Fic: How Mycroft learned to tango... in politics
Title: How Mycroft learn to tango... in politics. Based on this prompt
Fandom: Sherlock (BBC), Torchwood
Word count: 2500 words
Additional Pairings/Characters: The entire Torchwood team, pre-Season 1
When Mycroft was first starting out in the government, as an assistant to one of the lower ministers
(horribly dull work of course, but it gave him the chance to 'assist' in several highly confidential projects. He predicted a promotion by the end of the month, judging from the last results)
he was once called into the office, where he saw the man behind the desk hastily slamming down the phone in anger.
"Ah, Michael," he called out, mopping at his sweaty brow with his hankerchief, "come in and close the door behind you." Mycroft ignored the blunder
(in all the time he had been working there, he had even not once gotten his name right - a testament to his advancement in his work. One could only hope that his next assignment was more fulfilling)
, seating himself down before he could be told. He raised an eyebrow in question, his entire attitude attentive.
The man dithered under his gaze, eyes sliding away from him to focus on a rather dull landscape on the wall.
"Now, you need to sign this form before we can continue." The paper slid over the desk. Mycroft picked it up with one hand, and glanced through it. It was an Official Secrets Act form.
(It seemed that his time here would be a bit more productive than he had originally thought. He had not suspected that this man had any secrets left, but apart from the mistress on the side, he hadn't thought to look any further. To his detriment)
He looked up at the fidgeting man before him.
"I'm afraid that I've already signed one of these before, back when I first acquired this position." He smiled apologetically. It came out rather insincere.
The man twitched a bit.
"I'm well aware of that, Matthew," he bit out with false bravado. It vanished in the wake of Mycroft's raised eyebrow, but he continued on. "But this form does need to be signed."
Now intrigued
(Interesting. It seemed that the matter was more critical than he had suspected)
, Mycroft removed a pen from the stationary holder on the desk. He signed, and passed the forms back over. The man took it with a sigh of relief.
"Good, good. Now we can get started."
He pulled out a huge file from the stack in front of him
(another reason to disregard him. Any man that could hardly organize his own paperwork was not suited to command anything)
, smoothing out the cover uselessly.
"Now, in 1879, Queen Victoria founded an Institute called Torchwood..."
Five hours later, Mycroft had gotten insight into a entirely different world, one where aliens mingled with humans, where selected specialists protected the rest of the unsuspecting public from a 'Rift in Time and Space'
(and didn't that phrase sound incredibly vague. Still, at least it wasn't in London - he'd have to pry Sherlock away from everything, and he didn't fancy doing that since Mummy would get upset at their arguing)
in Cardiff. Mycroft was also told of his assignment.
"For the past several years, since the change of new leadership in 2000, the new Torchwood head, one Captain Jack Harkness, has refused to speak to us here. You are to go to Cardiff, and solve this issue. The higher-ups were very impressed with your last project." This last part was slightly strained.
(It seemed that his promotion would be closer than he thought - a week at most)
Mycroft inclined his head in acknowledgement, then stood up from the chair.
"Of course." He said. Mycroft caught the other man gritting his teeth, but then he smiled, a trifle smugly. He passed over another folder with all the relevant information.
(Location of headquarters. Staff backgrounds. Averted near-Apocalypses, and the like)
Mycroft was nearly at the door when the man behind the desk spoke.
"A word of advice...?"
He turned around. By now, he was outright grinning nastily at Mycroft.
"Don't stay alone with the Captain. He can be very... ah, confronting. Now go on, there's a train leaving in half an hour." And Mycroft was shooed out of the room.
---
When Mycroft first met Captain Jack Harkness, he immediately saw what the man might have meant. The Captain was very forward.
"They've sent us a real looker this time," he leered at Mycroft, where he stood looking over the aptly-named Hub after introducing himself. "I was starting to think that all government people were fusty tightwads. It seems I was wrong." He blatantly looked Mycroft over, and Mycroft stared back, unimpressed. He refused to think of the slight shiver that went down his spine at the salacious gaze.
