Torchwood Fic: Mythology (2/?)
Title: Mythology (2/?)
Pairing: Jack/Ianto
Rating: R/NC17
Warning: None
Spoilers: Set after 2.13. Spoilers for both series 1 and 2, and a bit of DW: Last of the Time Lords and The Shakespeare Code
Summary: With mythical beasts turning up all over Scotland, Torchwood Two thought they were in charge; however, so did Torchwood Four. Unfortunately for both parties their main suspect was refusing to talk to anyone other than Torchwood Three’s Ianto Jones.
Beta: rakina
Disclaimer: Don't own 'em - unfortunately
A/N: Set after my stories Lynchpin and Constant. Okay folks... time to investigate the other side of Ianto’s family tree! This one is lighter in tone to Constant - time to have a bit of fun!
Lynchpin here: http://hel-bee.livejournal.com/21730.html
Constant here: http://hel-bee.livejournal.com/23390.html
Mythology chapter 1 here: http://hel-bee.livejournal.com/25464.html
Chapter Two
Special A/N for this chapter: The Armadillo is the nickname for the Clyde Auditorium at the SECC (Scottish Exhibition and Conference Centre). More about the SECC go here: http://www.secc.co.uk/
Snippet:
“I’m hoping that this is just normal weather for Scotland,” he said uncertainly, “but by the look on your face I think I must be mistaken.”
Henshaw prided himself on the fact that very little surprised him. In the course of his career, he’d seen things that even Yvonne Hartman would have found extraordinary. But never had he seen such a sight as a grown woman trying to get close to a three-headed devil dog using a Mars bar. Although he did vaguely recall Ianto mentioning once that pterodactyls liked dark chocolate. Siobhan was making quaint clucking noises and the dog had stopped growling and was looking bemusedly at the strange woman in front of him. Part of Henshaw wondered just what the hell was going on in Siobhan’s head as surely she was close enough by now to set up a stasis field.
“Well, if this is your extensive experience, Henshaw, I think you’re fooling yourself if you think I’m gonna step back and let your team take over,” said Dunston dismissively. “I’ve seen worse crawling around the sewers.”
“I know you like to think you’re living on the edge of danger, but I don’t believe for one moment you’ve ever had to deal with Cerberus before,” replied Henshaw tersely. “Or at least something very like the guard dog of Hades.”
“You should see what falls out of the clubs on Sauchiehall Street after closing time - some of them ain't so different.”
“Then perhaps you should concentrate on this city’s other inhabitants and let me get on with my job!”
Dunston muttered something that Henshaw didn’t hear, but he doubted it was complimentary, before adding: “Y’know, you don’t have to be an arse - we are all working for the same cause.”
“Yes, but some of us do it better,” shot back Henshaw with a grin.
“Now you’re starting to sound like Jack Harkness - though I guess you’d both be grateful that’s where the similarity ends.”
Henshaw tutted but decided to ignore Dunston, preferring to watch Siobhan. She’d stopped about three metres away from the hell hound and had thrown the now unwrapped confectionary in its direction. With one of its mouths occupied, Henshaw could begin to see the method in Siobhan’s madness. Siobhan was gearing up to create the stasis field. She was rubbing the palms of her hands together slowly and had crouched down, keeping her eye on the dog, but obviously concentrating on what she was about to do. He’d seen her do this countless times, although admittedly there had been a few other members of his team with her. But since Ianto had reconnected the circle, energising each of his team well beyond their initial capabilities, Siobhan was more than able to do this on her own.
Siobhan touched her fingertips lightly on the ground, and through their connection Henshaw felt her psychic abilities stir. Even Dunston seemed to have cottoned on that something outside the standard Torchwood remit was happening. A roll of thunder crashed above them, which caused Henshaw to look skywards cautiously. A lightning bolt streaked above them and he really didn’t like the thought of that.
“Wow,” gasped Dunston, “I dinnae know you guys messed with the weather when you go all hocus pocus.”
