Title: The Siege of Annwfn (3/10)

Author: Emma

Characters: Jack Harkness, Ianto Jones, Torchwood Three Team, Others.

Rating: R

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?

Spoilers: None. This takes place in my Homecoming AU, a few months after The Eye of Neith.

Summary: The only things that stand between our Universe and disaster are Torchwood Three and Ianto’s growing powers…

Author’s Note: Hidden in this chapter is a small homage to THE greatest killer dog story of all time...

            It had rained all afternoon, and the deserted Plas still gleamed wetly in the light of the pillars. The tourists had decamped to their hotels to rest up for the next day’s mad dash to Caernarfon (for castle baggers) or Shrewsbury (for Brother Cadfael fans). Most of the locals had better sense than to stand about taking pictures in the pouring rain, and so had returned home soon after supper.

            Ianto had volunteered to go with Andy to the team’s favorite late-night takeaway and pick up some supper. He had been hoping for a little quiet time with Andy – or maybe not so quiet, because Andy’s attitude was pissing him off, and if a good fight could clear the air, so be it.

            During his tenure as Torchwood’s clean-up guy, Ianto had run into young PC Davidson quite often. Over the years their relationship had gone from one of mutual mistrust to one of mutual respect and assistance and ultimately to an odd but real sort of friendship. Ianto ignored retcon protocols and Andy looked the other way those times he came upon something he wasn’t supposed to see. They shared a beer or two and a few laughs from time to time, and Andy was one of the few people Ianto had allowed a glimpse of his private life.

            When he returned to Cardiff, Ianto had hoped to rebuild his friendship with Andy, but the former policeman had maintained a polite if cordial distance. That of itself would not have made Ianto angry. He had no right to demand anything from people he had walked out on years before. What bothered him was that, in unguarded moments, Andy would be his old funny, sarcastic, friendly self; but then he would look at Ianto, a cloud would come over his face, and he would retreat back into an impenetrable shell of perfect, impersonal courtesy. Ianto would love the first and would tolerate the second if he had to. It was just the uncertain mixture of the two that was driving him nuts.

            Now, as they walked side by side in uncomfortable silence, Ianto knew he would never have a better opportunity. On the principle that if it were to be done at all, it was best it were done quickly, he simply asked the question.

            “Andy, what did I do to make you angry?”

            Andy’s steps faltered for a moment. “I don’t know what…”

            “Andy. Please.”

            “It’s not you. It’s me.” Andy sighed.

            Ianto waited silently, afraid that anything he said or did would send Andy back into his shell.

            “When I got divorced, I went through a really lousy period. Two much bad booze, too much careless sex, too much erratic temper. I could feel myself falling apart but couldn’t, could not, stop. Then one day Jack showed up at my place and told me that if I was going to party my life away I would have to learn to do it properly. We spent three days… God almighty, I did things I didn’t know could be done, and some things I knew were illegal.” Andy looked up at Ianto, and then dropped his eyes in shame. “So at some point, I… well Jack and I…”

            “Andy, are you telling me that during this three day orgy you” Ianto searched for the best way to phrase it, “became Jack-sexual?”

            Andy nodded without looking up. “It was only that one time, but…”

            “You silly, silly, silly git!” Ianto exploded. “Twpsyn! Is that what this is all about? You thought I would be mad because you and Jack were in bed together once years ago? I swear, sometimes I wonder if there’s anything between those ears of yours!”

            ‘Ah…”

            “Andy,” Ianto steamrollered on. “I am not fool enough to think Jack became celibate when I left Cardiff. I didn’t, why should he? Not to mention that Jack Harkness and celibacy are terms that are never, ever going to be anywhere near the same sentence unless separated by not.  To Jack good sex is love, joy, celebration, comfort, and in some cases therapy...”

            “He’s very good at it,” Andy blurted out then turned a fiery red that was noticeable even in the dim light of the street lamps. “Therapy, I mean.”

            “Yes, he is. People underestimate Jack because he’s so flamboyant and sometimes seems thoughtless, but he has an excellent understanding of what people need. I’ll bet you a hundred quid that he told you to call him up any time you felt like going wild again.”