"Oi! Keep your hands to yourself, Harkness! We don't want the government coming down on us just because you couldn't keep it in your pants!" The highly unpleasant Doctor Owen Harper
(engaged before the fiancee died, now invested in casual relationships to cover the trauma, extensive need for attention)
was clearly watching porn on his computer screen, yet the Captain did nothing, instead choosing to wander down and ask if it was 'any good'.
"Just ignore Owen, he's a prat." One of the women shot the doctor a look. Suzie Costello, second-in-command at Torchwood Three.
(Driving ambition for knowledge, and power to achieve it, or perhaps the other way around)
The other woman merely shot Mycroft a fearful glance, and lowered her head back to her computer, fingers typing at a rapid pace.
(Toshiko Sato, recently incarcerated not too long ago - for treason, if he remembered the files correctly. Still not used to freedom, if one could consider regular weekly inspections that)
And the last member, who Mycroft privately felt was the only one dressed appropriately for work, passed him by to place a mug of green tea on her desk.
(Ianto Jones, originally working for Torchwood One, hence the insomnia and stressed posture. One sister with two kids. He rarely visited them)
"... outside the government and beyond the police." That caught his attention. He coughed lightly.
"With all due respect, Captain," he stressed the last word politely, "you do, in fact, answer to the government. We represent the Queen in the less important occurrences."
Everyone else stared at him for a moment, then laughed.
(It seemed that some information had been withheld, or deliberately edited. He made a note to change the report when he got back)
The Captain wiped away tears of mirth from his eyes.
"Looks like they tricked you there," he said at Mycroft's mildly inquiring gaze. "Actually, we report straight to Lizzie herself."
Mycroft tried to contain his incredulous response to the casual mention of the Queen, but he must have failed because the Captain was once again guffawing. Costello stepped in.
"Wow, you must have really pissed off someone." Mycroft didn't answer.
"Whatever it was, it must have been really bad. Why else would they send you all this way to this dump where the sun don't shine?" Harper was spinning rounds in his chair.
"I could show you somewhere else the sun don't shine," Captain Jack was waggling his eyebrows at Mycroft. Harper let out a disgusted sound.
"Please. Like he'd want to."
"Of course you could, sir. But might I go and sedate Janet before you bring Mr Holmes down?" Jones had silently moved so that he was at the edge of the stairs down. The others snorted with laughter at the Captain's mock-pout. He sidled up to Jones.
"Don't be mean, Ianto. We can't scare the poor government person, or I'll have to go to London again, and the meetings are all so boring! And what will I do without your coffee there?"
Jones gracefully stepped out of his reach.
"Well sir, there's always Starbucks."
Mycroft realized that he had been too caught up in the dynamics of this dysfunctional team, and that he had so far neglected his objectives. The sooner he finished this, the sooner he could get back to London. God knows what Sherlock would blow up without his intervention.
"Captain Harkness," he addressed the man, professional demeanor returning. "May we speak together in your office?"
The infuriating Captain just shot a wink in his direction.
"Of course, if you come this way we could 'talk'." It was an obvious innuendo. He directed Mycroft to go ahead of him.
Mycroft could feel the stare on his backside the whole way. He sighed internally. The man was nearly as bad as Sherlock on a good day.
---
Once the Captain reached his office, and had closed the door, his good mood immediately turned serious. Mycroft straightened slightly. The Captain gestured across from him at a chair.
"Sit down, Mycroft. I can call you Mycroft, right? It's a pretty unusual name, especially in this time." Mycroft noted the interesting wording, but the Captain pushed on.
"OK, who sent you this time? Was it Greene? Or Dale? I remember pissing him off at the last UNIT meeting. Those were fun times." He sighed, then smiled cheekily at Mycroft's questioning look.
"UNIT. It's like Torchwood, but on a global scale. More military. They have very nice berets too. Would go very well with your suit." And the lascivious gaze was back. Mycroft turned a blind eye to it
(Previous conflicts with government, due to the maverick approach to monitoring the Rift. Also, need to find more information on UNIT)
, it seemed like it was the Captain's default expression. He thought about his answer.
"I believe," he said slowly, "that it might have been the former, although he passed down the task for one of his minions."
(There had been no mention of UNIT, and anyway, the man whose department he was currently in did not deal with military matters)
The Captain leaned forward, hands coming flat against the desk. "And that would be you." He was starting to look angry.
