad night and they unnerved her.
When she reached her building, she slammed the front door shut with relief.
Sixty seconds later, somebody knocked on it and she jumped back in surprise, her heart pounding.
“Who is it!” she yelled.
“Um,” the person on the other side said. “This is probably going to sound ridiculous, but have you gotten any strange packages in the past few days?”
“Go away,” she said through the door, voice shaking, “before I call the police.”
“Actually, I am the police,” the voice said. If she’d been thinking more clearly, she would have noticed how surprised he sounded by the idea. “Or, well, affiliated with them or something, I think. Seriously, any strange packages? From your brother?”
She cracked the door open, her foot behind it ready to slam it back shut if necessary, and peered out. “You bastard,” she said, angry that her voice shook. “You were at the bar; I saw you. What the fuck do you think you’re doing, following me?”
It was the pervert in the trench, and he was still slouching. “I’m with Torchwood,” he said. “Do you know who that is? No, of course you don’t.” He sighed, ducked a look around the street. “Why couldn’t Jack bloody do this himself,” he muttered, apparently to himself, “stupid American git, probably trying to make a point. Look,” he looked up at her again, and she refrained from saying, Oh, so you remembered me, did you? because she wasn’t that mad, “I’m sure I seem like a nutter, but you only opened that door because I mentioned your brother, right?”
“What do you know about my brother?”
“I know he sent you something recently, without any explanation, and you haven’t heard anything from him since. Have you opened that package yet?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. If you don’t leave-”
“You’re going to call the police, yeah, so you said.” He took a hand out of one of his coat pockets to scratch his head, and he ducked another look around the street. “My name’s Fitz.”
“I don’t care! You followed me from a bar!”
“I would have talked to you in the bar,” he said defensively, “only you gave me the Death Glare and I’m very susceptible to those.”
“Get them a lot, do you?” she retorted. “You might want to try doing something about that.”
He sighed again. “I’m going to take something out of my pocket, okay? It’s my ID. I want you to look at it.”
He did what he’d said he would, and she looked over the card critically. “I’ve never even heard of Torchwood, Mister Kreiner,” she handed it back to him and began closing the door. “Good night and sod off.”
“Do you want to know what happened to your brother?”
She froze. “Is that a threat?” Her voice was shaking again.
“No!” It was starting to dawn on her that he really did seem intensely uncomfortable. “No,” he repeated more calmly, “I’m sorry if it sounded like that. He’s fine. He’s only being held for questioning. He’s here, actually, in Cardiff.”
“My brother lives in London; why is he-”
“Because Torchwood One doesn’t really exist right now and UNIT handed it off to us once they found out what happened to your brother’s, um, toy.” He came up the first step and looked up at her-imploringly. Police weren’t supposed to do that, she was pretty sure. “Can I come in and talk to you about this? It seems really daft making me stand out here like this.”
“Afraid somebody else will call the police on you?” she asked and reluctantly opened the door far enough to allow him inside. “If you make one bloody wrong move, I will scream so loud they will hear me in Swansea,” she warned.
He held up his hands. “Promise,” he said with a surprisingly endearing, if nervous, grin.
She led him up the two flights of stairs to her flat and had him sit down on the loveseat in the small living room. “Mind if I smoke?” he asked, pulling a packet of cigarettes out of his coat pocket.
“Yes,” she said, glaring at him, and he stuffed the cigs back into the pocket.
“Bloody twenty-first century,” she thought she heard him grumble, but before she could question that he went on, actually addressing her this time, “Have you opened that package from your brother?”
“Yes,” she said, “of course I did, why wouldn’t I? I was surprised he’d sent me anything; it’s not my birthday or Christmas, after all. I still don’t know what to make of it; it’s just a blue crystal.”
He slumped back in his chair and closed his eyes. “At bloody last,” he said and opened his eyes. “Your poncy brother-”
“Oi!”
“He is!” Fitz Kreiner looked and sounded aggravated. “He bloody well wouldn’t tell us for ages what he’d done with the damned thing. Finally he said he’d sent it to one of his sisters, and it took him another two hours to admit that it was you. Didn’t matter, of course; he’s only got the two of you and we’d already contacted your other sibling.”
“What’s so important about this blue crystal?”
Suddenly he looked shifty. “That’s, erm, classified.”
“You’re not very good at this, are you?”
“Sorry?” he looked startled.
“This ‘police’ thing or whatever it is you belong to. You’re a bit amateur, aren’t you?” She folded her arms and looked down at him.
“Everyone’s a critic,” he groaned. “Torchwood is not your typical-police organization.”
“Are you part of the government?”
“Not really,” he said. “In fact I’d say the government don’t usually like us much. That might have something to do with Jack,” he added reflectively. “He can be a real pushy domineering bastard when he wants to be.”
She blinked. He looked sheepish. “Sorry, personal issues, you don’t need to hear about that. Can I have the crystal please?”
“No,” she said, shocked. “Absolutely not.”
