Number One With A Silver Bullet [10/?]
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s4_seeTitle: Number One With A Silver Bullet
Rating: teen [language and sexual situations]
Characters: PC Andy, Jack, Ianto, Owen, Tosh, Gwen, George, Mitchell, Nina
Spoilers: TW s2/BH s1, inclusive
Advisories: crossover with Being Human
Disclaimer: somebody please stop me, no, seriously...
Summary: Torchwood Three is finally back up to full strength, although its new hires bring... unconventional skillsets.
**********
Gwen shivered in the old quilt, trying not to pay any mind to the breathy yips on the other side of the stall wall at her back; even for a Torchwood agent, the discovery that werewolves had sex for pleasure had made for one of the more memorably bizarre evenings of Gwen's career. She did her best to keep her attention on watching Mitchell instead, clearly bored out of his mind and doing his best to put up a front of zen detachment about it, which was quite spoilt by the occasional jittery movements of someone who'd forgot they'd quit smoking until the fags weren't there. "You need a hobby," she remarked.
"Got one." Mitchell jerked a thumb over his shoulder to where George was just slinking out of the stall with a self-satisfied grin on his furry face. "-- Looks like he's for his tea, get yours anything while we're about it?"
Euan was still wrestling with the fake-fur fox that had been keeping him occupied for most of the evening. "See if he's interested in having one of the pigeons," Gwen answered, just as glad not to have to make another rummage through the neatly-wrapped parcels Andy kept in the barn's old fridge for the nights like these when cold winter rains obscured the face of the full moon. This village called Aberblaidd might have been miles removed from another place of-the-wolf, only a coincidence of names, but there were still those moments.
Mitchell, of course, had long since got over any such issues he might have begun with, scooping up the cub as if Euan were any ordinary puppy needing to be taken for his feed. Easy enough to forget, that this man who looked young enough to be her little brother had seen the entire bloody drama of the last century play itself out, and done his bit to make it even more bloody; teatime for werewolves must seem a doddle to him, yeah.
George's partner made her appearance now, looking out of the stall with a perfectly disingenuous expression as if to disavow what they'd been about in there. Gwen had to laugh. "He's off boasting to his mates down the pub, sorry." Nina snorted at her, then brought a brush and dropped it in Gwen's lap with an expectant look. "Girl time, then?"
Nina made an oddly feminine werewolf compared to the blokes, finer-boned skull topped off with a shag of blonder fur to echo her lightened human locks. Gwen ran the brush through it, trying to picture the hard-nosed nurse giggling over rubbish celebrity magazines as she painted her toes with her mates some night when they'd all got shut of their boys. Somehow Gwen suspected this was about the closest Nina did come to letting her fur down, werewolf or no.
George came trotting back out of the barn's office, half of a rabbit dangling from bloodied jaws, and Nina lurched up to greet him, sniffing at the offering he dropped at her paws. Sweet, really. Until Nina snapped up the carcass, bones crunching in impossibly powerful -- Well, no one ever said that this was going to be the Disney version of the fairy-story, did they.
Andy strolled in through the half-open door at the end of the aisle and paused to give himself a vigorous shake before he went to snuffle at George, probably fairly obvious to a werewolf's senses that his friend had just got lucky. "Oi, we don't need to watch that," Gwen protested as Andy stuck his nose somewhere it wouldn't have belonged before moonrise. (Or, well, she wasn't entirely sure, really; Gwen had given up trying to understand all the complexities of the pack's interactions, full moon or not, beyond the sketchy notion that these two seemed to be more casually physical with each other than the average blokes-getting-together-to-watch-rugby sort of mateship. Maybe it was a werewolf thing. Or a bloke thing.) Andy shook his head again, ears flapping madly, and came to plop down in front of Gwen in a disconcerting mix of wet dog and citrus bodyscrub, butting his head against her hand for his own turn at the grooming on offer. "You could work out some place to wee indoors on a night like this," she told him, setting the brush to the damp curls.
"Been this long getting them housebroken, wouldn't want to set them back with it," Mitchell said, coming to settle himself beside her once more with the pup in his arms. Strange, how the vampire was warmer than Torchwood's last undead employee had been, with enough semblance of breath and heartbeat to lure in the careless observer, but nevertheless that something off when one got to paying it proper mind, supernatural perception filter fuzzing the paradox of his existence round the edges of one's sight. "Happy enough to see George able to be indoors at all really."
With a huge sigh George stretched himself out alongside Mitchell's right leg and rested his chin on the vampire's boot. Andy cocked a furry eyebrow at Nina, who answered him with a sound uncannily like a human blowing a raspberry and flopped down on George's other side. Werewolf politics. Mitchell had set the cub down to bury an absent hand in the dark fur of his best mate's back, just a boy and his dog on a rainy night in. Gwen watched as her son bumbled over for a nuzzle from his father, his alpha, and caught herself thinking, for the once, not bloody Torchwood, or what life will he have with this, but, simply, yes, Euan, your family.