Mycroft was unaffected. Sherlock could sulk better, even without that blasted violin he deeply regretted buying as a birthday gift.
"The task was then delegated along until it reached me." He saw the Captain's surprised expression. "What? Did you think that they would do any more work than necessary? This is the government we're talking about."
His words caused the Captain to laugh in amusement, frame already relaxing from his slight position earlier.
"So what, did they draw lots or something?" The Captain smirked at him. "In that case, I could say that I'm very lucky, really."
"No," Mycroft mused. "In this case, I can safety say that I did, in fact, 'piss off a higher-up'." The Captain snorted at the phrase, Mycroft's disdain for the slang coming through.
"Well, I can think of something that might piss him off more. How about you going back with no results?" Mycroft was slightly offended, but the Captain just winked at him. "You could say that I shagged the information right out you."
Mycroft tried not to cringe at the poor excuse, but knowing the halfwits at work they'd probably buy it. This was an alien matter, after all. Anything was possible.
The Captain was looking at him suggestively. "Captain..."
"Call me Jack." Mycroft conceded the point.
"Jack, then. I must apologize, but it would be highly unprofessional."
"You sure? But it's highly diplomatic!"
"How?" Mycroft understood what he was suggesting, but the question had slipped up before he could stop it. He bit his lip to censor himself, but the Capt-Jack had already moved around the desk, and leaned down in front of him, arms trapping him in the chair.
"I could show you," Jack smirked, lips close enough to brush against his mouth while they spoke.
There was a strange smell emanating from Jack. It wasn't a bad smell, but Mycroft found himself leaning forward almost against his will to sniff it again.
"What is that smell," he murmured to himself.
"Fifty-first century pheromones, you guys have no idea." Then Jack was kissing him, and all Mycroft could do was clutch at his arms to try and steady himself.
---
They would have given quite the show, Mycroft presumed, had one of the employees outside not knocked on the door in warning. As it was, he learned a lot that night in his hotel room.
And quite a bit more during his next few trips down to Cardiff. Sherlock was especially insufferable whenever Mycroft came back from one of those 'meetings'.
Unfortunately, or fortunately for his career, he was soon promoted, until he found himself as a 'minor' government official. He was now too busy with international matters
(and occasionally meeting several of the higher-ups of UNIT - the berets, he noted, went well together with the military uniform, as Jack had suggested before)
to visit as often, although Jack still remembered him it seemed, Mycroft mused as he looked at the woman standing in his office. She looked back steadily. He looked at the note again.
[Mycroft,
You remember me, right? Captain Jack? Great in bed, taught you all those 'diplomacy tricks'? What am I saying, of course you do. I'm unforgettable, and don't think I didn't notice the guys sent to keep an eye out for me. It was a cute gesture.]
Mycroft scowled at that point.
[Anyway, the lady before you fell through the Rift about a week ago. I remember how you were talking about finding a PA since you broke the last one.]
He hadn't broken her, she just couldn't keep up. And anyway, it was Sherlock's fault for setting those spiders on her during that last visit - he knew she was arachnophobic.
[She can help you - she's an AI system from the forty-second century. Assistant model - their primary function is to shadow their owner, and keep track of every of that person's needs. Very organized, and looks hot too! More than ready for the job.
I've keyed you in as her owner]
Mycroft didn't want to think about how he'd done that.
[so just give her a name and she's all yours.
You can thank me for it the next time I come up to London.
Jack ;) ]
The woman had not moved at all. Mycroft caught her gaze.
"It seems that I've become your new owner."
"Affirmative. I mean, yes." Mycroft raised a brow at that.
"As for a name... Do you have a preference?"
"My name can be anything you desire, owner."
"I'm afraid I cannot think of anything at the moment, my dear." He was feeling a bit possessive. Jack had given him alien technology! He was intensely curious about all the functions of the AI/woman. Jack had obviously not mentioned several things, and he would look forward to figuring them out.
"Could you assign yourself a name then?"
"Yes, owner. However, the name will be temporary, until you select one for me, owner."
"What will you call yourself now?"
"... Anthea."
