Title: The Mermaid of Mermaid Quay (4/6)
Author: Emma
Characters: Andy Davidson, Jack Harkness, OFC
Rating: PG? I don't know, Jack's in this thing. Say R just in case he gets out of hand
Disclaimer: Oh, please. If I owned them, would I l 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?
Spoilers: None. this takes place in my Homecoming AU, eight or so years before Ianto returns to Cardiff
Summary: Inspector Andy Davidson is on the trail of a killer who might not be human...
Author's Note: This Andy is a little older and a lot sadder and wiser. Dedicated to

tanarian

 Part one is here; Part two is here ; Part three is here 

           The next day turned up damp and dreary, with heavy squalls sweeping in from the bay at irregular intervals. Andy, ensconced in a very comfortable armchair and drinking tea made exactly the way he liked it, watched contentedly as rain lashed the high arched window that looked out over a small, pretty square.

            Not so long ago, if someone had told him that some day he would be sitting in Jack Harkness’s house, drinking tea and listening to the man himself prepare lunch, he would have laughed himself stupid. For a long time he had resented the American for taking Gwen away from the force and changing her into something unrecognizable. Even after he had figured out exactly what it was Torchwood did, and why, he had kept his distance from its leader.

            It had been Jack who had changed the situation. Andy’s disastrous marriage and even more disastrous divorce had launched him into a self-destructive spiral he couldn’t seem to break. One night, as he was getting ready for another round of too much booze and bad sex, there had been a knock on his door.

            “Hey, Andy,” Jack grinned suggestively as he leaned against the door jamb. “I hear you’re having a hard time figuring out the whole party thing, so I’m here to give you a hand.”

            The sight of Jack Harkness wearing tight jeans, a blue polo shirt, and a short leather jacket that probably cost six months of Andy’s salary left Andy so gobsmacked that he followed the captain without question or complaint.

            The next three days had been the wildest of Andy’s life. Jack seemed to have no limits or boundaries and an amazing ability to make it all seem innocent and joyful  rather than tawdry. A willing pupil, Andy had done things he would have had to arrest himself for in the ordinary course of business, and had enjoyed every minute of it.

            At some point during that long weekend he had found himself making an absolutely insane move. Even Jack’s suddenly serious are you sure, Andy? couldn’t deter him. That night Andy had learned amazing things about the way his own body worked, and what could happen when he kicked all his inhibitions out the window. He had also finally, truly, completely understood something Ianto Jones had said one night when exhaustion and too many beers had prompted Andy to ask the question: I’m not homosexual, Andy. I’m Jack-sexual.

            Come Monday morning Andy had woken up in his own bed, a protein drink and a note on his bedside table: the next time you feel the urge to destroy your life, call me first. He had never called. Sure, he had been tempted a couple of times, and he knew that if he did, Jack would take him to bed and do his best to make him happy. But there was something about Jack that made Andy hesitate. He doubted that Jack even realized it, but underneath all the ebullient bravado, Jack was… waiting. And Andy had a pretty good idea who he was waiting for.

            Jack had never mentioned those three days, but the offer stood between them, unvoiced but acknowledged. Somehow knowing he had a safety net had allowed Andy to pick up the pieces and move on with his life. And Jack had become a friend.

            “Hey. You’re miles away.”

“Just trying to work out some things.” Andy looked at the tray Jack was carrying. “Wow. If people knew you could cook, they’d be knocking down your door.”

            Jack gave him one of his patented sexy grins. “They’re knocking down my door anyway, but all they seem to want is my super secret list of good takeaway places. Eat up, skinny, and tell me what brings you to Torchwood.”

            Andy spooned up some of the French onion soup. “Good. Do you know of any… thing… that could kill a healthy young  man of old age in a few weeks?”

            “I know of several species, both sentient and non-sentient, and one or two chemical compounds that could have that effect. Details, Andy, details.” Jack listened as Andy spoke. When the policeman finished, he smiled. “You’re very good at this, you know. One question. Have there been reports of people seeing women swimming in the river, or coming out of the river, at odd times?”

            “Bloody hell.”

            “I’ll take that as a yes.” Jack leaned back, sipping his wine. “We have a tzax’unu on our hands, Andy.”

            “A what?”

            “A tzax’unu. Nobody knows much about them. Even the name is actually a Common Trade Language version of the name given to them by the Eiuli traders who first encountered them. It means Memory Thief.”

            “That’s… disturbing.”

            “The Eiuli agreed with you.  They have a strong oral tradition, and the idea of a species that could steal memories gave them the heebie-jeebies. They slapped a universal quarantine on the tzax’unu planet and high-tailed it out of the system.” Jack shrugged. “For the most part it worked.”

            “For the most part?”

            “It seems the tzax’unu do have something to trade. Youth, stamina, sexual energy, reckless courage. Some people see those as an advantage, no matter how they get them.”

            “I don’t understand.”

            “In their natural environment, tzax’unu hunt by taking on the appearance of a female of the hunted species.” Jack raised his hand to forestall the question. “Nobody really knows why. Best guess is that they use pheromones to confuse the male’s physiological response to being hunted. The problem is that the result can be a little hit-and-miss. The males of the majority of species tend to be larger than the females and they tend to fight back at some point. On the other hand, if a tzax’unu can create a symbiotic relationship with someone of another species, it can use them to siphon off its victim’s energy without having to work for it. In return, it can feed some of the energy back to its symbiont. The feedback kicks the symbiont’s body into hormonal overdrive and fine-tunes everything. It’s said to be a hell of a rush.”

            “Duw.”

            “There’s a catch, though. The link is not stable. The more a tzax’unu feeds the more it wants to feed, and the more energy the symbiont gets the more it craves. It makes them very dangerous.”

            “Yeah,” Andy said, “I can see how it would. Is there any way to identify the whatchacallit, the symbiont?”

            “Yes. They smell. People say it’s like rotting vegetation or bad perfume. It seems to be a side effect of the link. The stronger the smell the more unstable the link is getting and the more urgent the need to feed.”

            “God almighty. What are you going to do?”

            Jack grinned mischievously. “Well, my first step will be to deputize you.”

            “Huh?”

            “Andy, even with Torchwood at full strength, we’re stretched to the limit. The Rift was badly destabilized when the Daleks moved the Earth. We’re still dealing with the fallout even after all these years. You have been working the case, and you are really very good at what you do.”

            “Keightley will have a breakdown.”

            “That might be an added advantage.” Jack took a small package off a side table. “Phone with direct link to the Hub computer. A little improvement of our own on Bluetooth technology, you’ll figure out as you go. I.D. Stun gun.” At Andy’s puzzled look he explained. “Tzax’unu have a very strong electromagnetic field and disrupting it causes real damage. Now. Consider yourself a member of Torchwood for the duration.”

            Andy did not hesitate. He took the package. “All right. I’d better get going, then. Thanks for lunch.”

            “My pleasure. And remember, the job can become permanent any time you want.”

            As he arranged the various items in his pockets, Andy pointed at the fireplace.

            “Didn’t tell you earlier, but I like the new art.”

            Above the mantel hung a stunning black-and-white print, beautifully framed. It showed a view of the Grand Canal in Venice as a storm approached the city.

            “Me too, Andy. Me too.”