#ianto and his bloody coffee-!

[jtownraindancer]

Finally!!!!!

[lottiethroughthelookingglass]

Apparently Ianto's been dead 15 years but I just checked and actually he's fine. He's just trying to have a nice coffee and read his book but these bloody aliens won't leave Cardiff alone.

[captainlynxx]

Almost perfect makes me so mad that not every torchwood book has chapter titles.

> Five rare times that Ianto Jones swears*

> Gwen and Ianto get a shopping montage

> Captain Jack is available for children’s parties

> Gwen is losing the argument

> Helena Carter is making money from the misery of others

> Ianto misses pockets

> Owen Harper is still dead

> Ianto can ride a horse across a beach without fear or shame

> The strange alien device is plotting to take over from Jeremy Kyle after this

> Ianto is explaining how coffee is like life

> Gwen is nowhere, and it’s for bloody ever

> Mozart is sponsored by cholestria

> Yvonne is now living in a fish restaurant

> God is dead (bored)

> Jack is in for a treat when he checks the CCTV

> Captain Jack goes to the wall

> Ianto knows the true value of a nugget

> Gwen welcomes careful drivers

> Bouncer Ben is wondering why his nose got broken

> Ianto is just murder on the dance floor

> Ianto is civilisation. End of.

> Madonna is a gay icon for beginners

[the-torchwood-archive]

Hidden by Steven Savile

Originally released in 2008, narrated by Naoko Mori. This story is set in early 2008, between Combat and Captain Jack Harkness.

Chapter One

Owen Harper sat with his feet up on his work station, feigning deep thought. He rolled a biro across his knuckles, catching it in his palm and sending it back again, backwards and forwards, backwards and forwards. On its third pass, the pen caught his thumb and spun away, bouncing off the edge of his keyboard. It rattled on the corner of the desk and rolled across the floor, stopping beneath Toshiko Sato's chair.

His gaze lifted from the floor to Tosh's shoe. Her foot tapped out the rhythm of some unheard tune. From the black leather, his eyes moved slowly up the curve of her calf to the trailing edge of the white coat, and finally over her shoulder to the television.

The image on the small screen was brutal. A helicopter, a black Gazelle, spinning out of control against a molten sky. The tail fin blazed, leaving a flame wake trailing through the air behind it. The image feed cut seconds before the Gazelle became a fireball, replacing death with the four faces of the damned. The pilot and his three passengers. Mid twenties, utterly normal. They looked happy in the photos. Proud. He wondered what expressions they would've worn had they known those photographs would become their death masks.

A map of the Brecon Beacons followed a moment later. An angry red smear marked the place where the helicopter had gone down, just north of Merthyr Tydfil.

"Turn it up."

"What?" Tosh said, not looking up from the algorithm she had been testing out for the last six hours. Her eyes were red-rimmed. She hadn't slept. "Bloody hell. That's just brutal. What a way to go." She craned her neck to see the screen. The cameras had returned to the anaemic face of the newscaster in the studio. The woman tried to look like she wasn't just reporting another day's tragedy, no different from the ones she had read out that morning, and the evening before, and every day for the last week.

"It has been confirmed that the pilot and all three passengers were Environment Agency representatives returning from the site of a recent archaeological find in Breconshire. Investigators are on the scene, but it is still too early to say with any certainty the cause of the crash. This fresh tragedy comes less than a day after the death of Sir Giles Walbridge, head of the Environment Agency's species recovery program dedicated to the protection of rare flora and fauna." The newscaster paused for a beat, as the faces of the victims returned to the screen. 

Tosh muted the sound.

"One accident's unfortunate. Two…well, that's just careless." Owen said.

The sound of footsteps echoed down from the metal gantry. A moment later, the hydraulics of the blast door's mechanism steamed and hissed. Two sets of footsteps this time. Captain Jack Harkness entered the Hub. He grasped the rails and half-bounced, half-slid down the short flight of metal steps. Ianto Jones followed three paces behind him, balancing a sheaf of papers and a styrofoam coffee cup as he negotiated the stairs.

Ianto sank into the ratty couch beneath the grubby Torchwood sign set in the ceramic wall, while Jack shrugged off his military greatcoat. "Give me the goods news first, Tosh," he called, draping it over the balcony rail. He came around to stand behind her at the bank of computers. "Looking good, looking good..." he said, approvingly, as a flurry of shapes and forms flitted across the monitors. None of them stayed on screen long enough to focus on. "So, is it like me on a Friday night, all dressed up with nowhe..." Jack broke off mid-word, seeing the faces on the screen. "Oh no. No, no no no!"

"Jack? Jack, what's wrong?" Tosh said. Her chair groaned as she leaned back in it.

The threads of colour drained from his face. Jack Harkness leaned forward, gripping the back of her chair with one hand. "I know her." Jack said, pointing up at the second face on the screen with the other.

The rest of the story is here:

Google Docs: Hidden by Steven Savile

[shejustcalledmeafish]

13 + 25 (drunken/drugged/sleepy confessions • showing up injured at their enemy’s house); john/ianto

Ianto just barely heard the knock at the door. He thought it was a knock at least. Better safe than sorry. He had been on his way to bed, two beers, just enough to take the edge of another day at Torchwood. He knew it could be a problem if he wasn’t careful, but he didn’t care. Odds were he wouldn’t last long enough for it to matter.

So, mellow more than tipsy, he opened the door. Or rather, he tried to open the door and it jammed against something after a few inches. That something let out a moan of pain.

“Fuck,” Ianto muttered as he forced the door open a little further, pushing the limp form of John Hart as it went. “What the fuck are you doing on my doormat?” He managed to slip out of the door and get a proper look at John. John looked up at him, hands pressed to his stomach. He raised one and waved, fingers slick and red.

“I was aiming for inside, but I slipped a little,” John said before groaning in pain and returning his hands to his abdomen. “Didn’t think you’d be here.”

“In my flat?” Ianto questioned. Then he sighed and knelt down beside John. “Hold on.” Ianto was glad John didn’t take advantage of the request given his bloody hands and his normally crude behavior. Instead he just nodded and let Ianto scoop him into his arms. He wasn’t too heavy, solid but slight. Ianto tried not to think too hard about it as he nudged his door further open with his foot and carried John inside.

“Shit,” Ianto muttered before deciding it was going to have to be a gamble. He set John down on the coffee table, then all but ran to close the front door and grab some old towels. He spread them over the sofa and then helped John move over. Normally, this amount of contact would have John making all sorts of comments, but he was eerily silent. Ianto stared at him for a moment, and John stared back, bleary but still conscious.

“You should have gone to Owen,” Ianto said, reaching to pull up John’s shirt. “Or a hospital.” John obediently moved his hands to let Ianto pull away the blood-soaked fabric and examine the wound. He thought John had been shot or stabbed, but looking at it, it was more of a slash. “I don’t know how much I can do for you.”

“You can get me some alcohol, and a needle and thread,” John said, voice stronger than Ianto had heard all night. “I’ve had this before, just need a few stitches, and the booze to steady my head.” Ianto doubted it, but he also really didn’t want to call Owen and get an earful. So he nodded, then came back to the sofa with a third of a bottle of vodka, the sewing supplies, and his mediocre first aid kid.

“There should be some antiseptic and gauze in there,” Ianto said. John nodded. The whole scene was a mess, and Ianto was still buzzed despite the sobering events. So it felt right and natural when he undid the cap of the vodka and held the bottle for John to drink from. He did so without question, throat working easily as he drank Ianto’s liquor down.

“Thanks,” John sighed when Ianto pulled the bottle back. “Could you thread the needle? I don’t want to get blood all over the rest of your sewing kit.” Ianto nodded.

“Shouldn’t you wash up before giving yourself stitches?” Ianto asked as non-judgmentally as he could manage while judging immensely. John shrugged.

“This is just to stop me bleeding all over your sofa tonight. Tomorrow, I’ll go find that Praxian fleshmender I saw in the archives and fix myself up properly.” Ianto frowned.

“And then you’ll give it to Owen and show him how to use it so we can all benefit from it?” Ianto asked. It wasn’t a question. John sighed melodramatically but nodded. “And you won’t mess up my archives.”

“So possessive,” John cooed. Ianto handed him the prepared needle, then immediately stood to go wash off the blood he’d managed to get on himself. He also didn’t really want to see John sewing his own flesh together on his sofa.

It was quiet for a moment, just the water running and soft noises from John that Ianto was trying very hard to ignore. It worked, until John spoke to him again.

“Like I said, didn’t think you’d be in.” Ianto turned off the tap, drying his hands slowly and methodically. “Thought you’d be down in your little love bunker with Jack.” Ianto ignored him, instead reaching for a flannel and turning the tap on warm.

“He had some work to get done,” Ianto replied, not rising to the bait. Wet flannel in hand, he moved closer to John, but not close enough to see his hands working over his stomach. “So you thought my flat was a nice place to patch yourself up?”

“Am I wrong?” John said. He laughed slightly which turned into a pained noise. “Do you have scissors?”

“Yes,” Ianto said, and moved back into the living room. He opened the sewing kit again, and handed John the small scissors within. “What did you say to get someone to come at you with a knife?” He made the mistake of looking down as John cut the spare thread, and ended up staring at the dozens of neat stitches John had put into the flesh of his own stomach.

“Oh, we were just having some fun,” John said nonchalantly. “Some people don’t get my style of fun.” Ianto sighed, and refrained from asking follow-up questions. He didn’t really want to know. “Can I have the vodka again?”