"Alright then, Anthea. Perhaps you can help me take notes. There's a situation over in South American where..."
--- END
Fandom: Sherlock (BBC), Torchwood
Word count: 2500 words
Additional Pairings/Characters: The entire Torchwood team, pre-Season 1
When Mycroft was first starting out in the government, as an assistant to one of the lower ministers
(horribly dull work of course, but it gave him the chance to 'assist' in several highly confidential projects. He predicted a promotion by the end of the month, judging from the last results)
he was once called into the office, where he saw the man behind the desk hastily slamming down the phone in anger.
"Ah, Michael," he called out, mopping at his sweaty brow with his hankerchief, "come in and close the door behind you." Mycroft ignored the blunder
(in all the time he had been working there, he had even not once gotten his name right - a testament to his advancement in his work. One could only hope that his next assignment was more fulfilling)
, seating himself down before he could be told. He raised an eyebrow in question, his entire attitude attentive.
The man dithered under his gaze, eyes sliding away from him to focus on a rather dull landscape on the wall.
"Now, you need to sign this form before we can continue." The paper slid over the desk. Mycroft picked it up with one hand, and glanced through it. It was an Official Secrets Act form.
(It seemed that his time here would be a bit more productive than he had originally thought. He had not suspected that this man had any secrets left, but apart from the mistress on the side, he hadn't thought to look any further. To his detriment)
He looked up at the fidgeting man before him.
"I'm afraid that I've already signed one of these before, back when I first acquired this position." He smiled apologetically. It came out rather insincere.
The man twitched a bit.
"I'm well aware of that, Matthew," he bit out with false bravado. It vanished in the wake of Mycroft's raised eyebrow, but he continued on. "But this form does need to be signed."
Now intrigued
(Interesting. It seemed that the matter was more critical than he had suspected)
, Mycroft removed a pen from the stationary holder on the desk. He signed, and passed the forms back over. The man took it with a sigh of relief.
"Good, good. Now we can get started."
He pulled out a huge file from the stack in front of him
(another reason to disregard him. Any man that could hardly organize his own paperwork was not suited to command anything)
, smoothing out the cover uselessly.
"Now, in 1879, Queen Victoria founded an Institute called Torchwood..."
Five hours later, Mycroft had gotten insight into a entirely different world, one where aliens mingled with humans, where selected specialists protected the rest of the unsuspecting public from a 'Rift in Time and Space'
(and didn't that phrase sound incredibly vague. Still, at least it wasn't in London - he'd have to pry Sherlock away from everything, and he didn't fancy doing that since Mummy would get upset at their arguing)
in Cardiff. Mycroft was also told of his assignment.
"For the past several years, since the change of new leadership in 2000, the new Torchwood head, one Captain Jack Harkness, has refused to speak to us here. You are to go to Cardiff, and solve this issue. The higher-ups were very impressed with your last project." This last part was slightly strained.
(It seemed that his promotion would be closer than he thought - a week at most)
Mycroft inclined his head in acknowledgement, then stood up from the chair.
"Of course." He said. Mycroft caught the other man gritting his teeth, but then he smiled, a trifle smugly. He passed over another folder with all the relevant information.
(Location of headquarters. Staff backgrounds. Averted near-Apocalypses, and the like)
Mycroft was nearly at the door when the man behind the desk spoke.
"A word of advice...?"
He turned around. By now, he was outright grinning nastily at Mycroft.
"Don't stay alone with the Captain. He can be very... ah, confronting. Now go on, there's a train leaving in half an hour." And Mycroft was shooed out of the room.
---
When Mycroft first met Captain Jack Harkness, he immediately saw what the man might have meant. The Captain was very forward.
"They've sent us a real looker this time," he leered at Mycroft, where he stood looking over the aptly-named Hub after introducing himself. "I was starting to think that all government people were fusty tightwads. It seems I was wrong." He blatantly looked Mycroft over, and Mycroft stared back, unimpressed. He refused to think of the slight shiver that went down his spine at the salacious gaze.
"Oi! Keep your hands to yourself, Harkness! We don't want the government coming down on us just because you couldn't keep it in your pants!" The highly unpleasant Doctor Owen Harper
(engaged before the fiancee died, now invested in casual relationships to cover the trauma, extensive need for attention)
was clearly watching porn on his computer screen, yet the Captain did nothing, instead choosing to wander down and ask if it was 'any good'.
