Number One With A Silver Bullet [8/?]
Dec. 30th, 2009 06:54 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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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.
**********
Jack's pretence of being American only went so far, unless that had been a side-effect of his peculiar condition. George was occasionally glad lycanthropy wasn't as thorough about some matters, that would have been an awkward conversation to have with a rabbi. "So then he drunk-dials the Ministry of Defence and asks to speak to Cornelius Fudge."
"Granted that was not my finest moment." Ianto's blush had spread down into the forest of dark hair on his chest by now.
"Took them twenty minutes to find someone who recognized the name," Jack went on, scrubbing soap into his hair with gusto, and proceeded to detail the failings of at least three layers of Her Majesty's security forces. George listened to the tale with less than his full attention, trying not to dwell on the thought that he was watching Jack because the alternative might have been watching Nina, or Mitchell, and he wasn't entirely sure just which would have been the more unsettling in the aggregate.
Nina had given up caring about getting her kit off in front of the boys, already resigned to the indignity of waking up in suddenly furless skin one morning a month in front of the occasional scandalised bystander. It was just as well, considering how often the lot of them seemed to end up covered in some form or another of alien slime. Today's was viscous with a subtle pearly sheen, and smelt of artificial grape. It was an improvement over the last incident (pink, thick, most definitely not strawberry), or the one before (ate through Mitchell's jumper before Nina could throw a box of baking-soda over him), maybe not quite as nice as Thursday before last with the hallucinogenic side-effects but it was rather lovely. Nice enough sort of goo to knock back for half an hour to get naked with your mates over, as it went.
It was somewhat demoralising to be in a communal shower between these two mates, though, manly pelts to whichever side he might happen to glance and the lingering suspicion over to the end that Jack's smooth skin was more properly an affectation than a deficiency. "Why am I as the werewolf the least hairy one here, is what I want to --"
Nina began, suddenly, to laugh, high-pitched giggles at the weary edge of a fit of hysteria. "This stuff sparkles," she managed to force out when the men looked at her curiously.
Mitchell blinked at her pointing finger, then abruptly looked horrified. "...Piss off."
Even Ianto was falling about laughing now, delighted to have someone else presenting themselves for the subject of a workplace story that would doubtless be passed down through Jack's long memory for years to come. "Just so no one mentions that to my niece, we're already set a bad enough example without giving her more ammunition."
"Mental, the pair of you." Mitchell wiped away the last traces of shimmering slime, switched his tap off and went away to dress, slamming around in his locker as if he were truly offended, though George was sure he heard a chuckle.
By the time he was satisfied that he could no longer scent any stray whiffs of grape, George was the last one in the shower. Which he suspected might have put off some sort of apres-watershed programme for the CCTV, from the look he'd been shot as Jack and Ianto gave up and left him to it, but damned if he was going to spend the rest of his day absentmindedly patting himself down for sweets. He ventured back downstairs to something more closely resembling what passed for the usual routine, Nina down in the tiled surgery swearing quietly over what was left of her exploded patient and Mitchell parked at his workstation deleting his way through a trove of Harper's old porn, which the vampire seemed to be finding hilarious from a sociological point of view. The doctor's ghost was watching disapprovingly. "Not only do I have to watch you binning it --"
The vampire's fingers danced across the keyboard, consigning yet another improbable act to digital oblivion. "Would you rather I left it to your girlfriend?"
Harper shot the monitor a hunted look. "'S not my girlfriend."
Mitchell's primly steepled hands were still bare from the shower, somehow more shocking than full undress to George's eyes. "Which is why you were snogging her on the sofa when we got in this morning."
"Oi, I don't sleep, I can't eat or drink, but I can have my bit of fun with others who are also in this situation, which is at least a step up from my previous state of undeath." A small, fleeting smile. "Tosh reckons this might be heaven. But her idea of that would be living inside the mainframe and only coming out to shag me."
"Is she bound to the computer, or does she just prefer its company to yours?" George interjected. (A mutter of Who wouldn't? from down in the autopsy well.)
"Emotional connection," Mitchell suggested. "Must feel like where she belongs. Takes some that way, they can die halfway round the world and they'll come home to haunt what's familiar."
Now Harper was beginning to look more alarmed than incensed. "Wait, wait, you're not seriously suggesting that this is what I've chosen for my fucking afterlife," he said accusingly. "Stuck at work with bloody Jack forever? I've changed my mind, I would like to be exorcised."
Nina clapped her hands together with an unseemly glee and came up from the autopsy area. "I'll check the archives, this place must have a bell, a book and a candle."
"No one's exorcising anybody," Jack called from his office.
"And that ritual is for excommunication," Ianto added from the sofa. "Which I don't believe any of us would be qualified to pronounce either. We'd have to have someone in, which would be... problematic?" He gave Nina a serene look, as if daring her to find the bollocks to retcon a vicar. "Just try to block him out when he speaks to you, I found that it came eventually with practise even when he was able to throw things."