“Get some of that blood off first, and we’ll see,” Ianto said, handing John the damp flannel, and taking the scissors back from him. He’d be cleaning everything more thoroughly later. John scrubbed at his hands more methodically than Ianto expected, getting in between each finger and doing his best to get under his nails.

When John passed him back the flannel, hands now almost entirely blood-free, Ianto decided why not and gave him the vodka in return. He’d already come this far, he didn’t have much else to lose. John smiled at him and took another deep swig. He was a mess, blood still getting everywhere even though it had stopped flowing, the wound sealed and covered by gauze. Ianto hadn’t realized just how curly John’s hair was, but it was clear now that the gel had been stripped out of it by what Ianto could only assume was several hands, and it was an irritatingly good look.

“You’re staring,” John said, and Ianto immediately looked away, furious at being caught out. “Like what you see, or are you deciding how to kick me out without looking like a douche?”

“You can stay,” Ianto said, quickly getting to his feet. “I’ll get some sheets for the sofa, and you can go finish washing up.” He tried to move away, but John reached out and caught his hand.

“You don’t need to bother. I’ve slept worse places.” He let go of Ianto’s hand, then shifted, swinging his legs to sit rather than lie on the sofa, and patted the now-empty spot. Ianto took the cue and sat beside him. “I do appreciate it. You’ve been… charitable since I’ve been here, even with Jack.” Ianto snorted.

“Why are you saying that?” He leaned against the back of the sofa. He knew he should be worried about the cushions getting stained, but if there was one thing he was well-practiced at thanks to Torchwood, it was bloodstain removal. It was just so much easier to not worry. So he took the bottle back from John, nearly empty at this point, and finished it off. Now John was the one staring.

“Well,” John said after a few moments. “I am capable of telling the truth.” Ianto snorted and let his head fall back. “Don’t laugh!”

“I’m not laughing,” Ianto said, looking over at John and grinning.

“Yes, yes, and you’re capable of lying. Bitch.” John sighed deeply, then winced, one hand going to his stomach.

“Are you sure you’ll be okay tonight?” Ianto asked.

“Of course,” John said. “If you’re so worried, you’ll just have to stay out here and watch me all night long.” John winked at him, then shuffled to lie down on the sofa, swinging his legs up over Ianto’s. Ianto wanted to scold him for putting his boots on the sofa, but instead, he just sighed, and started to undo the laces.

John didn’t say anything else, just watched for a moment before lowering his head and closing his eyes. So that was how to shut him up, Ianto noted. He didn’t say anything either, just slipped the boots off and set them aside. Why break whatever this balance was? He’d been moving in uneasy circles around John for a while now, and it seemed right that they’d both end up here, in his place. The bloody wound was a surprise, but only a bit. He was John Hart after all.

When Jack slipped into Ianto’s flat a few hours later, he was surprised to find the light still on. He was even more surprised to find the two men asleep on the couch, Ianto slumped over John, the empty bottle lying on the floor beside them. Jack grinned, turned out the light, and let himself into Ianto’s bedroom. The next morning was going to be fun.

[captain-ghost]

"You're just so... Bloody... Cocky."

"Yeah, and you wear a suit to work and you think I don't know why? You don't need a suit to make coffee!"

It's been about 3 years since I first listened to Broken, and I only recently understood these lines properly and I feel stupid for that, whatever, but I love how Jack subtly opens up to Ianto about his charismatic exterior being a mask over his broken-ness in the same way that Ianto's suit and professionalism are a cover-up for his feelings too. It shows how emotionally aware Jack can be, and I really love this dialogue. I also like how he says "we're all broken", "we're all just dealing with it". It's the first time Jack really puts his walls down in order to connect with Ianto, and it's a really lovely bit of writing.

[iant0jones]

Jack has started doing this thing where, every time Ianto brings him coffee, or he’s just enjoying Ianto’s company, or he’s basically overwhelmed with his Iantoness, he starts singing “Can’t Help Falling in Love.” At first, Ianto’s got that wide eyed blush that Jack loves so much but eventually Ianto just rolls his eyes at him with that Almost-Imperceptible-Smile that’s reserved just for Jack (which he also loves). For awhile, Jack does it when it’s just the two of them and it’s sweet, but the more he does it, the more obnoxious he gets until he’s practically belting it out at the top of his lungs, off-key throughout the Hub. Eventually the team have a meeting because Owen “can’t listen to that bloody song one more time or I’ll tear my hair out.” So naturally Ianto starts playing it on the Hub speakers to.

The best part is that there are so many covers of that song that they can play them and trick Owen into thinking it’s something else until it’s too late lmao

[thedoctorsaysimwrong]

“I don’t even know what a peaceful night’s sleep is like anymore.” (Jack)

nightmares nightmares on the wall ( accepting ) @protectxthem

" i'm so sorry... " is the only thing he finds to mutter between them, pulling the younger man close, pressing his chin in his hair and trying to convey how bloody sorry he is for their continued existence and for everything that's still waiting this one in weeks...months...years... " i'm so sorry... "

alright enough of that captain, you only have the right to wallow in self-pity when someone else's happiness isn't on the line.

he lets go slowly and looks up from the hole that is his bed in the torchwood's hub. not the... subtlest of place for both of them to sleep but it's the weekend and his team won't be there. with luck he remembered to tell ianto not to come otherwise he'll have hell to explain.

jack's state doesn't even allow his mind to make a sexual innuendo at his own thoughts.

" coffee... i can spice it up for you if you need. but let's get out this dark hole. if we brooding, we do it up top. " he jumps the ladder and exits his small chamber, offering a hand down to the other. he looks old, what with the concern for his younger self, but he gives him a smile anyway.

he wishes he could give him a life that wasn't this.

[angstea]

Heatwave

Fandom: Torchwood

Ship: Janto

Summary: The team are not coping with the weather. Well, except Jack.

TW/CW: Swearing and Jack being Jack

AN: This is about the current weather in the UK. I'm melting.

Read on AO3

No work has been done in the Torchwood Hub for the last two days. Good thing the Rift hadn't acted up, almost as if it too were giving up in the heat.

The team were slumped at their desks, fans on at full blast and all wearing t-shirts and shorts rather than their usual attire, including Ianto who had given up on his formal appearance after nearly fainting a few days prior and getting a stern talking to from Owen.

Ianto had kept everyone supplied with freezing cold water and ice lollies, it was far too hot for their usual takeaway food and coffee, which everyone was thankful for.

Owen had even gotten to the point where he threw himself into the pool at the base of the water tower, only to find that the water was devastatingly lukewarm. He had dragged himself out, soaked and grumpy like a cat forced to take a bath, and thankfully didn't have to endure any teasing from the others. They didn't have the strength to.

"Don't you think you're being a bit dramatic?"

But Jack bloody Harkness, ever the anomaly, seemed perfectly fine as he waltzed around like normal, even sipping a fresh cup of coffee for fucks sake.

"Jack, it is 30 something degrees out there, what the fuck are you on about?" Owen asked, trying to sound annoyed but ultimately failing.

"I'm just saying, it's not that hot. Sure, it's a bit too warm for the coat but you're acting like you're dying." Jack laughed a bit and went over to Ianto, who was currently sprawled across the sofa. "How about we leave the others and have a bit of fun?" He poked Ianto a bit, only to have his hand swatted away by an agitated Ianto.

"Fuck off, Mr. I-Grew-Up-In-A-Literal-Desert, I am not fucking you in this heat." Ianto then proceeded to chuck a cushion from the sofa in Jack's direction, much to the others' amusement.

He placed the coffee down and put his hands up defensively. "Okay okay, sorry. It's not my fault you can't cope with the weather."

"If you're really sorry, you can get us more ice cubes." Ianto grinned and held up the now room temperature glass of water he'd been drinking. Jack just rolled his eyes and went to get the ice.

[universe-on-her-shoulders]

Can I have number 2 for Gwen and Ianto?

2. In the snow.

“I missed this,” Ianto said softly, each breath leaving a cloud hanging in the air before him as he and Gwen stamped their feet and shoved their hands deeper into their pockets, their gaze fixed on the house across the road.

“What, freezing your bollocks off on surveillance?” Gwen asked, her voice muffled by her scarf and her face partially obscured by her beanie hat. “I’m going to have Jack’s in a vice for this. Or we could remove them and graft them onto you… you’re going to bloody need them by the time we get out of here. D’you think he’d grow more? Maybe he’s got unlimited bollocks. That’d explain a lot, actually.”

“I don’t want to think about it,” Ianto shuddered delicately, subconsciously pressing his legs together at the mere insinuation. Parts of him were going numb, yes, but he was trying not to dwell on the subject. “And no, I meant… you know. Snow.”

“Snow isn’t exciting.”

“It is when you don’t get it in London,” he countered. “Which we didn’t; southern climate’s much too shitty for that.”

“London isn’t that far south, you know.”

“I would ask you if the cold is making you argumentative but frankly, you’re like this even when you’re not turning into an icicle.”

“Sorry,” Gwen grimaced guiltily. “I bloody hate being cold, and Jack knows that. Yes, the snow is lovely. Yes, I can’t feel my fingers. The two statements are not mutually exclusive. Although I will say that snow is marginally less lovely when it’s all slushy and grey and horrible after everyone’s tramped through it.”

“It’s nice now though,” he reasoned cheerfully. “All fresh and pristine.”

“Less great for stealth tracking aliens.”

“Christ, you need a coffee.”

Gwen groaned aloud at the suggestion. “God, please. I’ll leave Rhys for you if you provide me with a hot drink.”

“Now, now,” he grinned. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves… you’re not really my type.”

Send a number (or 2) and a pairing and I’ll try and write a drabble or ficlet!