"Just ignore Owen, he's a prat." One of the women shot the doctor a look. Suzie Costello, second-in-command at Torchwood Three.
(Driving ambition for knowledge, and power to achieve it, or perhaps the other way around)
The other woman merely shot Mycroft a fearful glance, and lowered her head back to her computer, fingers typing at a rapid pace.
(Toshiko Sato, recently incarcerated not too long ago - for treason, if he remembered the files correctly. Still not used to freedom, if one could consider regular weekly inspections that)
And the last member, who Mycroft privately felt was the only one dressed appropriately for work, passed him by to place a mug of green tea on her desk.
(Ianto Jones, originally working for Torchwood One, hence the insomnia and stressed posture. One sister with two kids. He rarely visited them)
"... outside the government and beyond the police." That caught his attention. He coughed lightly.
"With all due respect, Captain," he stressed the last word politely, "you do, in fact, answer to the government. We represent the Queen in the less important occurrences."
Everyone else stared at him for a moment, then laughed.
(It seemed that some information had been withheld, or deliberately edited. He made a note to change the report when he got back)
The Captain wiped away tears of mirth from his eyes.
"Looks like they tricked you there," he said at Mycroft's mildly inquiring gaze. "Actually, we report straight to Lizzie herself."
Mycroft tried to contain his incredulous response to the casual mention of the Queen, but he must have failed because the Captain was once again guffawing. Costello stepped in.
"Wow, you must have really pissed off someone." Mycroft didn't answer.
"Whatever it was, it must have been really bad. Why else would they send you all this way to this dump where the sun don't shine?" Harper was spinning rounds in his chair.
"I could show you somewhere else the sun don't shine," Captain Jack was waggling his eyebrows at Mycroft. Harper let out a disgusted sound.
"Please. Like he'd want to."
"Of course you could, sir. But might I go and sedate Janet before you bring Mr Holmes down?" Jones had silently moved so that he was at the edge of the stairs down. The others snorted with laughter at the Captain's mock-pout. He sidled up to Jones.
"Don't be mean, Ianto. We can't scare the poor government person, or I'll have to go to London again, and the meetings are all so boring! And what will I do without your coffee there?"
Jones gracefully stepped out of his reach.
"Well sir, there's always Starbucks."
Mycroft realized that he had been too caught up in the dynamics of this dysfunctional team, and that he had so far neglected his objectives. The sooner he finished this, the sooner he could get back to London. God knows what Sherlock would blow up without his intervention.
"Captain Harkness," he addressed the man, professional demeanor returning. "May we speak together in your office?"
The infuriating Captain just shot a wink in his direction.
"Of course, if you come this way we could 'talk'." It was an obvious innuendo. He directed Mycroft to go ahead of him.
Mycroft could feel the stare on his backside the whole way. He sighed internally. The man was nearly as bad as Sherlock on a good day.
---
Once the Captain reached his office, and had closed the door, his good mood immediately turned serious. Mycroft straightened slightly. The Captain gestured across from him at a chair.
"Sit down, Mycroft. I can call you Mycroft, right? It's a pretty unusual name, especially in this time." Mycroft noted the interesting wording, but the Captain pushed on.
"OK, who sent you this time? Was it Greene? Or Dale? I remember pissing him off at the last UNIT meeting. Those were fun times." He sighed, then smiled cheekily at Mycroft's questioning look.
"UNIT. It's like Torchwood, but on a global scale. More military. They have very nice berets too. Would go very well with your suit." And the lascivious gaze was back. Mycroft turned a blind eye to it
(Previous conflicts with government, due to the maverick approach to monitoring the Rift. Also, need to find more information on UNIT)
, it seemed like it was the Captain's default expression. He thought about his answer.
"I believe," he said slowly, "that it might have been the former, although he passed down the task for one of his minions."
(There had been no mention of UNIT, and anyway, the man whose department he was currently in did not deal with military matters)
The Captain leaned forward, hands coming flat against the desk. "And that would be you." He was starting to look angry.