“But-!”
“I’m not just handing it over! I have no idea who you are, Mister Kreiner of the bloody Torchwood, whatever that is! You’ve already admitted you’re holding my brother hostage; why should I hand anything over to you?”
“Jack definitely should have done this one himself,” Fitz Kreiner said. “Or Gwen, Gwen would have been perfect for this-”
“Would you please stop muttering to yourself and just tell me once and for all what the hell is going on here?!”
She sat down in the easy chair and took a deep breath, resting her head in her hands. After a moment she looked up. Grey eyes looked back at her steadily-kindly, even.
“I’m really sorry about all this,” he said. “I’d say the next time you see your brother you give him a good kicking.”
“Oh, so I get to see him again, do I?” she snorted. She could feel tears gathering in the corners of her eyes and straightened, sniffing ruthlessly. “What’s he done?”
“He acquired something he shouldn’t have,” he told her. He was leaning toward her. His trench had fallen open and under it he wore jeans and a black t-shirt with a faded image and slogan. He had scraggly long graying hair and grey eyes and didn’t look like any sort of secret agent or policeman you might see on the telly or even around a car wreck or at a murder scene. She almost wished she’d stayed at the bar. “And then he tried to use it. And then when he should have turned it into the proper authorities, he panicked and sent it off to you.”
“It’s just a blue crystal,” she told him blankly. “What harm could possibly come from that?”
“You’d be surprised,” he told her, and he smiled, but the smile didn’t mean anything. He was serious. He was serious.
“You know this is ridiculous, right?”
“In my job,” he told her seriously, “and believe me, saying that I have a job is weird enough-in my job, we deal with six ridiculous things before breakfast. We save the impossible things for after tea,” he added with what she thought was out-of-place pride.
“I’m not handing over that stupid crystal until I see my brother,” she told him, looking down at her hands.
He hesitated. “I’ll have to talk with my boss, but I think that’s fair,” he replied at last. He stood up.
“What, now?” He shrugged and gave her that surprisingly endearing grin again. “Right, yes, might as well.” She stood up as well. “You know, you haven’t made today any better, and it was already a pretty shit day.”
“Sorry?” he said. It was her turn to sigh. “Back in a sec,” she said and went to her bedroom to dig the crystal out of her sock drawer.
When she came back, she found him finishing a conversation on his Bluetooth. “Right, yeah, okay,” he was saying, “I’m bringing her with me. We’ll be there in a half-hour, probably.” He ended the call and took off his headset. “I really hate that thing,” he said, dumping it into yet another coat pocket. “I mean, really hate that thing. It’s just begging for some alien to take control of it and screw with us. Again.”
She thought about running back into the bedroom with the crystal and calling the police after all. He caught the look on her face and muttered a “Sorry” before escorting her hurriedly out of the flat.
He took a deep breath when they were out on the road, and for a while they walked in silence. She huddled inside her thin jacket. The breeze had picked up, and she didn’t know what the hell she was doing out here with this strange Fitz Kreiner, and she’d been worried about her brother for days because he’d sent her that damned mesmerizing blue crystal and hadn’t said a bloody thing about it, the prat, and Christ, she was cold.
“Thanks,” Fitz Kreiner said, breaking the silence. He glanced at her-shyly? She frowned in confusion. “For coming along with me so easily. I’m not very good at this sort of thing.”
She raised her eyebrows. “I’d noticed.”
He looked away. “Hmph.”
“You don’t exactly seem secret agent material,” she said tentatively.
He hunched deeper into his trench. “You’d be surprised.” He sounded moody. “You want to know the funny thing? This gig involves more oversight than what I’m used to. And this gig barely has any oversight at all. Just Jack being a git.”
“Who is this Jack?” she asked finally. “You keep talking about him.”
“Do I? Figures. Jack’s my boss. He’s the head of Torchwood, actually. He sent me to pick you up, or at least fetch the crystal. He doesn’t usually send me out on my own, at least he hasn’t so far, and I think tonight was a test.”
“Why?”
“I’m still the new guy.” And he still sounded moody. “And Jack likes to play bloody mind games. With me in particular.” He glanced sideways at her. “I can’t believe I’m telling you this.”
“I don’t believe half of what you’re telling me anyway,” she shrugged, “so why fuss about it?”
“Good point.”
“So why does he like to play mind games with you particularly?”
“Um.” He looked shifty again; honestly, he had to be the worst secret-agent-spy-policeman-whatever in the history of any sort of institutionalized enforcement groups. “It’s complicated.”
“He’s not your boyfriend, is he?”
“Good Christ, no,” Fitz said fervently. “No, but he does fancy me.”
She raised her eyebrows at him and started smirking.
“I’m serious!” he said, frowning repressively at her. “Not that it means anything, really; I think he fancies anything so long as it’s still breathing, and even that’s debatable.”
“Your boss certainly sounds…interesting,” she said, relaxing the tiniest bit as they walked toward the bus stop.