[princess-of-the-worlds]

prompt: ianto and owen hanging out in the Hub by themselves

Cold Coffee Conversations

“So you and Jack, huh?” Owen asks, dragging behind Ianto as Ianto carries the tray of coffees - now cold - left behind in the boardroom when the team had raced out for the Rift alert. “What do the two of you do, anyways? Does he take you out on dates?”

Ianto places the tray gently on the kitchen counter and reaches for a mug, wincing as he pours the coffee out. “We never talked about Jack and I before...your condition,” he says stiffly. “We’re certainly not going to do it now.”

Owen rolls his eyes. “I’m dead, Ianto. I don’t have a STD.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t end up with one when you were alive,” mutters Ianto.

“Indulge me, Ianto. Do the two of you go to restaurants and hold hands underneath the table?” His eyebrows rise when Ianto accidentally drops a mug, and he whistles. “So you do! Where has Harkness taken you?”

“The Italian place across the Plass,” Ianto replies, relaxing slightly at Owen’s curious yet casual tone. “We’ve been trying to get reservations at this French restaurant in London. Jack wants to make a a weekend trip out of it.”

“Who knew Harkness was a bit of romantic?” Owen asks, but he means it rhetorically. The entire team has seen has Jack goes soft-eyed when Ianto does anything, even bring him a cup of coffee. They have a betting pool about when Jack and Ianto are going to move in together. “What else do you do? Like couples’ activities.”

“Jack wanted to take a cooking class,” Ianto says, but he’s back to sounding stiff as he runs a mug under the water, dries it with a washcloth, and sets it aside.

Owen trails fingers over the edge of the counter. The small puddle of water left by the mug Ianto’s just placed there doesn’t feel cold. It doesn’t feel wet. It feels like nothing at all. “Do you want to take a cooking class?”

It’s like Owen’s opened a floodgate.

Ianto carefully pushes the tray aside and whirls around to face Owen, wringing the towel between his hands. “No!” he says quickly. “I’m an awful cook. Coffee? Coffee’s easy. I used to be a barista. But actual food? Cooking?” His eyes widen. “I burn water. And Jack thinks it’ll be romantic.”

“Easy, easy,” Owen hushes, lifting gentle hands towards Ianto. “I’ll talk sense into him. I’ve done the cooking classes before,” - Ianto turns to glance at him in curiosity - “...with Katie. They didn’t go well.” He grimaces. “In fact, they were bloody awful.”

“Thank you, Owen,” Ianto says quietly.

“Don’t mention it,” Owen replies. “Now, when is the rest of the team getting back?”

[celstese]

Gwen cooper gets her groove back

Author: celstese

Rating: teen

Content warnings: Spoilers,swearing,Bilis Manger

Word count: 1511

description: On her hundredth tenth birthday Gwen Williams falls asleep and wakes up knocking Owen Harper off his bed. Being young again is hard. A time travel fix it fic.

(I might continue this later on but this is all I could come up with before I got writers block.)

Ao3

Gwen cooper was ready to go. For far two long for her liking she had been alone. Sure she still had her children as well as good old Andy who lived next to her with his husband Greg to talk to but for her the past twenty years without Rhys was the loneliest she had been in for a very long time. So when on her hundredth tenth birthday she fell asleep Gwen felt ready to die whenever death felt ready to come for her. Sure she heard the story from Jack about what he had seen all the times he had died but figured nothingness was the worst thing to look forward to. For all she knew even Jack's brain couldn't compered what was waiting but she was ready. What she woke to upon waking was unexpected but welcome . She would later realize she wasn't alone but that's not what she jumped to. As she came to she could hear a familiar voice she couldn't place for a while. Then it hit her like a large lorry had crashed into her old wiry body. 

“Owen Harper you utter bastard! ” she jolted up, eyes wide open, knocking him off his large bed with satin sheets. 

“What was that for?” he rubbed his bare face as he sat upright on the wooden floor. 

“Oh my I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to do that.” Gwen felt sheepish as she helped him back up. She quickly explained her reaction.  

“It's just given last I checked you died long before I had my hundredth birthday and I feel so young I'm comfortable blaming the rift. Given the fact I don't remember this so  I have to assume it did since I don't remember that day I woke up really old because of you know work.” “Of course, when is it ever something else? It's always the rift. Bloody torchwood.” he was flabbergasted to say the least judging by his face. 

“If I am mistaken there are some events  I won't let repeat themselves if I have any choice. No child's head should be liquefied for the sake of this planet.” 

“You're serious.”

“Why would i lie to you  about something like that ?I know I haven't been here at torchwood that long  at this point .I don't think I can go back to being who I was at this age. This job opens up a world but not all of it is good. I've woken up screaming more than once. I remember feeling guilt about what we did together and what happened next  but when I left  has been gone from my head for decades. Alzimers can be a  real bitch you know. I could have affected the whole universe by hurting you. I wouldn't be able to tell”

Owen as it turned out probably due to me not caring before had a decent amount of money.  He wasn't the richest person in the world but as I recognized that painting on the wall as an original I knew it was more than I realized. The things we notice as we get older can be odd to say the least of them. But I had forgotten long ago he had a car at his apartment building's car park.. It was in a nice shape but It would have gotten him noticed. It was some sports car in a bright red paint job. I turned to him in other bewilderment. His reply was understandable “I'm having trouble finding a buyer. You would think people would want one but nope i've had no luck for 3 years running.”

We ended up getting a taxi instead.

The commute didn't take as long as it should have been during the time of day but at the time I didn't take notice. Later when I heard from Rhys when I got home from work the significance of that morning. It felt to me that night the butterfly effect was a real phenomenon. It felt like I was that butterfly ; it felt daunting to me.

The plass looked the same as it did in my memory they had kept the old look after the explosion to keep continuity. Plus the other idea would have bankrupted the city. I always wondered what happened to the mayor who was in charge just before I joined. I asked Jack once when I was on vacation  for me and Rhys' anniversary but he looked funny. There was nothing in the torchwood records or any other place.It was like she had vanished into thin air. It didn't learn what happened but I had a feeling he was involved somehow. He was involved in lots of things so it wouldn't have surprised me.

When we entered the hub I was surprised but I didn't know last time. Jack and Ianto were having a date in the hub. It was some pretty nice spaghetti. I wouldn't have been able to eat it because I'm allergic to cilantro. Jack looked like  an owl hooting when he heard what I just told him. He could tell I wasn't joking. Owen's face convinced him something had to have happened even if what he was hearing was only partially truthful. Jack didn't blame Gwen for being hesitant to talk. It was best to keep talking about the possible future on the down low until they figured out what caused this and if she could go back. Gwen didn't think she would stay for long even if she returned. Sure her old body worked but they only lasted so long unlike jack. Jack she thought was unlucky and she wanted to help him if she could. This jack didn't really know her. It felt weird. She couldn't even tell Rhys since he didn't know at this point. It was very frustrating.

I knew if I was around long enough things might change. Then it did.  We had found ourselves at a building site where I remembered. Mary was still alive. It was something I did tonight that caused Tosh to meet her. This as far as I knew was not that important in the grand scheme of things. It was important now . Take care of the body then Mary.

It was late at night and the only one at the bar other than Gwen was the bartender. She found that odd. This was not helping her though. She was still feeling the same as she started. Then as she looked to the left by chance she saw the doors start to open. She tensed up. She didn't want to have anything to do with Bilis. He was still bad news whenever he showed up. He sat down to her and smiled. 

“Maybe you are the great equalizer now Gwen cooper. Things  won't be the same anymore most certainly.” Bilis Manger looked all innocent but she  knew better from her own experience he wasn't what he portrayed himself to be. 

“So it was you who did this.”

“Well not exactly. By going back you can not return this isn't a swapping bodies situation it's a you died and your soul as humans say merged with yours from earlier. Nothing is set in stone anymore except some things. The more things change the more things stay the same and all that.”

She jumped at him and before she could land a hit he was gone. Gwen wondered what happened but this was a whole different thing than she had in mind. Was it right to have kids right now with what she knew could come. She didn't know if those days had to happen. Maybe someone would. She just had to find someone who didn't have a reason to lie to her. She didn't know if she could name hers the same names again. The thought of that was very painful to her when she thought about it. That she would never see Anwen again hurt very much. Gwen Williams was Gwen Cooper once more.

What Rhys had told me had hit my conscious mind in the bathroom. Harriet Jones did not resign today. The ramifications were huge. I shivered on the white toilet. This didn't mean she wouldn't resign next week but there was a chance Jack wouldn't come back looking the way he did the time he left us all by ourselves to protect Cardiff. I didn't really have a smartphone anymore so I couldn't really check the news from in here anymore. There was a chance that a man didn't come here this time . That prospect was preferable to me than the alternative.

The coffee machine had stopped working and Ianto was exhausted. Sure his body was fine but his mind was a different story. It was getting to the point that the first part became untrue soon.

Jack let out a loud gasp. He stumbled and out in a suv came Gwen and Ianto. Being buried in cement was not pleasant in the slightest but it wasn't the worst thing he had ever felt in his one hundred plus years.

[i-was-bored-so-this-happened]

Rae Watches Torchwood

Children Of Earth: Day Three

I’m watching this in odd bits and pieces, @nowhere-dawn-death-phan

Spoilers. Obviously

Ah yes, close-ups of newsreaders and overlapping news, designed to fuck with my eyes and ears.

“I’m freezing.” Gwen, Rhys has just set something on fire, give it a minute and you’ll be okay

Jack, I was just going to ask that myself

Can someone please wipe the blood off Ianto’s face

“We’re together. The old team.” NO YOU ARE NOT DON’T PLAY WITH MY HEART LIKE THIS

More newsreaders! Thanks, I hate it!