“We don’t.”
“What?”
“I’m hoping that this is just normal weather for Scotland,” Henshaw said uncertainly, “but by the look on your face I think I must be mistaken.”
Siobhan had also been distracted by the weather, and even Cerberus looked unhappy. The rain, that moments before had been light drizzle, now fell in great, fat droplets that pounded remorselessly against the ground. The light in the park was failing fast and another deafening crash of thunder rolled overhead, accompanied by a bolt of lightning that struck the ground only metres away from Siobhan and the dog. A column of smoke began to meander upwards from the point at which the lightning hit; it became thicker and thicker, quickly turning into a fast rotating vortex.
A crack, which sounded like concrete splitting, emanated from the smoke, and a bright light poured from it. The crack widened and elongated until its height and width were similar to an average man. With a final rumble of thunder a figure appeared, stepping out of the crack and staring around the park. It was a woman, young-looking, beautiful in a classical sense with long golden hair and red lips. Her gaze fell upon the dog and she smiled. “Aren’t you a handsome boy,” she said in a childish voice that most people reserved for speaking to animals and children, and patted Cerberus on the head. “Bet your mummy’s missing you.”
Henshaw and Dunston exchanged a look of bewilderment, finally roused from their inaction by Dunston’s colleague, Mary, shouting at them to move. The three of them raced to Siobhan, who slowly got to her feet and was staring dumbly at the woman. Henshaw took charge, while Dunston looked mutinous, glowering and his arms crossed, but kept quiet.
The woman slowly came to focus on him. “Ah, so here I am back on good old planet Earth.”
“Who are you?” asked Henshaw, slowly moving so he stood between the woman and Siobhan.
“Kelistra Manos. And you?”
“Torchwood.”
“So, Mr Torchwood, who are your friends?”
Henshaw could have sworn there was a look of recognition in her blue eyes, but her words said something different. “No, I work for Torchwood, and these are my colleagues.”
“Well, that it is fascinating - but I really think me and Cerberus here must be going.”
Dunston stepped forward and grabbed her forearm. “I don’t think so, missy. Appearing parks in a mass of smoke and causing thunderstorms makes me kinda suspicious…”
“Unhand me,” she hissed, her eyes burning with distaste.
“Not until we’ve had a little chat.”
Not for the first time Henshaw wondered how the hell Dunston had managed to become a leader with his seemingly non-existent diplomatic skills. Kelistra clicked the fingers on her right hand and the resulting energy wave knocked Dunston straight off his feet.
“I don’t think so,” she said smiling. “Now if you’ll excuse me.”
Henshaw felt Siobhan slide her hand into his. He squeezed it back in response, knowing exactly what she had in mind. As quick as a flash, a beam of light shot out from Siobhan’s other hand and wrapped around Kelistra’s wrist.
The alien’s eyes widened and she pulled her hand free easily, but a look of consternation flitted across her face as Siobhan fired again, once more restraining her wrist. Henshaw opened his mind to Siobhan and felt her leach off his power reserves to increase the pressure on Kelistra.
“We won’t hurt you,” Henshaw promised Kelistra. “We just want to talk.”
“All right, I’ll come with you,” she said with a resigned sigh, but her capitulation worried Henshaw, it seemed too fast, too easy.
Siobhan stood next to her, the beam of light now acting almost like handcuffs. “What are we going to do about the dog?” she asked.
Kelistra smiled thinly. “Oh, he’s no trouble. He’ll follow me quite happily.”
“Best bet is to take her back to the Armadillo,” said Dunston, who was now back on his feet. “Mary, can you do clean up?”
“No problem,” she replied, already mentally running through the procedures she intended to use.
With no reason to argue Henshaw followed Dunston back to his car, and pretty quickly they were heading south, out of the city centre. Dunston drove and Kelistra was flanked either side by Henshaw and Siobhan, while Cerberus sat happily panting in the foot well of the front passenger seat.