Mycroft was unaffected. Sherlock could sulk better, even without that blasted violin he deeply regretted buying as a birthday gift.
"The task was then delegated along until it reached me." He saw the Captain's surprised expression. "What? Did you think that they would do any more work than necessary? This is the government we're talking about."
His words caused the Captain to laugh in amusement, frame already relaxing from his slight position earlier.
"So what, did they draw lots or something?" The Captain smirked at him. "In that case, I could say that I'm very lucky, really."
"No," Mycroft mused. "In this case, I can safety say that I did, in fact, 'piss off a higher-up'." The Captain snorted at the phrase, Mycroft's disdain for the slang coming through.
"Well, I can think of something that might piss him off more. How about you going back with no results?" Mycroft was slightly offended, but the Captain just winked at him. "You could say that I shagged the information right out you."
Mycroft tried not to cringe at the poor excuse, but knowing the halfwits at work they'd probably buy it. This was an alien matter, after all. Anything was possible.
The Captain was looking at him suggestively. "Captain..."
"Call me Jack." Mycroft conceded the point.
"Jack, then. I must apologize, but it would be highly unprofessional."
"You sure? But it's highly diplomatic!"
"How?" Mycroft understood what he was suggesting, but the question had slipped up before he could stop it. He bit his lip to censor himself, but the Capt-Jack had already moved around the desk, and leaned down in front of him, arms trapping him in the chair.
"I could show you," Jack smirked, lips close enough to brush against his mouth while they spoke.
There was a strange smell emanating from Jack. It wasn't a bad smell, but Mycroft found himself leaning forward almost against his will to sniff it again.
"What is that smell," he murmured to himself.
"Fifty-first century pheromones, you guys have no idea." Then Jack was kissing him, and all Mycroft could do was clutch at his arms to try and steady himself.
---
They would have given quite the show, Mycroft presumed, had one of the employees outside not knocked on the door in warning. As it was, he learned a lot that night in his hotel room.
And quite a bit more during his next few trips down to Cardiff. Sherlock was especially insufferable whenever Mycroft came back from one of those 'meetings'.
Unfortunately, or fortunately for his career, he was soon promoted, until he found himself as a 'minor' government official. He was now too busy with international matters
(and occasionally meeting several of the higher-ups of UNIT - the berets, he noted, went well together with the military uniform, as Jack had suggested before)
to visit as often, although Jack still remembered him it seemed, Mycroft mused as he looked at the woman standing in his office. She looked back steadily. He looked at the note again.
[Mycroft,
You remember me, right? Captain Jack? Great in bed, taught you all those 'diplomacy tricks'? What am I saying, of course you do. I'm unforgettable, and don't think I didn't notice the guys sent to keep an eye out for me. It was a cute gesture.]
Mycroft scowled at that point.
[Anyway, the lady before you fell through the Rift about a week ago. I remember how you were talking about finding a PA since you broke the last one.]
He hadn't broken her, she just couldn't keep up. And anyway, it was Sherlock's fault for setting those spiders on her during that last visit - he knew she was arachnophobic.
[She can help you - she's an AI system from the forty-second century. Assistant model - their primary function is to shadow their owner, and keep track of every of that person's needs. Very organized, and looks hot too! More than ready for the job.
I've keyed you in as her owner]
Mycroft didn't want to think about how he'd done that.
[so just give her a name and she's all yours.
You can thank me for it the next time I come up to London.
Jack ;) ]
The woman had not moved at all. Mycroft caught her gaze.
"It seems that I've become your new owner."
"Affirmative. I mean, yes." Mycroft raised a brow at that.
"As for a name... Do you have a preference?"
"My name can be anything you desire, owner."
"I'm afraid I cannot think of anything at the moment, my dear." He was feeling a bit possessive. Jack had given him alien technology! He was intensely curious about all the functions of the AI/woman. Jack had obviously not mentioned several things, and he would look forward to figuring them out.
"Could you assign yourself a name then?"
"Yes, owner. However, the name will be temporary, until you select one for me, owner."
"What will you call yourself now?"
"... Anthea."
"Alright then, Anthea. Perhaps you can help me take notes. There's a situation over in South American where..."
--- END