No, newsreader lady, I don’t think the children do come first, if the shitshow that’s going on right now in reality is anything to go off

Bridget Spears’ face is always just, “Bitch, please”

Eh, I don’t trust the government

Is Rhiannon just looking after all the kids in her scheme?

Oh, Johnny’s bringing all the kids in

Ah. He’s being paid for it

Ten quid a kid? I know babysitters who do £10 an hour

Yes, Gwen, go girl! Yeah! Go full criminal!

IANTO

They’re all being so sneaky and then Jack just goes, fuck it, a sports car

Alice, why are you wearing heels at home? Why?

Ah shit, Alice, oh noo

Rhys’ written HUB 2 on the wall, bless

Have I ever mentioned that Ianto Jones is a freakin bean and I love him

Coffee. Yes. But do you have a kettle for that? Or...water?

AW, HE GOT JACK A NEW COAT

Oh hi Clem

So Gwen stole Torchwood contacts? Like the ones Martha used? Okay

It’s Sunday. Sundays are...my worst day of the week. Just the worst. So I don’t know what kind of reactions you’ll get out of me. Sundays are just really bad days for me

Don’t share the contact lenses. Gwen. Gwen, that’s yucky

“I can’t.” Didn’t you say you’ve already committed bloody treason by helping them already, what else is this going to do

She can’t, but she took them anyway

Ianto, can you please clean your face, for the love of god

“So one day you’ll see me die of old age.” if my predictions are right, you’re not going to reach old age, Ianto

“World’s always ending.” otherwise you wouldn’t be a tv show

When the fuck and how the fuck did they steal a camping stove? Or did Ianto buy it? The fuck is Rhys cooking?

Baked beans, apparently

Ianto also bought Prawn Cocktail crisps

Ianto also bought at least one toothbrush

Jack, talk to people, jesus

Wait, does Bridget think Lois, what, seduced Frobisher? Or Frobisher hit on her? Bridget, explain

ANDY

He remembers her by smell. Ah, yes, the pregnant one

Alice is still wearing heels inside her own damn house

See, you would have been quicker if you weren’t wearing goddamn heels

Ah shite

Ah shite Rhiannon’s house is full of them

Oop, Clem’s gone too

more bloody newsreaders

And how the fuck are Rhys and Ianto going to get anywhere? Jack’s got the car. Speaking of, how was Gwen meant to get Clem back to them?

They must have stolen two cars. Right? Or am I being thick about something?

Jumpscare? Either that or there’s nothing actually in the box

Eh, not really jumpscare

Why is Dekker wearing a janitor coat? Who exactly is Dekker again? His name is Dekker, right?

Aliens just vomited everywhere

And again

Peter Capaldi be shook

MORE FUCKING ZOOMED IN NEWSREADERS

CAN THEY STOP WITH THE NEWSLADY PLEASE

Why do Clem’s memories sound like the TARDIS? Or is that just me?

Now, is Clem talking about Jack, or the Doctor, or someone else or-

Yes, Ianto. Stick it to him, lad, you’re allowed to be angry sometimes

Yes, Lois, commit that treason to save the world

I thought they could hear stuff with the lenses, couldn’t they hear when Martha was talking? Or am I wrong?

I thought Lois took out that notebook to write stuff down but apparently not

The vomit’s gone from the tank. Where the hell did it go? Did the alien fucking lick it off?

Ah, she’s going to write down what the alien says

Shorthand. Okay. I really should learn how to write that. I’ve been saying that since I was about seven

More vomit

I thought it was going to say, “Because you invited us” Dunno why I thought that though

They want your kids, Frobisher, I guessed that

Yep

hide your kids, hide your wife, hide your kids, hide your wife, hide your-

Why does it keep puking though?

“What does it mean, children?” IT MEANS IT WANTS YOUR FUCKING CHILDREN

Clem did mean Jack, he can smell him

That’s a lotta kids

Shit, Jack gave the kids away in 1965? Christ, Jack

I was going to say Jesus, Jack, but I don’t want to replace, Jesus, Owen

[captainlynxx]

And we’re done with consequences :D, I like my highlight format so let’s go with that again:

The baby farmers

> ‘What’s the matter?’ he asked. ‘Is our pet freak misbehaving again?’

‘Pet freak? Said Jack, in a tone of mild outrage. ‘Who’re you calling a pet freak?’

> ‘I’m not really a fan of musical theatre’

‘Sure about that?’ asked Jack.

‘Yes, Jack,’ Gaskell replied, wearily. No matter how hard you try to convince me otherwise.’

> Emily thought this over for a moment before smiling. ‘Not really,’ she replied, gently brushing Alice’s cheek with one finger. (I know what you are)

> ‘Mr Gaskell,’ he said. ‘How do you do? Please, take a seat. Would you care for tea,’ (never beating the British allegations)

> ‘You know, we could have tried knocking at the door,’

>’Cyanide…’ said Gaskell (yummy)

> ‘Do you see, Mr Gaskell?’ said Emily. These things can be done quietly, you know.’

> ‘And,’ Emily continued, ‘I am sure there are far more enjoyable things with which we can occupy ourselves this evening.’

‘Why, Miss Holroyd,’ said Alice, raising one eyebrow. ‘Whatever do you mean?’

Emily leaned across the desk and kissed her gently on the lips.

‘I shall leave that to your imagination, Miss Guppy,’ she replied.

Kaleidoscope

> ‘I think I’ve found something.’

‘Jack?’ Gwen raised an eyebrow. ‘Finding Jack might solve our problem.’

> Owen Harper could truly be a bastard sometimes

> ‘Voilà’

‘Smart arse.’

> ‘Oh gosh,’ Toshiko Sato whispered.

‘If you’ve got a swearword in you,’ Gwen said ‘then maybe this is the time for it. Whether you like it or not, you’re in charge.’

> There were just too many personal ghosts in the quiet spaces around him. His eyes snagged on Jack’s office door. That space especially.

> Under all the angst in their relationship, Gwen felt for him. (I forgot angst wasn’t just an ao3 tag)

The wrong hands

> ‘Always a godfather and never a god.’ (Boygenius starts playing)

> Nobody knows I’m a lesbian (I don’t have that problem the closet is glass)

> ‘That’s right,’ said Jack, grinning. ‘You know, you’d make a very good police officer. Has anyone ever told you that? Or maybe a very good drug dealer.’

> ‘You’d be surprised what you can get up to on a rocking horse’ (Jack bloody Harkness)

> ‘Always looking on the bright side. Are you Welsh by any chance?’

Virus

> ‘Torchwood kills babies’

> ‘And you’re taken,’ said Ianto. ‘Both of you are. Nothing wrong with window shopping, just try not to lick the glass too much.’

> ‘I do my best,’ he said. ‘Which is usually pretty damn good, if I do say so myself. Which I do.’

> ‘The rest of the team?’

Gwen and Ianto frantically mimed at him to say that they weren’t there, shaking their heads and waving their arms around. Jack grinned. Why let them miss out on all the fun?

‘Yes we’re all here, hang on.’

> An emergency stash of instant coffee, hidden under several folders so that Ianto wouldn’t find it.

> Gwen looked at Jack, dismayed, as if he had asked her to shoot a small kitten in the head. ‘Jack, Jack, Jack. He’d go bananas. He’d kill us. And he knows what the coffee from all the local places smells like.’

> ‘And I’m not the tea-boy. I’m the coffee boy.’

> He removed his hand and kissed him, quickly, keeping his expression optimistic.

> ‘Well, if I’m talking to you, then I’m not talking to myself, which makes it perfectly normal and not weird…’

> Ianto took a sip of the coffee, and winced. To say it wasn’t up to his standards would be like saying a light bulb emitted slightly less light and heat than the sun.

> ‘Jack, you know how I feel. I think I know how you feel. You brought me back from the brink, so many times, and made me feel so alive. I didn’t think I’d ever feel like that again. So thank you. In all the madness, you’re the one person I know I can rely on. And that counts for a hell of a lot.’

> Before he left, he gave Jack one last kiss. And he made sure it was a good one.

> ‘Don’t make fun of the suit,’

> ‘How about the time when—‘

He stopped, and looked at Gwen and Rhys. He didn’t want them to hear this. He leaned in closely to Jack, and whispered the rest into his ear. (What did he whisper? WHAT DID HE WHISPER???)

> Jack nodded. Took Ianto’s hand. And for the rest of the evening, there were no more words.

Consequences

So uhm I kinda forgot to highlight in this one and slight problem is I have to return it to the library tomorrow morning so I will update this post after a re-read :D

[the-torchwood-archive]

From TWM #8, it's part one of Harm's Way.

Since there was some interest in me sharing my collection, I thought I'd start with one of the first short stories and one of my favourites. Which is odd, considering Trevor Baxendale wrote one of my least favourite novels. Judging by The Undertaker's Gift, he's a big supporter of Jack/Gwen so it's interesting that he wrote a Rhys/Gwen focused story.

Full text is under the cut. This was a quick transcription, so please let me know if you find any errors.

The Torchwood SUV pulled up with a screech of brakes and Captain Jack Harkness climbed out. ‘Came as fast as I could,’ he said with a grin.

‘No news there, then,’ said Ianto Jones. He was standing on the lawn of a neat semi-detached bungalow, squinting in the sun as it reflected off the SUV’s paintwork.

Jack took off his sunglasses as he strolled over, ‘Ok, Fun Boy, what gives?’

‘You’d best have a look yourself. Tosh is in the back checking it over.’

‘What about the people?’ Jack asked as he strode up the garden path.