“Are you guys still under the SECC?” asked Henshaw, noticing the road signs.
“Yeah, but I think I’d have preferred it when it was a shipyard, but they built over us before I joined. Mind you being under the Armadillo is great - the food’s amazing, no conference ever notices a couple extra for dinner!”
“It’s not exactly very secret though, is it? Under an exhibition centre?”
Dunston shrugged. “No worse than Torchwood Three - and Torchwood Tower was hardly inconspicuous!”
“Did you guys never think of using the house?” asked Siobhan, still keeping a careful eye on their prisoner who had said nothing during the journey.
“What, Torchwood House? Nah, far too stuffy for the likes of us. Besides, we’ve always been here - not our fault they decided to regenerate the area.”
The traffic was busy, mainly due to the hoards of visitors clamouring to see a well known rock band who were playing at the SECC that night. They pulled into a car park and Dunston swore loudly as his reserved parking space was occupied by a brand new BMW. With a string of profanities he manoeuvred the car into a free space and took out his mobile phone, proceeding to yell loudly down the line at someone about getting the offending BMW towed away.
Dunston led them from the car, away from the river and therefore anyone making their way to the main arena for the gig, towards a hut that looked like a small electricity sub-station. Henshaw had been here before; unlike the entrance to Torchwood Three there was no exciting shortcut to Torchwood Two’s headquarters. He looked around uneasily, thankful for small mercies that Kelistra wasn’t struggling, since he thought that he already had enough to worry about with a three-headed dog trotting around Glasgow.
Dunston placed his hand against the hut’s door and it sprang open. “Come on, don’t have all night.”
They entered a well lit service corridor, which terminated in front of a lift. Piling in, they descended four floors rapidly and the lift doors opened onto a light airy space that was part office, part pool hall and part someone’s front room.
“Right, let’s stick her in a cell and then we can try and figure out what’s going on,” said Dunston, taking off his coat and throwing it across the arm of a nearby chair.
“We can’t put her in the cells,” said Siobhan, outraged.
“She could be dangerous,” insisted Dunston. “And while you’re in my building we’ll follow Torchwood Two rules!”
Dunston and Siobhan scowled at each other, but Kelistra didn’t argue, instead she continued to smiled serenely, not saying a word.
“As much as I’m loathed to admit it,” said Henshaw, “I think Dunston has a point.”
Siobhan tutted loudly, but allowed Dunston to lead them down a number of nondescript corridors to a part of the Armadillo that contained Torchwood Two’s containment cells. They were fairly bright and well kept and Siobhan admitted they were nicer than she had expected. Dunston opened one of the perspex doors and Kelistra entered, the dog obediently following her in.
“This is just a precaution,” he assured her. “Once you’ve answered our questions we’ll let you go.”
Kelistra sat down on the bench and crossed one leg over the other. She arched an elegant eyebrow and smiled. “You will be waiting a long time if you are expecting me to answer your questions. I’ll talk only to Ianto Jones.”
Henshaw’s forehead crinkled. “Ianto? How do you know Ianto?” he demanded.
Kelistra grinned, shrugged and mimed zipping her mouth shut with her fingers.
--------
Jack Harkness wasn’t particularly happy to be summoned back to the Hub. He’d let Gwen’s call go to voicemail, while busily trying to convince Ianto to save water by means of sharing a shower, and her garbed message said less than it revealed.
The cog door rolled back and they entered the Hub, Jack called out to Gwen who appeared immediately, looking excitable and wide-eyed. “This better be good,” warned Jack, but his tone was playful.
“Oh, Jack, I don’t think you’d want to miss this for the world. Both Torchwood Two and Four are asking for our help! Mind you, they’re being pretty cagey - said to use the video conferencing to phone ‘em back as soon as you could. Hurry up,” she said grinning, “I’m dying to know what’s going on!”