“We all are,” he assured her with a grin. “It’s a prerequisite for being on the team.”
They caught a bus-she worried briefly about being done with this mess before the buses stopped running and then she dismissed the worry as the least of her problems-and found a couple places to sit.
“Why was today so shit?” Fitz asked after they’d settled themselves.
“What? Oh. Work, life, the usual. And then this. My life’s really boring, right? But this doesn’t even feel like a proper adventure. It just feels like-like dealing with my brother’s usual cock-ups and bailing him out again.” She sat back against the uncomfortable seat and glanced over at him. “You could at least be James Bond,” she said with a wry smile.
He didn’t smile back, just looked sad, and she frowned. “What was your last gig?”
“What?” he looked up at her.
“You said something earlier, about your previous job having less-less oversight or something. What did you mean?”
“Did I say that?” He looked nervous again. She folded her arms in front of her chest and gave him a look that indicated he wouldn’t wiggle out of answering again. He scratched the back of his head. “I-I did a lot of traveling, with a friend. We were-independent adventurers. If you like. Not really at all like my current career choice, though we deal with some of the same sorts of issues.”
“I’ve always meant to do some traveling,” she said, wistful. “I just never seem to have the time, or the money.”
“It broadens your mind,” he told her seriously.
“This is our stop,” he said a few minutes later and waited for her to descend out of the bus first. “But-” she said when she saw where they were, and he grinned suddenly and shook his head, taking her hand.
“Come on,” he said, and he led her into a dingy old tiny shop with a bead curtain leading into further depths. As soon as they appeared, a nice-looking young man in a suit slipped in between the beads. When he saw them, he nodded.
“Hello, Ianto,” Fitz said cheerfully. “Jack coming with our guest?”
Ianto looked her over, then looked back at Fitz and gave him the blandest smile she had ever seen. “Soon,” he said and went back behind the curtain.
“That was Ianto,” Fitz said, turning to lean back against the counter, resting his elbows on it. “He’s what we call taciturn in the business.”
She blinked. Before she could ask, the curtain swung aside again and another man swept in the room, a man who seemed like he really, really wanted to be back fighting the Nazis. Or maybe just in a movie about fighting the Nazis. “Fitz,” the man grinned in an American accent, “I see you made it.” He turned to her and flashed her another, even more charming, grin. “Hi,” he said, holding his hand out, “I’m Jack.”
She shook the hand, noting Fitz’s eye-rolling out of the corner of her eye. “Hi,” she said. “Where’s my brother?”
“He’s inside,” the man immediately sobered, giving her a look of deep professional caring, and she glanced at Fitz. He shrugged. “Where’s the crystal?” Jack dragged her attention back to him.
She put her hands in her jacket pockets. “My brother first,” she said.
He looked her over, the way that Ianto had, and nodded. “Reasonable,” he said. “Okay, hold on.”
It was his turn to disappear.
She looked at Fitz Kreiner. “Jack,” he said.
“Jack,” she replied. “I think I see what you mean about him.”
“Talking about me behind my back, Fitz?” Jack had already returned, her brother in tow. The instant he saw her, he slumped in relief, and she went up to punch him on the shoulder, hard, before giving him a fierce hug.
“Occupational hazard,” Fitz was telling Jack sourly, and she heard the American laugh softly. When she released her brother, Jack was staring at her expectantly. “Crystal?”
She reached into her pocket and brought it out, handing it over. “What is so important about that stupid thing?”
“You wouldn’t believe me even if I told you,” Jack smiled at her. It was a very nice smile, and her brother put his arm back around her shoulders, and she took a slight step closer to him. “But don’t worry; I’m not going to tell you. You two okay to get back to your flat? Good, good.” He stepped up to shake her brother’s hand. “Sorry about all the trouble-but you know, a lot of it really was your own fault.”
“Next time I find a stupid blue crystal, I’ll make sure to hand it over to the military,” her brother muttered, glaring at Jack. He was wearing sweatpants and a sweatshirt, probably whatever he’d been wearing when they pulled him out of his flat, and he looked like he hadn’t showered in a couple days. She almost felt like hitting him again.
“Glad to hear it,” Jack said to him. “Have a good night. C’mon, Fitz, let’s wrap this up.”
Fitz Kreiner paused as he walked past the siblings. “Uh, good luck, I guess?” he said to them both. “I hope the rest of your week’s pleasanter, anyway.”
She almost laughed. “Thanks,” she said. “I wouldn’t exactly say it was nice meeting you, Fitz Kreiner, but…”
He gave her that surprisingly charming grin again. “Yeah,” he said. “Have a good night.”
He walked through the curtain, and she turned to survey her brother. He looked back at her mournfully.
She smacked him on the shoulder again. “C’mon,” she sighed, “let’s get you back to my flat and cleaned up. Poncy git,” she added under her breath as they left the shop.
“Oi!” her brother protested.
“Don’t make me hit you again,” she said.