Rating: teen [language and sexual situations]
Characters: PC Andy, Jack, Ianto, Owen, Tosh, Gwen, George, Mitchell, Nina
Spoilers: TW s2/BH s1, inclusive
Advisories: crossover with Being Human
Disclaimer: somebody please stop me, no, seriously...
Summary: Torchwood Three is finally back up to full strength, although its new hires bring... unconventional skillsets.
**********
Gwen shivered in the old quilt, trying not to pay any mind to the breathy yips on the other side of the stall wall at her back; even for a Torchwood agent, the discovery that werewolves had sex for pleasure had made for one of the more memorably bizarre evenings of Gwen's career. She did her best to keep her attention on watching Mitchell instead, clearly bored out of his mind and doing his best to put up a front of zen detachment about it, which was quite spoilt by the occasional jittery movements of someone who'd forgot they'd quit smoking until the fags weren't there. "You need a hobby," she remarked.
"Got one." Mitchell jerked a thumb over his shoulder to where George was just slinking out of the stall with a self-satisfied grin on his furry face. "-- Looks like he's for his tea, get yours anything while we're about it?"
Euan was still wrestling with the fake-fur fox that had been keeping him occupied for most of the evening. "See if he's interested in having one of the pigeons," Gwen answered, just as glad not to have to make another rummage through the neatly-wrapped parcels Andy kept in the barn's old fridge for the nights like these when cold winter rains obscured the face of the full moon. This village called Aberblaidd might have been miles removed from another place of-the-wolf, only a coincidence of names, but there were still those moments.
Mitchell, of course, had long since got over any such issues he might have begun with, scooping up the cub as if Euan were any ordinary puppy needing to be taken for his feed. Easy enough to forget, that this man who looked young enough to be her little brother had seen the entire bloody drama of the last century play itself out, and done his bit to make it even more bloody; teatime for werewolves must seem a doddle to him, yeah.
George's partner made her appearance now, looking out of the stall with a perfectly disingenuous expression as if to disavow what they'd been about in there. Gwen had to laugh. "He's off boasting to his mates down the pub, sorry." Nina snorted at her, then brought a brush and dropped it in Gwen's lap with an expectant look. "Girl time, then?"
Nina made an oddly feminine werewolf compared to the blokes, finer-boned skull topped off with a shag of blonder fur to echo her lightened human locks. Gwen ran the brush through it, trying to picture the hard-nosed nurse giggling over rubbish celebrity magazines as she painted her toes with her mates some night when they'd all got shut of their boys. Somehow Gwen suspected this was about the closest Nina did come to letting her fur down, werewolf or no.
George came trotting back out of the barn's office, half of a rabbit dangling from bloodied jaws, and Nina lurched up to greet him, sniffing at the offering he dropped at her paws. Sweet, really. Until Nina snapped up the carcass, bones crunching in impossibly powerful -- Well, no one ever said that this was going to be the Disney version of the fairy-story, did they.
Andy strolled in through the half-open door at the end of the aisle and paused to give himself a vigorous shake before he went to snuffle at George, probably fairly obvious to a werewolf's senses that his friend had just got lucky. "Oi, we don't need to watch that," Gwen protested as Andy stuck his nose somewhere it wouldn't have belonged before moonrise. (Or, well, she wasn't entirely sure, really; Gwen had given up trying to understand all the complexities of the pack's interactions, full moon or not, beyond the sketchy notion that these two seemed to be more casually physical with each other than the average blokes-getting-together-to-watch-rugby sort of mateship. Maybe it was a werewolf thing. Or a bloke thing.) Andy shook his head again, ears flapping madly, and came to plop down in front of Gwen in a disconcerting mix of wet dog and citrus bodyscrub, butting his head against her hand for his own turn at the grooming on offer. "You could work out some place to wee indoors on a night like this," she told him, setting the brush to the damp curls.
"Been this long getting them housebroken, wouldn't want to set them back with it," Mitchell said, coming to settle himself beside her once more with the pup in his arms. Strange, how the vampire was warmer than Torchwood's last undead employee had been, with enough semblance of breath and heartbeat to lure in the careless observer, but nevertheless that something off when one got to paying it proper mind, supernatural perception filter fuzzing the paradox of his existence round the edges of one's sight. "Happy enough to see George able to be indoors at all really."
With a huge sigh George stretched himself out alongside Mitchell's right leg and rested his chin on the vampire's boot. Andy cocked a furry eyebrow at Nina, who answered him with a sound uncannily like a human blowing a raspberry and flopped down on George's other side. Werewolf politics. Mitchell had set the cub down to bury an absent hand in the dark fur of his best mate's back, just a boy and his dog on a rainy night in. Gwen watched as her son bumbled over for a nuzzle from his father, his alpha, and caught herself thinking, for the once, not bloody Torchwood, or what life will he have with this, but, simply, yes, Euan, your family.
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