‘I sent them next door. The neighbours are providing tea and sympathy. It’s that kind of area.’

‘It’s a sunny day. Everyone’s nice on a sunny day.’

Jack pushed open the gate at the side of the house and Ianto followed him down a shady passage into the back garden. It wasn’t too large, a meticulously cut lawn and some well-tended flower beds. Not the kind of garden kids played in, so this was unlikely to be a prank.

Toshiko Sato was already there, examining the artefact with a portable scanner. If artefact was the right word, it was really still just a thing, but that sounded so unprofessional.

It was pretty big, at least two meters long, a meter wide, shaped like a loaf of bread. In fact the surface looked, at first glance, just like a crust – until you realized it was translucent, like amber. The midday sun sparkled like gold coins scattered across the top.

‘It sinks,’ said Jack, wafting the air away from his nose.

‘I think it’s the heat,’ said Toshiko straightening up, ‘We need to get it somewhere cool.’

‘Okay,’ Jack nodded, ‘Owen’s on his way with a van. He’ll be here in ten.’

‘I thought Gwen was going to have a word with Rhys, see if we could just one of his lorries?’

Jack shrugged, ‘She changed her mind.’

Ianto pulled a face and Toshiko understood. Jack had changed Gwen’s mind for her.

‘Rhys is ok, but I don’t want to put him at risk,’ Jack explained, noticing the silent exchange, ‘And neither does Gwen.’

---------

Rhys Williams sat down and pushed the skinny latte across the café table to his fiancee Gwen Cooper. He was having a large mocha with extra whipped cream and chocolate sprinkles. ‘Nearly five quid,’ he sasid, licking froth off his thumb, ‘For two coffees, it’s a disgrace.’

Gwen smiled at him. It was a beautiful day and they had been lucky enough to find an empty table on the pavement, ‘Stop complaining, it’s not offen we get to meet up in the day time.’

‘Well I’ll just have to make the most of it, won’t I?’

‘What does that mean?’ Gwen stiffened slightly. There was something in Rhys’ tone that rang alarm bells, the way he said something with that causal smile  but without meeting her gaze. It always meant trouble.

‘Y’know…in your line of work. Torchwood and all that. You never know the day, do you?’

Gwen put her coffee down, ‘What’s got into you? I thought we were good about this?’

‘We are, we are.’

‘Well you don’t sound it. C’mon, what’s up? I thought we were going to have a nice cup of coffee and chat about the wedding?’

‘Oh yeah, that.’

Gwen’s shoulders sagged, ‘Rhys, please tell me what’s the matter.’

‘Well I just thought…it’s not like you’re a police-woman anymore, is it? I mean, that was bad enough…’

‘Bad enough?’

‘Yeah, you know, with the risk and everything. Well, what I mean is, it’s not like being a…’ he floundered, ‘I don’t know…a secretary, is it?’

Gwen glared at him, ‘Is that what you wish I was? A bloody secretary, for God’s sake?’

‘No,’ he said, realizing that he had said the wrong thing again, ‘No, I only meant it as an example. You could be a bloody bricklayer for all I care. At least I’d know you were safe.’

She was still thinking of a reply when her mobile sang out. She flipped it, shielded the screen from the sun, saw the single word. TORCHWOOD. Oh great. Prefect timing, Jack.

‘I’ve got to go,’ Gen said, standing up, businesslike, ‘Thanks very much for the coffee.’

Rhys got up as well, ‘Don’t go. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to moan. I’m just worried, that’s all.’

‘I haven’t got time for this.’

And then the look was back in his eyes again. The one where his eyebrows sand right down over his nose. The only look on his face that she ever disliked, ‘No, you rush of, Gwen, run along to Jack. Maybe I’ll see you tonight, eh, if you’ve not been ubducted by aliens or eaten by  a Weeble.’

‘Weevil!’ yelled Gwen, and then realized, just as Rhys did, that they had raised their voiced loud enough for the other people at the nearby tables to hear. She turned abruptly and walked away, her heart hammering, leaving him to face the stares.

---------

She made it to the Hub in record time. There was nothing like a really bad mood to get you moving and by the time she’d walked to Roald Dahl Plass, Gwen did feel batter.

‘Where have you been?’ asked Jack as Gwen stepped into the cool and cavernous interior of the Torchwood base.

‘You gave me the morning off,’ she told him.

‘I never give anyone the morning off,’ he said, ‘That must have been an alien imposter posing as me.’

‘Don’t joke about it.’

‘It could happen. You have to be ready. If I ever give you the morning off again, question it. If I change my mind, then it’s the genuine me.’

‘There’s only one Captain Jack,’ Gwen laughed, ‘That I do know. What’s the emergancy?’

‘No emergancy. I just wanted the whole team together. We’ve brought something in and we need to check it out.’

Gwen dumped her jacket and bag on her workstation, ‘What is it?’

‘We don’t know,’ Ianto said, coming down the steps from the hothouse, ‘We’re thinking of having an office sweep. But so far it’s been officially promoted from a “thing” to an “artefect”. Coffee?’

Gwen shook her head. She could still taste the latte and it wasn’t good, ‘Where is it, then?’

---------

It was on the slab in the autopsy room.  Owen Harper, white lab coat glowing under the operating theatre lights, was examining the artefact with an old-fashioned magnifying glass while Toshiko stood close by, taking yet more readings on her PDA.

‘Blimey, that’s a big one,’ Gwen said as she came in.

‘That’s another way you can check it’s the real me.’ Jack murmured as he followed her down the steps into the cool, circular chamber.

‘Excuse me,’ said Owen, looking up from the examination table, ‘This is an innuendo-free zone.’

‘Since when?’

‘Tosh and I just agreed it, didn’t we, Tosh?

She looked up and nodded quickly, the blue glow from the scanner hiding her crimson blushes.

‘Did it come through the Rift?’ Gwen asked.

‘Landed slap-bang in the middle of Pontcanna,’ nodded Ianto, ‘Someone’s back garden, no less. They were pretty surprised but not traumatized.

‘Good neighbours,’ explained Jack.

‘And no need for retcon.’

Gwen nodded, satisfied. The memory-altering drug perfected by Captain Jack was used too often for her liking. She knew the public had to be protected, but sometimes it just felt wrong to protect them retrospectively.

‘We brought it back in a van,’ Ianto continued, ‘Took all four of us to lift it. I still can’t get the smell off my hands.’

‘You were wearing gloves,’ Owen pointed out.

‘I know, it’s the smell of the gloves I can’t get rid of,’ Ianto screwed up his face, ‘It’s the rubber.’

‘So any idea of what it actually is?’ Gwen approached the examination table cautiously. Whatever it was, it certianly ponged. It was a distinctly organic smell, like the mulch at the bottom of a forest floor. Ripe and peaty.

‘I’ve been collecting a number of different readings and scan data,’ Toshink reported. Her glasses flashed blue in the light of the PDA screen as she continued to run through the analysis programs, ‘It’s one hundred percent extraterrestrial, but there’s not match in the database for organic compounds, cell structure, polymer chains or nucleic acids.’

‘So,’ Jack summerised, ‘Something new. Any guesses?’

‘Crusty roll for a giant?’ offered Ianto, ‘Abbadon’s packed lunch, perhaps…’ But no one even smiled at that.

‘It’s organic,’ Owen comfired, ‘But it’s dead.’ He tapped the side of the amber pod with a knuckle. Even with surgical gloves on, there was a distinct, hard rap.

‘It’s a chrysalis,’ said Gwen.

They all turned to look at her. Self concious, she managed a shrug, ‘ What? I did a project on them in juniors. You know, butterflies and moths – in the larval stage, when they’re caterpillars, they weave a silk covering all around themselves and it dries out and forms a hard chrysalis. Inside, the caterpillar dissolves into a kind of soup an then reforms as an entirely new creature. A butterfly or moth.’

‘You’re saying there could be a giant caterpillar in there?’ asked Jack.

‘Or a butterfly,’ added Toshiko.

‘Or soup,’ suggested Ianto.

‘I don’t know,’ Gwen said. She was standing close to the thing now, staring down into the translucent shell outer layer, ‘But that’s the thing about them. The chrysalis, the shell, is dead matter. It’s what’s inside it that’s alive.’

---------

Rhys jumped down from the lorry cab and slammed the door. It was still sunny, but there were puddles left over from yesterday’s downpour. He splashed his way across the yard towards the Portakabin office of Harwood’s Haulage, still fuming.

He and Gwen were arguing far too much lately. He’s put it down to pre-marriage nerves; some of his married mates had said that the weeks leading up to theire weddings had been the worst of their entire lives. ‘And then after the wedding, it all goes down hill,’ Banana Boat had warned. Feeble joke, but it had made Rhys laugh out loud.

‘Get away,’ Rhys had said, ‘What would you know about it? I’m looking forward to it, me.’

‘No you’re not. You’re bloody terrified.’

But Banana Boat was wrong about that. Rhys was scared of notgetting married. Of getting there, up the aisle, with Gwen, before some insane alien space monster ate her alive or fried her with a laser blaster.

Before he’d known, in the months before he’d stumbled on the truth and found out about Captain Jack Harkness and Torchwood, Rhys and Gwen had argued a lot. In a funny kind of way it had been a relief to find out about the space aliens and the Rift and the Hub and all that crazy stuff. Because it made sense of the arguments, of the tension, and the deceit. He hadn’t liked it but he’d understood it. And the truth had brought them closer together, closer than they had ever been.

But there was a doubt in Rhys’ mind now. After the initial excitement, the thrill, the breathtaking madness of It all, it came down to this; Gwen faced deadly danger on a regular basis, peril and adventure that the rest of the world could only have nightmares about. But for the people in Torchwood, for Gwen Cooper, and now Rhys himself, those nightmares were reality. And more than that, they were daily routine.

