The Queen's Magicians: Reset (3/4)

[merucha]

Title: Reset (3/4)
Author: Emma
Characters: Canonical Torchwood Three members… sort of.
Rating: Some chapters definitely not safe for work.
Disclaimer: Oh, please. If I owned them, would I let some of those idiots write the scripts? And if I were making any money off them, would I be where they could find me?
Summary: Martha Jones comes to Torchwood and their world will never be the same.

Part One here; Part two here

Martha shivered as Ianto pressed the small metal square into the curve of her breast.

“Sorry,” Ianto said. “It'll warm up with your body heat.”

“Won't it pick up my heatbeat?” she asked.

“It filters it out.” Ianto ran a scanner over it and nodded when the transmitter emitted a low whine. “You are now well and truly bugged.”

“If Copley accepts me as a patient, it'll mean a physical exam. Tell me this thing melts or something.”

Ianto grinned at her. “Or something. Now, I'm going to have to get a bit cheeky here. Nothing personal.”

Closing his eyes, he placed his palm against her breast, fingers digging in lightly into the flesh. Martha felt a tingling heat spread upwards from his hand towards her shoulder and arm. A few seconds later, he opened his eyes and removed his hand. She looked down and gasped to see that the transmitted had disappeared.

“It's still there,” Ianto offered the robe. “A little trick Jack and I have been working on. Call it an extension of my Talent. Nobody can see it and you're the only one who can feel it.”

Martha touched the spot and felt cold metal under her fingertips. “Wow.”

She shrugged into the robe and waited until Ianto had finished whatever he was doing. It was a perfect opportunity to study him a bit. He was as beautiful as she remembered, but now there was a serenity about him that came, she thought, from knowing his place in the world. She had to admit that she would feel the same way if Jack Harkness's heart belonged to her.

Not to mention other parts. Swallowing a giggle, she said. “Ah. Ianto. About Jack...”

Amused eyes met hers. “Yes?”

“I spent a few years traveling with the Doctor and I've met many of Jack's friends and quite a few of his enemies. No matter what the topic of conversation, it usually works around to what's Jack like in bed. So, what's Jack like in bed?” She pouted at Ianto's laugh. “Come on, humor a dying lady.”

He set the scanner down and took her in his arms. “You will be all right, one way or another. Jack won't have anything else.”

Now it was her turn to laugh. “There goes my poor dying lady card.”

“Con artist,” he said, letting her go and pointing to a bag with the logo of one of Cardiff's most exclusive shops. “Those are your new clothes. I'll let you get dresssed.” He started up the stairs, then stopped. “Martha? Innovative. Bordering on the avant-garde.”

Smiling rather smugly, he started up again. She watched until he was gone. “Wow.”

Tightening the robe – he was going to have to talk to Jack about the artic conditions in the place – she picked up the clothes bag and started to rummage. First came a silk sheath in a scrumptious raspberry color, then amazing underthings in a paler shade, the perfect stockings, and high-heeled pumps that probably cost a small fortune. She looked at the maker's name inside and swallowed hard. A large fortune.

She dressed quickly and went upstairs. The wolf-whistles and applause that met her entrance had her grinning like a loon. She twirled, showing off.

“Do I look rich enough?”

Jack offered her a jewelry box. “Not quite yet. But you will.”

She opened the box. Heart-shaped diamond earrings glimmered up at her. Below the earrings there was a thin gold watch with a diamond pave face.

“Jack!” she gasped. “I can't take these.”

“You have to. Otherwise they won't believe you have the money or the taste for it.”

She couldn't disagree with that, so she slipped the jewelry on. As she did, she began to think herself into her role. It was one of her strengths, the Doctor had said, that ability to enter into the fantasy. The con.

“Papers?” she asked.

Tosh handed her a Ferragamo safari bag in a leopard print. “Wallet inside with all necessary documents. Not that you needed much, but I added a few interesting details to help Doctor Copley believe your story. You are listed as a member of Torchwood Scotland, four years service.” She hesitated for a moment. “Your medical records are there too.”

Martha grinned at her. “A con man I met once told me it was all in the details. Thanks, Tosh. Did you choose the clothes?”

“The outerwear only. Gwen chose the undies.”

Martha curled an eyebrow at the practically dressed Welshwoman. “You have hidden depths, Gwen.”

“A girl always needs an advantage,” Gwen riposted. “I put some KitKats in the bag. Some tastes you never grow out of.”

“Yeah. A poor girl's chocolate, even if the girl is rich now? Well done, Gwen.” She took a deep breath. “Time to go. Do I get a rental car?”

“You do.” Ianto dangled the key in front of her. “Come on.”

He led her up to the parking garage and to a marvelously sleek car. “God,” she said, awed, “I didn't even know you could rent a Bentley.”