“Really?” he said with a smirk. “It’s always nice to be wanted. Okay, you two, let’s see how we can help our brothers in arms.”
Ianto and Gwen followed in Jack’s wake as he bounded up the stairs to the conference room. “I haven’t seen him this happy in ages,” Gwen said conspiratorially.
Ianto raised an eyebrow. “Well, I have - but not in work-related matters.”
Gwen nudged him playfully with her elbow. “Are his manners in bed getting worse?”
“You wouldn’t believe!”
“Oi, if you’re quite finished, in here now!” shouted Jack.
Ianto arrived and took a seat as Jack keyed in the direct dial number for Torchwood Two. The call connected and the faces of two men he recognised appeared on the plasma screen. They looked like they’d been fighting, which didn’t surprise Ianto since he knew Philip Henshaw well enough to know Stuart Dunston’s abrasive personality would really annoy him.
“Gwen told me you’d called earlier. How can we be of assistance on this cheerful Saturday evening?” Jack asked, not even attempting to keep the smugness out of his voice. There was no love lost between himself and Henshaw, but he had, on occasion, got along well with Dunston.
Henshaw’s scowl deepened. “I would say your arrogance astounds me, but having met you before I am more than aware of the boundaries of your egotism. Sorry, to deflate your big head, Harkness, but like our last meeting it’s Ianto I want to speak to.”
“Now, wait a minute,” interrupted Dunston, “we agreed any involvement of Torchwood Three would be through Jack.”
Henshaw tutted. “What do you think we’re doing now? We’re talking to Jack, and now we can talk to Ianto and actually get something done.”
Ianto cleared his throat loudly to interrupt they two men’s bickering. “Phillip, you know I’m always glad to see you, but what’s the problem? And why are you at the Armadillo?”
“We were investigating a psychic bomb, when this lot turned up,” he said gesturing dismissively in the direction of Dunston, “although in hindsight, it was a good job they did as we wouldn’t have had anywhere to put the prisoner.”
“Prisoner?” prompted Ianto, mainly to stop Dunston’s outraged retort. A noise from one of the computers downstairs caught Gwen’s attention and she silently excused herself to see what had caused it.
“The bomb exploded and in its place was a three-headed dog.”
Dunston leaned closer to the screen, determined to continue the story, but unlike Henshaw he directed the conversation at Jack. “Then the heavens open, and this great lightning bolt strikes the ground and from nowhere this pretty blonde lass appears. She wasn’t exactly interested in coming along quietly, if you know what I mean. Anyways, Henshaw and Siobhan manage to contain her somehow, and we get her back to the cells only for her to clam up completely, refusing to talk to anyone but Torchwood Three’s teaboy!”
Henshaw reaction mirrored Jack’s as they both glowered at Dunston, but it was Jack who spoke. “If you want our help, Stuart, you’d better watch your mouth.”
With a thin smile Dunston muttered an apology, but it was less than sincere. Ianto rolled his eyes at the display between the three men and was relieved when Gwen reappeared clutching a sheet of paper that she handed to Jack.
“So, Ianto,” said Henshaw, taking back the narrative, “here’s the live feed to the cells. Do you recognise her?”
Even with the grainy picture of the video screen it was clear that the woman was beautiful. Her long, golden hair cascaded over her shoulders; her eyes were a clear, bright blue and her complexion fair and vibrant. And Ianto recognised her immediately. He swallowed thickly, wondering if he could buy himself some more time.
“She’s looks sort of familiar,” he admitted. “I think I need longer to see if can remember her.”
Jack looked up from his sheet of paper. “What's all this about the Loch Ness monster?” he asked with a chuckle.
Dunston groaned. “Something else that’s appeared out of thin air. Mary, God knows how, managed to get it back to the Armadillo. It’s basking in the Clyde at the moment, being a danger to shipping!”
TBC
Thanks for reading... all comments are appreciated.
Chapter three here: http://hel-bee.livejournal.com/25892.html