s4_see | There, Wolf [10/13]

Title: There, Wolf
Rating: teen [language and sexual situations]
Characters: Gwen, Ianto, Jack, PC Andy
Spoilers: post-Exit Wounds
Advisories: crossover with Being Human; also if you think about the werewolf thing a little too hard, um... yeah, but not on-screen
Disclaimer: I am apparently a very silly person at this hour

Summary: Torchwood has adopted a stray...

**********

"If you say 'Walkies!' one more time I'm going to tear your throat out. I will find a bloody way, believe me --"

Life went on, even at Torchwood. Even when you were expecting anything but an ordinary little miracle. There had been some fascinating ultrasounds already, and just a good thing they had Martha for that, but it looked as if what Gwen couldn't get Jack to stop calling the corgi was doing perfectly well so far, gestating away with only that monthly twinge as the full moon rose and set. Thank god for the placental barrier, anyway.

It had been awkward, at first, all of them trying to work out what was perfectly appropriate impending-parenthood nerves versus all the other complications they had to choose from. Andy claimed to be just as happy to have his name left out of the matter as much as they could, murmuring about privacy and pitchfork-carrying mobs, and to Gwen's surprise it had been Rhys insisting staunchly that however the paternity went down on the paperwork officially he wouldn't be one to stand in the way of a man knowing his kid. "And we'll just have to hope he's not a biter once he gets to nursery, aye?" (Yeah. There was that. Andy's son. He'd been all quiet trying not to step on Rhys's toes about it, but show her a bloke who didn't turn into a right idiot when you told them that, even if he hadn't already been convincing himself it was his responsibility not to pass on a curse if he could help it.)

So it was business as usual, with all of its weevils and werewolves and ghostly presences being an unseen bastard to the one member of their staff who didn't have the option of ignoring the strange and unusual. "I may have a little less control over my animal instincts than I'd like, but you're the one who knew what he was doing to her. Oi, I could report you to the RSPCA, that's discriminatory against wolves --"

She'd seen Owen for herself, four weeks ago, stepping back into his role as Torchwood's medic after the wolf had darted out into traffic and collided with a hapless Mini; he'd inevitably managed to spoil the moment with a cutting remark about her cub, but the experience had left her surprisingly shaken about events she'd thought long since laid to rest. And rather glad that he seemed to exert most of his haunting efforts towards annoying easier targets. Even Jack had grudgingly admitted that under the proper circumstances it wasn't completely unthinkable that a personality as determined as Owen's might leave some sort of lingering imprint. "He's just jealous he was never flexible enough to lick his own... oookay, that went somewhere even I didn't want to go, never mind."

Andy pushed back from the workstation with a long-suffering grimace. "Right, I'm going to go turn into a werewolf now so I don't have to listen to either of you any longer, I think. Where did we leave the bloody lead...?"

Gwen had come to enjoy their monthly constitutionals, this licence to explore the darkened city as she pleased; after all, it wasn't as if anyone in their right mind was going to try to mug her. Or not in their right minds, at that, even the people who weren't muttering into mobiles gave Andy a wide berth. Perhaps especially the madmen. Some of them must know a werewolf when they really saw one. And a werewolf who'd been a copper, girl couldn't ask better protection for walking out late at night than that.

But they always seemed to end the small hours of the morning at this little park not far from his flat, with a ball to throw about to enhance the illusion of a normal night out with a normal hound, and more often than not sharing the last kebab of the evening to keep her own wolf within growing fat and happy. Gwen perched at the edge of a bench, gazing fondly down upon the fuzzy face buried in the remains of her chips. He'd eat anything, pretty well literally anything, and some of it was just as well that he'd have no recall of it as a human, it was bad enough having to keep the veterinary record of how he'd been nosing around on a dead hedgehog without adding in the bits about old shoes and poo. Although the part where Andy had put his paws up on the counter of the van and chuffed forlornly until the owner had laughed and given him a bit of extra meat for his own was something she'd have loved to make him live down the next morning at work --

Andy's head snapped up, scenting around, low rumbling growl she'd never heard from him before spilling past those wicked teeth. Gwen followed his sightline and spotted a large black shadow near the far side of the park. Please, let that be someone's lost Great Dane...

But it wasn't moving like a dog, any more than Andy did when one truly got to seeing him for what he was, far too much purpose in the way this dark-furred creature was sizing up the scene before it. Someone changed him, after all. Of course there would be others. Smaller than Gwen's werewolf, if that really meant anything, but then it only stood to reason, not many humans were his size either --

Andy had dropped into a full-on defence of the master crouch between her and the strange wolf, snarling deep in his throat. (Weevil spray? Gun? Stun grenade? Not the moment to realise they never had properly tested out the theories about silver...) Now he threw his head back and let out a barrel-chested howl that raised the hairs on the back of Gwen's neck, primal terrors whispering the better to eat you with to a place deep in her genes. The smaller wolf matched him, not quite up to Andy's timbre but setting off a few more car alarms on that side of the park for all that.

And then they were off, galloping across the grass, lunging for each other, any moment one of them was going to, those teeth, they were...

Oh.

Oh, my.

Oh, god.

Well. That was something you simply did not see every day, not even if you worked at Torchwood. Gwen was dimly aware that her jaw had dropped, goggling at the two werewolves who'd decided they had better ways to get on with each other in the middle of a Cardiff park than fight. (And, oh, the other one was a bloke as well, that was... Oh. Oh.) Was this some sort of dominance-struggle ritual that had been bowdlerised out of the legends or were they just happy to see --

Gwen shook herself. She shouldn't be watching this, really, Andy was her friend, and werewolf or not it seemed a bit rude to stare at your friends when they were trying to, erm, mount each other. Jack and Ianto's preferences notwithstanding. "I'll just be, erm, over here, then..."

(Were werewolves like dogs? They might be here for a while...)