And that was scaring Rhys now. Scaring him big time. Because every time his phone rang, his guts would turn stone cold and his hand would tremble as he took his mobile out of his pocket. Because one day, any day, that would be Jack Harkness calling with bad news.

---------

Gwen was in Jack’s office. She was standing at the window, looking across the Hub to the autopsy room where Owen and Toshiko were still working on the chrysalis. It had been officially promoted from “artefact” to “chrysalis” and Gwen felt quite proud.

‘Problems?’ asked Jack. He was sitting with his boots up on his desk and his hands behind his head. His sky-blue eyes were watching her carefully. Gwen always knew when Jack’s eyes were on her.

‘No, nothing,’ she replied, fiddling with her necklace. It was a cheap leather and shell thing that Rhys had given her only last week, down by the waterfront. It had caught her eye on the Cardiff Bay souvenir stall and Rhys had bought it for her instantly.

‘You can’t kid a kidder,’ drawled Jack, ‘Listen, I know you wanted Rhys to help. The truck thing – it was a good offer, a kind offer. Exactly what I’d expect from you. But I can’t involve Rhys in our work. He’s gotta stay separate, do you understand?’

‘Sure.’

Silent as a panther, Jack appeared at her shoulder, one warm hand on her arm, ‘I mean it, Gwen. You’re Torchwood. Rhys is the real world. He’s what you go back to at the end of the day. Let’s not ruin that.’

‘I understand.’

He turned her around and looked deep into her eyes. She could feel her irises loosening, widening, drinking in that cool blue gaze. When he spoke, she could feel his breath on her face.

‘Do you understand? Really?’

‘Yes.’

‘I’ve gotta care for everybody, Gwen. Even Rhys.’

She closed her eyes, ‘Yes.’

There was a polite knock at the door and Jack let go of her.

‘Excuse me,’ said Toshiko, ‘But I think we’ve found something that might be of interest…’

---------

‘It’s writing,’ said Ianto.

They were all staring at a patch of smooth amber on the side of the chrysalis. Owen’s pen torch was picking out a series of marks in the material, angular cuts which run in a long line around the entire perimeter, ‘From most angles the marks are actually quite difficult to see,’ explained Owen, ‘But if I shing a UV light on them…’ He changed the setting on his torch and the tip glowed ultraviolet. And then, instantly, the markings were impossible to miss.

‘The y are not random or accidental cuts,’ Toshiko confirmed, ‘It is definitely some sort of deliberate, intelligent inscription.’

‘So what does it say?’ Jack asked.

‘I’m running it through every transcription protocol we have. It could be a long process, though.’

‘Ok,’ Jack clapped his hands, ‘The day’s just got interesting. Let’s get to it, guys. I wanna know what this thing is and where it’s come from.’

‘Uh, Jack,’ began Gwen, ‘I think the day might be getting a little more interesting than you thought…’

‘What do you mean?’

Gwen pointed, ‘Look at the chrysalis. Can’t you see? Inside. Something’s moving inside.’

---------

Rhys dialled Gwen’s mobile. It rang twice and then her voice said, ‘Rhys, what is it?’ She sounded busy, distracted. Ringing her was wrong, he shouldn’t be checking up on her like this, but he had done it now.

‘Gwen love…about before. I didn’t mean to have a go at  you, I was out of order.’

‘Yeah. Ok. No worries.’

She sounded like she wanted to close the call. Rhys felt a flare of irritation again; here he was, trying to make amends, extend the olive branch, and she was too busy, ‘What’s up?’ he asked, ‘What are  you doing?’

‘Rhys, I’m busy. I’ll call you back.’

Gwen snapped the phone shut and returned it to her back pocket, ‘Sorry.’

They all looked at her for a long moment. None of them ever received calls in the Hub, at least not from anyone outside Torchwood. Gwen didn’t know whether to feel embarrassed or smug. But she did bloody feel annoyed with Rhys, didn’t he ever know when to let go?

‘I’m getting new readings,’ Toshiko announced, ‘Gwen’s right. There’s something in there and it’s alive.’

‘How come we’ve only just noticed it now?’ Jack wanted to know.

‘It’s only just started moving,’ Owen said, circling the examination table, ‘Something’s activated it.’

The chrysalis cracked open with a sound ricocheting around the Hub like a gunshot. The team all took a step back, reflexively.

For a second after that, nobody moved. They all stare at the jagged split running down the top of the chrysalis from one end to the other. Something moist glistened beneath the two halves, something which moved with a slow, ugly sucking noise.

Jack’s hand was on his gun, drawing it already. Owen was backing away from the chrysalis, one hand out to pull Toshiko back with him. She was still immersed in the readings from her scanner, her eyes fixed on the blue screen, ‘There’s been a huge surge in energy levels,’ she reported without looking up.

‘We kinda noticed,’ Jack said, levelling the Webley revolver. Ianto was already mounting the steps leading out of the autopsy room, heading with brisk efficiency for the weapons cabinet.

Only Jack, Gwen, and Owen saw the thing emerge from its chrysalis. It burst like a giant abscess, globules of stinking ichor spraying across the room as the contents were disgorged.

It moves so fast that they should even see what it was, not properly. It shot upwards in a tangle of limbs, knocking the theatre lamps flying and sticking to the ceiling like a screwed up spider. Owen was in his back, shouting something, and when Gwen looked at him she could see that he was hurt, twisting from side to side while he clutched his face.

Jack fired three shots at the creature, the boom of the heavy calibre pistol rattling all the instruments in the room. Brick dust showered them as each bullet missed its target. The thing scuttled with inhuman speed across the ceiling, swung down through the entrance ach and lashed out, somehow, in retaliation. Jack was sent spinning through the air, all the breath knocked out of him, until he crashed into the wall with bone-crunching force.

‘Jack!’ Gwen yelled, charging across to him. She skidded in a patch of alien goo and hit the floor hard next to Jack’s inert figure. She turned him over and gasped when she saw the huge black gash on his forehead. Blood had already begun to pour down his face and he was out cold.

Toshiko was bent over Owen, who has stopped screaming but was not moaning in a way which was somehow worse. It was the kind of sound that no one should ever had to make, the same sound Gwen had once heard at a road traffic accident she had been unlucky enough to attend as a fresh-faced WPC. The young lad caught under the wheels of the bin lorry had made the same noise minutes before he died, before the ambulance ever got close. It was something Gwen had hoped to never hear again, and yet now she was, only this time it was her friend, someone she loved, someone she’d screwed, for pity’s sake, dying right in front of her. Owen was still holding his face, his fingers white and ridged. Toshiko was panic stricken, trying to speak to him, but barely able to say anything coherent.

Gwen made Jack as comfortable as she could, but quickly. She knew he would be ok. Then she crabbed across the room, patting Toshiko on the shoulder as she went, ‘Look after him,’ she ordered, and Tosh, bless her, just looked up and nodded without a word. Owen was holding onto Toshiko’s arm with one hand now, his fingers flexing and pulling her. His other hand was on his face and Gwen could see blood, lots of it, running down his wrist as he rocked back and forth, groaning and whimpering.

‘He’ll be alright,’ Gwen said and again Toshiko simply nodded, as if hardly daring to disagree.

‘Get it!’ Owen hissed through his fingers. Blood bubbled behind his hand and one eye blared feverishly at Gwen, bloodshot and frightened, ‘Get the bloody thing!’

Gwen nodded and ran up into the Hub.

---------

It looked empty. The huge space was quiet, save for the tick and whirr of the computer stations and the hum of the Rift manipulator. Nothing moved.

Gwen’s weapon, a powerful 9mm Sig Sauer automatic, was on her desk. She could reach it in half a dozen quick strides. But where was the creature?

Something moved across the Hub and Gwen froze. Then she saw Ianto step out of the shadows beneath the hothouse, a Heckler & Koch SMG slung over his shoulder. There was a magazine already in place, a second one taped to the side of it for speedy reloading. He was scanning the Hub, sweeping the area for any sign of the thing from the chrysalis, his forefinger resting on the trigger of the gun.

He saw Gwen, nodded once. Then something crawled across the high walkway which ran along one side of the hub and Ianto swivelled, bringing the SMG up to his shoulder to aim.

The creature stopped, almost invisible in the shadows. Gwen could hardly see it, apart from the impression of a number of limbs sticking out from beneath a shiny carapace, like a beetle or a cockroach. But, boy, was it big. Big and fast.

Ianto took a cautious step forward, still keeping the creature in his sights, but trying to reach a better firing position. As he moved, the creature moved. It crawled slowly along the gantry, matching him step for step.

Then, without warning, it sprang. Ianto fired instinctively, the muzzle flash igniting the scene for split seconds like a strobe light. Gwen saw a few glimpses of the thing in mid-air, like momentary snapshots, saw the widening jaws and jagged fangs.

It barely slowed under the hail of gunfire. It collided with Ianto and he disappeared in an instant, as if he had stepped off the kerb in front of a speeding lorry.

Gwen had already made the dash for her gun. She grabbed the Sig, cocked it, aimed, squeezed the trigger. Once, twice, so many more times she lost count. It was a big gun, too big for her really, the magazine holding 16 very heavy rounds. But Jack Harkness had taught her how to shoot and there was no one better than Jack.

The bullets in the Sig were not ordinary rounds. They were Torchwood ammo, hollow point, steel jacketed, with one microdot of super-dense Dwarf Star alloy to pack and extra punch. A great lump of it, about the size of a grain of sale, had come through the Rift 30 years ago. It was enough to keep them all in ammunition for decades to come, thanks to a tame microphysics engineer Jack knew at UNIT.