“You can. Off you go, Missy. And be careful. You're supposed to dance at my wedding.”

She kissed his cheek. Sliding behind the wheel, she started the car and laughed at the soft purr of the engine. She waved to Ianto and drove out of the garage and into the early evening light. The GPS came on with a pre-programmed route. Martha found she wasn't surprised at all; it was exactly what she expected from Tosh. Or Ianto.

It wasn't a long drive, and the GPS managed to avoid the last of the rush hour. She reached the Farm just as the shadows were darkening into night. She glided to a stop in front of the elaborate iron gates as two armed men came out of the brick gatehouse.

“This is private property,” one of the men growled.

“Tell Doctor Copley that Martha Jones would like to see him.”

“Doctor Copley don't talk to anyone without an appointment.”

She straightened up and assumed the look she had learned from the Doctor at his nastiest. “You seem to have assumed an authority I am sure you do not have. Call Doctor Copley and tell him Martha Jones from Torchwood is here to see him.”

“Listen, lady, I told you...”

“If you bark at me one more time I'll have you shot for carrying rabies. Let me make a prediction. If you don't call Doctor Copley right now, and he finds out I was turned away, they are going to fish you out of the Taff with large stones tied to your legs.”

Something in her calm, level voice made the man jump backwards. He marched into the gatehouse. Martha rested her head back, giving the remaining guard an impression of someone very tired and frail. A few minutes later, the first guard came out of the gatehouse and waved her through the opening gates.

The grounds were carefully landscaped with paths and sitting areas suitable for recovering patients. The house at the end of the drive was a gentrified version of a Welsh farmhouse with discreet wings flowing back towards the river. Large horse troughs on either side of the door overflowed with flowers. Several luxury cars were discreetly parked on a gravelled area to one side.

As she stepped out of the car, the door opened and a large woman in an old-fashioned nursing sister uniform came out. “Miss Jones? Please follow me.”

Copley's office occupied the first section of the left wing. She was shown to a comfortable armchair in an elegantly appointed waiting room and offered her choice of coffee or tea. Fifteen minutes later, the nurse came out of the inner office and waved her through into a large, airy room, with french doors leading out to the gardens beyond. The man himself was tall, gaunt, with receding white hair, and deep set eyes that seem to measure her as an opponent. Which, Martha supposed, was only proper.

“Miss Jones.” He rose and waved her to the armchair opposite the desk. “And what does Torchwood want with me?”

“Torchwood doesn't. I do.”

His eyebrows rose. “May I ask why?”

She pulled the thick manila envelope from her purse and tossed it to him. “I'm dying, and I very much don't want to.”

He pulled the documents out, popping the CD holding the test results into his pc. Martha sat patiently while he scanned through all of it.

“You have an aggressive form of cancer, Miss Jones. Unfortunately there's nothing to do medically.”

Martha sighed and pulled out her Blackberry. “Fine. I will just send all my notes on the Farm and its patients to Jack Harkness. He would be interested in your research, I think.”

Copley held out his hand in the classic stop gesture. Martha waited a few more seconds, then put the phone back in the bag.

“You do understand,” Copley went on as if nothing untoward had happened, “that Reset is still in the experimental stage?”

“Is that what you call the drug?” Martha leaned back, not disguising her tiredness. “Yes, I know. If I'm going to be dead either way I'd rather have a few more months of health and a quick if disgusting death. Besides, I'm betting you've made improvements since your last batch.”

Copley nearly smirked. “Indeed we have, Miss Jones. Now, there's a matter of payment.”

"I have the money. Torchwood provides many opportunities." She grinned at him. "But you can have a choice. Money.... or  the master codes to Torchwood's medical archives.”

It was obvious she had rattled him. Copley nodded, swallowed, then nodded again. “Very well. Done.” He pressed a button on his desk phone and the large nurse returned. “Miss Archibald will show you to a room. Tomorrow morning early we will run some tests and begin the treatment.”

“I didn't bring an overnight bag with me.”

He waved the objection away. “Don't worry. We can provide anything you need. Good night, Miss Jones.”

“Good night, Doctor Copley.”

She followed nurse Archibald upstairs, where she was ushered into a small but beautifully decorated bedroom. The nurse politely requested her clothes size, and then left the room. Martha kicked off her shoes and relaxed, humming to herself. She assumed she was being watched, so she didn't try to do anything other than wait. Not that she could have done anything; she was so tired, she could barely keep her eyes open. She heard voices outside the room, but couldn't make out the words. She was drifting into sleep when she heard nurse Archibald return. The woman helped her undress, dropped a cotton nightgown over her head, and tucked her into bed. Martha was asleep before her head hit the pillow.