"Oi!"
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.
**********
Jack's pretence of being American only went so far, unless that had been a side-effect of his peculiar condition. George was occasionally glad lycanthropy wasn't as thorough about some matters, that would have been an awkward conversation to have with a rabbi. "So then he drunk-dials the Ministry of Defence and asks to speak to Cornelius Fudge."
"Granted that was not my finest moment." Ianto's blush had spread down into the forest of dark hair on his chest by now.
"Took them twenty minutes to find someone who recognized the name," Jack went on, scrubbing soap into his hair with gusto, and proceeded to detail the failings of at least three layers of Her Majesty's security forces. George listened to the tale with less than his full attention, trying not to dwell on the thought that he was watching Jack because the alternative might have been watching Nina, or Mitchell, and he wasn't entirely sure just which would have been the more unsettling in the aggregate.
Nina had given up caring about getting her kit off in front of the boys, already resigned to the indignity of waking up in suddenly furless skin one morning a month in front of the occasional scandalised bystander. It was just as well, considering how often the lot of them seemed to end up covered in some form or another of alien slime. Today's was viscous with a subtle pearly sheen, and smelt of artificial grape. It was an improvement over the last incident (pink, thick, most definitely not strawberry), or the one before (ate through Mitchell's jumper before Nina could throw a box of baking-soda over him), maybe not quite as nice as Thursday before last with the hallucinogenic side-effects but it was rather lovely. Nice enough sort of goo to knock back for half an hour to get naked with your mates over, as it went.
It was somewhat demoralising to be in a communal shower between these two mates, though, manly pelts to whichever side he might happen to glance and the lingering suspicion over to the end that Jack's smooth skin was more properly an affectation than a deficiency. "Why am I as the werewolf the least hairy one here, is what I want to --"
Nina began, suddenly, to laugh, high-pitched giggles at the weary edge of a fit of hysteria. "This stuff sparkles," she managed to force out when the men looked at her curiously.
Mitchell blinked at her pointing finger, then abruptly looked horrified. "...Piss off."
Even Ianto was falling about laughing now, delighted to have someone else presenting themselves for the subject of a workplace story that would doubtless be passed down through Jack's long memory for years to come. "Just so no one mentions that to my niece, we're already set a bad enough example without giving her more ammunition."
"Mental, the pair of you." Mitchell wiped away the last traces of shimmering slime, switched his tap off and went away to dress, slamming around in his locker as if he were truly offended, though George was sure he heard a chuckle.
By the time he was satisfied that he could no longer scent any stray whiffs of grape, George was the last one in the shower. Which he suspected might have put off some sort of apres-watershed programme for the CCTV, from the look he'd been shot as Jack and Ianto gave up and left him to it, but damned if he was going to spend the rest of his day absentmindedly patting himself down for sweets. He ventured back downstairs to something more closely resembling what passed for the usual routine, Nina down in the tiled surgery swearing quietly over what was left of her exploded patient and Mitchell parked at his workstation deleting his way through a trove of Harper's old porn, which the vampire seemed to be finding hilarious from a sociological point of view. The doctor's ghost was watching disapprovingly. "Not only do I have to watch you binning it --"
The vampire's fingers danced across the keyboard, consigning yet another improbable act to digital oblivion. "Would you rather I left it to your girlfriend?"
Harper shot the monitor a hunted look. "'S not my girlfriend."
Mitchell's primly steepled hands were still bare from the shower, somehow more shocking than full undress to George's eyes. "Which is why you were snogging her on the sofa when we got in this morning."
"Oi, I don't sleep, I can't eat or drink, but I can have my bit of fun with others who are also in this situation, which is at least a step up from my previous state of undeath." A small, fleeting smile. "Tosh reckons this might be heaven. But her idea of that would be living inside the mainframe and only coming out to shag me."
"Is she bound to the computer, or does she just prefer its company to yours?" George interjected. (A mutter of Who wouldn't? from down in the autopsy well.)
"Emotional connection," Mitchell suggested. "Must feel like where she belongs. Takes some that way, they can die halfway round the world and they'll come home to haunt what's familiar."
Now Harper was beginning to look more alarmed than incensed. "Wait, wait, you're not seriously suggesting that this is what I've chosen for my fucking afterlife," he said accusingly. "Stuck at work with bloody Jack forever? I've changed my mind, I would like to be exorcised."
Nina clapped her hands together with an unseemly glee and came up from the autopsy area. "I'll check the archives, this place must have a bell, a book and a candle."
"No one's exorcising anybody," Jack called from his office.
"And that ritual is for excommunication," Ianto added from the sofa. "Which I don't believe any of us would be qualified to pronounce either. We'd have to have someone in, which would be... problematic?" He gave Nina a serene look, as if daring her to find the bollocks to retcon a vicar. "Just try to block him out when he speaks to you, I found that it came eventually with practise even when he was able to throw things."
"Oi!"
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