The bullets tore chunks out of the walls, holes in the pipe work and left one armoury window shattered. Several struck the creature. She didn’t see the rounds hit, but she knew, she just knew, they’d hit home. The creature squealed and crashed against a wall, splashing through the water at the base of the water tower and disappearing into the shadows.

Then all went quiet. Gwen’s ears were still ringing, but she could tell that the Hub was silent again. She couldn’t even hear Owen anymore. Perhaps he was dead now, like the boy who had been run over by the bin wagon. Perhaps Ianto was dead too. Jack was unconscious. Toshiko was not a warrior.

It was down to Gwen.

She walked forward slowly, keeping the gun level, ready to shoot again at point blank of necessary.

Silence. She strained to hear something, anything, that might give the creature’s location away. Breathing. Or the click of its amour. Or the sticky noise of its jaws opening.

Nothing.

She crept forward, arms extended, rigid, like a signpost to death.

It had to be nearby. It couldn’t have gone much further.

Another step. Her canvas trainers didn’t make a sound.

And then her mobile went off in her pocket.

She physically jumped with shock. The jaunty ringtone trilled out across the Hub, drawing the attention of anyone, or anything, that might be listening.

The creature sprang from its hiding place, jaws snapping at her. Gwen actually saw the spittle flying from the jagged spikes which filled the gaping maw, aware that the last sound she was ever going to hear in her life was her ringtone, and the last thought she would ever have was Rhys you stupid bugger.

And then it was on her.

[tenroseforeverandever]

The Perfect Blend - Chapter 4

Characters: Tenth Doctor (aka James Noble); Rose Tyler; Clara Oswald; Amy Pond; Jeanne Poisson; Donna Noble; Sylvia Noble; Wilfred Mott; Mickey Smith; Martha Jones; Clyde Langer

Tags: Human AU; fake relationship AU; coffee shop AU; stalkerish!Reinette; hurt/comfort; angst; romance; fluff; Christmas; New Year; New Year’s kiss

Story Summary:

Trying to escape from an predatory ex-girlfriend who will not accept their break-up, James Noble (aka The Doctor) finds himself in a coffee shop where he meets a barista (aka Rose Tyler) who makes him the perfect cup of tea and lends a sympathetic ear to his tale of woe.

Chapter Summary: In which Mickey feels the need to connect the dots…

Chapter Notes: You’d think, with all this time in social isolation, I’d be more productive! Alas…

Hugs and kisses to the brilliant @rose--nebula and mrsbertucci for looking over this chapter. They kindly did this days ago, and I kept forgetting to post! Oops! LOL

Anyway, hope you enjoy. <3

Read also at: AO3; Tsp (when approved); FF

THE PERFECT BLEND - CHAPTER 4

NEW YEAR’S EVE

James felt cold panic clutch at his throat, stealing his breath. Here it was, late afternoon on New Year’s Eve, and he had yet to secure a date for the gala. He’d had no time to continue his quest today, as he’d spent the entire day at the University, setting up his fireworks display and tinkering with the holographic projectors. Then he’d rushed home to change into his (unlucky) tuxedo. Not that he believed in such superstitious nonsense, but he couldn’t help but notice, nothing good ever came of him wearing that blasted black suit.

On his return trip to the Uni for another quick systems check before guests started to arrive, he’d walked by Pete’s Coffee Dimension and, despite running late, had been drawn inside. He’d been tempted by the thought of a nice, fortifying cup of something hot, maybe even the “best cuppa in London”, and in the back of his mind, had been thinking maybe the pretty barista he had met there on his last visit would be there this time too. He’d been hoping to bask in her quiet compassion, even for just a few minutes before his life turned completely to hell.

But the barista hadn’t been there, sadly, just some bloke, who was pleasant enough, James supposed. He’d told James the barista’s name was Rose (a beautiful name that suited her perfectly!) and had just disappeared behind the counter to prepare him a cuppa, spouting some cryptic, vague assurances that he had the answer to all of James’ problems.

James was not reassured. He ran his hands through his hair and down his face. His heart was thrashing out of his chest. Blimey, he needed that cuppa… If he could only get it down his anxiety-tight throat.

Jeanne would be at the gala tonight, on his arm or not. She had her own ticket, he knew. And she would be relentless (proper predatory-level relentless) when she saw he’d come alone.

Despite his many varied (and increasingly desperate) attempts to do so, he hadn’t been able to find anyone who was suitable (or willing) to be his plus-one for tonight. He couldn’t ask his work colleagues. Most of them were considerably older than he and happily married, and he honestly didn’t think for a minute he’d be able to pull off a convincing act of love with any of those few who didn’t have prior attachments. He’d made some hesitant requests of the students and junior scientists he knew from various labs throughout the Science department, but they either all had plans for the evening (quite right, too!) or had just told him in no uncertain terms that they didn’t want to get involved in his dating debacle (also… quite right, too!)

There had been one graduate student whom he’d been hopeful about. She worked in the lab next to his and was sweet and smart, and he had always gotten along quite well with her. He also knew her to be unattached and, while not the sort to party, thought she would enjoy a festive evening at the gala. But Petronella Osgood had nearly passed out from an anxiety-induced asthma attack the moment he proposed his ruse, and James had spent the evening in the A&E with her as she recovered from the trauma. He decided right then, he wouldn’t press the matter with her any further. He didn’t wish to cause her any more stress, and upon further consideration, decided he would rather suffer the horrors of Jeanne on his own, than subject the poor girl to a potential confrontation with the French woman and her nasty temperament.  

With his options rapidly dwindling, he’d even considered paying for an escort, but after some frantic research, he’d discovered that even the semi-reputable ones were ridiculously pricey, and while he would have had no trouble financially, it was a bloody waste of money. Surely Jeanne had already cost him enough. Besides, quite frankly, the idea of using an escort was… weeell… repugnant.

As a last-ditch measure, he’d called on his friend, Jack Harkness, a pan-sexual playboy, and a true friend, through and through. He’d expected Jack to be more than happy to help him stage a fake coming-out, announcing he was gay. Afterall, Jack had been trying to get into James’ pants for years, though not in any serious way. He was a tease, but he understood that James considered him to be a friend only… no benefits of a sexual nature attached. But, as it turned out, Jack had picked this festive season to finally set aside his lecherous ways and settle down. He’d announced to James that he had a new boyfriend, Ianto Jones, with whom he was “exclusive” and had lots of “plans for private New Year celebrations.”  

And now… James was out of time. Doomed. And he was spending his last precious moments of a Jeanne-free life, hiding in a coffee shop, like the coward he was, desperate for a cuppa and a glimpse of an absentee barista.

He heaved a great, sad sigh, and taking off his glasses, allowed his head to sink into his hands, despair overcoming him.

 “Rose! Rose!” Mickey hissed at her through the pass-through.

Rose rolled her eyes at Martha (who giggled in response) and sighed. “Honestly, Micks, can I not leave you alone for five minutes without something going wrong?” she teased as she approached the opening to the coffee bar. “What’s up?”

“Well, I might not bother to tell you now, since you’re being like that.”

“C’mon, Micks…”

“Oh, alright. I have a customer who’d like one of your cups of tea. Wanna put the kettle on?”

“That’s it? That’s what you wanted to tell me?”

“Yup. You know I don’t have the knack you have for making a good cuppa.”

“He’s not wrong,” Martha piped up from behind Rose.

“Oi,” Mickey protested, “I can make a decent cuppa, but as long as Rose is here… Besides, we don’t want the place to get a bad rep from my one substandard cups of tea. Oh, and yeah, it’s for here, so put it in one of the china cups and bring it out when it’s ready, yeah?”

“Bossy!” Rose chided with a grin.

“Someone needs to take charge, otherwise the two of you would be frittering away the time, blathering on about who-knows-what.”

“The nerve! I’ll have you know we’ve completely cleaned the storage room and done inventory, while you’ve made a couple of espresso shots and wiped down a few tables.” Rose turned to Martha. “Are you seriously planning to marry this one?”

Martha’s eyes gleamed. “For better or for worse, that’s what I hear. I guess this is the worse.”

Mickey grumbled at them. “Just hurry and get out here with that cuppa, yeah.” Then he turned and stomped away, out of Rose’s line of sight.

 Five minutes later, Rose rushed out from the kitchen, with a hot teapot of Darjeeling, a couple of complimentary biscotti, and a china cup and saucer on a tray. She paused briefly to pick up the milk from the fridge, then raised her head and stepped out from behind the service counter. She stopped short at the sight before her.

It was him. The Doctor.

She twisted around to look behind her, taking in Mickey’s cheeky grin. “I’m gonna kill you,” she mouthed, her cheeks burning.

“Go on,” her friend mouthed back, gesturing her out into the seating area with a sweeping motion of his hands. Martha stepped up behind him and Rose sighed as she watched the young woman’s eyes light up when Mickey whispered to her who the customer was. She clapped her hands silently together, bounced on her toes, and motioned to Rose in no uncertain terms to move her arse out there and deliver the tea.

Shaking her head at her friends, Rose turned back to the seating area and, taking a deep, fortifying breath, she moved toward the Doctor’s table.

He was sat there with his head in his hands, looking miserable, his gorgeous fringe spilling through his fingers. He was wearing a tuxedo, so she assumed he had somewhere to be tonight and couldn’t help but wonder why he was here instead. Unless it had something to do with that ex-girlfriend of his…

But that wasn’t Rose’s business. He had ordered a cuppa, and she would deliver it to him. That was her job. Nothing more to it than that.