            “He did, but I never did…”

            “And I’ll bet you another hundred quid that he knew you wouldn’t. You needed a safety net, Andy, and Jack very carefully built you one. He did the same for me, after Lisa. He’s like that with people he loves. So stop being stupid about it and let’s be friends again, all right?”

            Andy gave him a big grin. “All right.”

“One other thing…”

            “Yeah?”

            “The next time you feel like going wild, tell me before you call Jack. I’ve been dying to take some pictures…”

            “Aaargh!” Andy threw up his hands. “You’re as bad as he is!”

            They laughed and joked all the way to the takeaway place. They argued about the spiciness of the curry and whether to get nargisi kofta or dal makhani for a vegetarian dish. To Ianto it finally felt as it things were as they should be. As much as he appreciated Tom and Rhys, he had missed Andy.

            His euphoria lasted until half-way back to the Hub. Fog had rolled in from the bay, dulling the existing light and making the cobbles underfoot dangerously slippery. It wasn’t an unusual occurrence after a heavy rain, but it felt wrong somehow. The white fog-wreaths had a sort of unhealthy phosphorescence, and seemed unaffected by the sudden gusts of wind that swept along the street.

            “Andy…”

            “Yes.” He sniffed the air. “Metallic, not salty. Let’s move a little faster and see what’s what.”

            They picked up the pace. Both had spent a great deal of time chasing criminals both alien and human through the streets of Cardiff in all kinds of weather, and they knew how to move quietly and leave behind little trace of their passing. It only took a few minutes before they heard the footsteps. Andy splayed his hand, all fingers extended, right under Ianto’s nose. Ianto nodded. At least five people were moving around them in the fog.

            Stashing their bags in a small space under some stairs, they began to run in the direction of the Plas. Whoever was behind them gave chase, but seemed uncertain of their direction. They had split up, Ianto realized, and were trying to head them off, but didn’t seem to have any familiarity with the area. He followed Andy’s lead down back streets and alleyways in a zigzagging path that kept them pointed towards the Hub. Ianto knew Andy would have activated the emergency signal that would warn the rest of the team they were in trouble and act as a beacon for a search. All they needed to do was keep a few steps ahead of their pursuers.

As they approached the Plas, a cacophony of human screams and loud baying noises rose around them. The fog parted and they caught a glimpse of one of the things chasing them. It was a large white hound, a massive beast neither mastiff nor bloodhound, but partaking of both, and crowned by large red ears held stiffly away from its skull.

“What the fuck?”

Andy’s outburst triggered Ianto’s often inappropriate sense of humor, and he laughed. “It’s the Wild Hunt, Andy. We’re being chased by the Cwn Annwn.”

“You know, I’m as proud of being Welsh as the next guy,” Andy gasped. “But this is just not acceptable.”

The hounds were moving out into the Plas, trying to herd them back into the narrow street beyond. As they moved, their forms flickered in and out of focus, and Ianto could see a vague human form contained within.

“Andy, what do you see?” At his friend’s incredulous look, he repeated the question. “What do you see?”

“Seven bloody big dogs, what the hell would I see, you prat?”

“We’re going to have to make a move soon. They know others are coming. Do me a favor. Shoot as if they were men, not dogs… Now!”

Ianto launched himself at the nearest dog, kicking out at knee level. His foot made satisfyingly solid contact with something and the hound dropped. Ianto followed that with a glancing blow to the neck. Behind him he heard the sharp cough of Andy’s silenced gun, and running feet, but the other dogs were advancing on him. One snapped at his arm and tore off part of his coat sleeve. Another two, still some distance away, were launching into a run that would end in a leap at his throat.

*Like this.*

Suddenly Ianto was moving in impossibly smooth, flowing circles. Everything around him seemed to slow down. As the running hounds jumped towards him he moved underneath, seeking the vulnerable places in a man. The screams of pain were human, not animal.

As they dropped to the ground the figures began winking out of existence, until Ianto was alone in the middle of the Plas. Jack and the rest of the team stood a short distance away, staring at him in shock. At Andy’s feet, a young man in a short grey robe with a gleaming black torque around his neck lay dead of a gunshot wound.

“Ianto,” Jack said conversationally.” That book the Doctor gave you. Have you gotten to the part about battle TARDIS?”