Then why, she wondered, was her heart throbbing somewhere in the region of her throat? Why was her mouth as dry as ash and her palms hot and sweaty? Why did she feel that faint, fluttering hope rising in her chest again, the one she’d felt every time the bell over the door had rung over the last few days? The difference was, this time, the source of that hope was actually sitting right in front of her, waiting for her to deliver him a cuppa.

She fought back her giddiness. I have to remain impartial, she told herself. She’d probably find out he wasn’t as wonderful as her memory (and imagination) had made him seem. He’d probably turn out to be a right arse. And maybe that would be for the best. After all, despite her protests to the contrary, she knew Clara was right: she’d been mooning about him since his first visit, prior to Christmas. She needed to get on with her life, and not spend her time fantasising over men she wasn’t nearly accomplished enough to date. Yes, surely, he was a truly horrible person.

With that fortifying thought in mind, she stepped up to his table.

 James’ head shot up out of his hands when he heard the soft sound of a throat clearing hesitantly. He’d been so lost in his troubles, he’d not noticed anyone approaching his table. His bleary eyes struggled to make out the source of the sound: a haze of pink and yellow. He picked up his glasses and snapped them onto his face.

Instantly, a most welcome sight came into focus before him. The pretty barista… Rose… was standing before him, cheeks flushed the colour of her namesake, and holding a tray that held what he knew was certain to be the best cuppa in London. His troubles seemed to instantly recede in her presence. (Of course, he warned himself, they hadn’t actually receded, just been put on the backburner of his brain for a blessed few minutes.)

“Hello.” She offered him a shy smile and flushed a deeper shade of red.

He waggled his fingers at her. “Hello.”

“Hello…” she bit her bottom lip endearingly, “…Doctor.”

“That’s me!”

She nodded her head rapidly, fervently agreeing with this statement.

“Is that my tea?”

“Oh, blimey! Yeah… course…” With shaking hands, she unloaded the contents of the tray onto the table. “Would you like me to pour?”

He nodded this time, his usually non-stop gob failing him.

She set his cup in front of him and, lifting the little teapot, poured out his tea with a practiced flair, allowing a few bubbles to form on the surface. “For good luck…” she murmured, as she set the pot down.

“I’m sorry… what?”

“Oh… the bubbles… in your cup… they’re supposed to predict good fortune or some such rot. Generally, financially, but if they cling to the side of the cup… erm… like these ones…” her voice dropped to nearly subaudible levels and she averted her eyes from his, “…they foretell romance.”

“Romance?”

She picked at the little knit cozy covering the pot. “Erm, yeah… each bubble represents a… well… a kiss.”

He beamed at her, covering her fidgeting hand with his. It was warm and soft, and fit perfectly under his. “Thank-you… Rose? Right?”

She met his gaze with wide, wondering eyes and nodded again, a bashful smile tugging at one corner of her mouth. “Erm… yeah. Rose. Rose Tyler.”

“Rooooose Tyyyyler.” He rolled the words in his mouth, enjoying the sound and feel of them. “Weeeell, thank-you, Rose Tyler. Not that I believe in superstitions and portents, but I am prepared to suspend my disbelief for tonight. I am more than willing to entertain the possibility that you have changed my fortune with your expert tea pouring. Maybe tonight won’t be the disaster I thought it was going to be, after all.”

“That’s the spirit!” Rose cheered.

“Would you join me?” He reflexively squeezed her hand. “For a cuppa, that is?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’d… I’d like that. I’m sure I can find an extra cup around here somewhere. Coffee shop and all, yeah.”

 Mickey rocked from one foot to the other, his frustration building with each passing minute. “What are they on about?” he grumbled, gesturing at Rose and the Doctor. “Look at them! Look!”

Martha arched her brow at him. “Yeah, I see them.”

“What the hell is he waiting for, then? They’re obviously into each other. He’s holding her hand and they’re makin’ eyes at each other. It’s sickening, really. So why the hell doesn’t he just ask her out to that gala of his? Urrrrgh!”

“I think he may need a little help with that.”

“What? Why? She’s beautiful and available and–”

“Yeah, but from his point of view, she’s at work. And who knows what else is going on in his head. Maybe he just needs another little nudge.”

“Blimey, he needs more than a nudge. He needs someone to connect the bloody dots.”

“Off you go then, Mickey-Matchmaker. Go connect those dots.”

“Me? Why me? Don’t you think this might require a woman’s touch?”

“Look, this was your idea…”

Mickey glowered at his fiancée.

“Not that I think it’s a bad idea. Like you said, they’re obviously… attracted.”

“Attracted? They’re practically undressing each other with their eyes!”

“Right. All I’m saying is you need to go out and finish the job.”

“What about you? You just gonna stand here whilst I make a fool of myself?”

Martha flashed him a cheeky grin. “Yeah, something like that. Consider it moral support.”

“Pffft, moral support, my arse.” He scowled. “Well, since you’re obviously gonna leave me high and dry… here goes!” He took a step out toward the table where Rose and the Doctor were lost in each other’s gazes but pulled up short at Martha’s next words.

“Oh, and by the way, for my part, I already contacted Amy.” She arched a smug brow.

“And…”

“She can’t wait to help out. Champing at the bit, she is!” Then Martha added in a stage-whisper, “So Rose will have no excuses. Don’t let her worm her way out of this.”

 James sat staring blankly at the bloke (Rickey?), a piece of biscotti half-way to his mouth. His brain had surged into overdrive, processing information and probabilities, but it seemed to have forgotten it was connected to his gob, which opened and closed uselessly. He looked over at Rose who gawped back at him with an expression that probably mirrored his own.

He had to admit, the bloke’s plan had merit. He could see himself falling for this girl. If he was being honest, he was already teetering at the edge. He’d just never considered asking a total stranger to accompany him to the gala (apart from his fleeting research into escorts), and he wasn’t entirely sure Rose was even vaguely interested. For one thing, it was all very last minute, the epitome of last minute; frankly, if he could define last minute, this would be it. Secondly, weeell, while she obviously didn’t have any plans to celebrate the New Year, she had plans… working-type plans, plans that were obviously very important to her. And much more important than his stupid University Gala. And, C, no three… thirdly, why the hell would she even want to go out with him? He thought he’d felt some attraction between them, but she didn’t know anything about him… zip, zilch, nada, nought! He could be an axe-murderer for all she knew, a rapist, a–

His rambling thoughts screeched to a halt as he saw her expression morphing from shock and bewilderment to…

“What the actual fuck, Mickey?” she hissed at the young man who stood before them with a proud grin on his face. Her face was now fiery with embarrassment and anger. “How dare you?”

James tugged on his ear and watched, helpless, as Rickey’s grin collapsed. “But it’s perfect, babe, don’t you see?” James had to give the man credit. He’d never be able to face the wrath this bloke was facing, despite having survived Donna (and Aunt Sylvia) for many years. “He needs a date. You need to get a life. Simple.” Rickey (the idiot) ploughed on, clearly oblivious or indifferent to the immediate threat to his existence.

“Oh, I need to get a life, do I?” Rose snarled. “What is all of this, then?” She gestured around the shop. “Seems to me I have a life. A perfectly good life, thank-you very much. I don’t need you–”

“Yeah? Well, me and Martha, we think you do. Babe, you never see beyond these four walls, except to go upstairs–”

“To my home!”

“Home then. My point is, you never leave this building, except to pick up things for the shop.”

“This is my dream…”

“Look, Rickey…” James interjected, shooting a glance at Rose, who was glaring at her friend with pursed lips.

“It’s Mickey!” Mickey snapped.

“Right, sorry… Mickey then… Look, mate, I appreciate what you’re trying to do, and I certainly wouldn’t say no to having Rose on my arm at the Gala this evening, but–”

Rose swept around to face him, the fire in her eyes dying out and a smile twitching at the corners of her mouth. “You wouldn’t?”

James ran his hand through his hair again (he must look a mess…) “Weeell, no… no, of course not… I’d be honoured… Would you like to come?”

“Well, yeah…”

“Would you, though?”

“Yeah!”

“I just thought because you don’t really know me…”

“Yeah, I thought because you don’t really know me… and I just… I just work in a shop; you might not want me to…”

“Oh, I’d love you to come,” he gushed.

James sensed, rather than saw Mickey backing slowly away. His attention was riveted on the beautiful, blushing woman sitting before him. She beamed at him, her tongue touching the corner of her mouth. “Okay.”

He beamed in return, but his smile quickly dropped away, doubts racing back to the front of his mind. “But you… I mean, you don’t know the first thing about me….” He glanced down at the remains of his biscotti, pushing the crumbs around with a restless finger.

Rose’s hand closed over his, stopping his fidgeting. “I know a little… and,” she fixed him in her warm gaze, “I’d like to know more… But, oh God… oh no! I don’t have anything to wear. Certainly nothing that would do for an event like this one!”

“All taken care of,” a young woman James hadn’t noticed before piped up from the service counter. “Amy is more than happy to lend you something. It’s all arranged.”

“But, Martha…”

“No excuses!” Mickey added. “You’re going! You deserve to get out and enjoy yourself.”

Rose turned her nervous smile back to James and shrugged her shoulders. “I guess I’m going, then. That is if you’d still like me to come.”

James felt his spirits soar. For the first time in weeks he didn’t feel like he was plunging head-first into the depths of despair. Maybe his tux wasn’t such a portent of doom, after all. “Oh, yes!” He swept to his feet and offered her his hand. “It’s a date!”

“Yeah…” she chirped, standing and lacing her fingers with his, “…I guess it is!”

“Oh, yes!” he repeated. “Allons-y, Rose Tyler.”