Torchwood Fic: Invincible Summer (3/6)

[merucha]

Title: Invincible Summer (3/6)

Author: Emma

Characters: Tish Jones, John Hart, Andy Davidson

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 year or so after The Hour of the Wolf

Summary: The Year That Never Was comes back to haunt Tish Jones and it’s up to John and Andy to help her exorcise the ghost.

Author’s Note: This is veering off into something I didn’t expect, so, if you’re surprised too, blame it on the girl!

In the depth of winter, I finally learned that within me there lay an invincible summer. —Albert Camus

Part one is here
Part two is here
 

 

            The first thing Tish noticed when she woke up the next morning was the heavenly scent of freshly brewed coffee drifting up from the kitchen. Smiling contentedly, she jumped up and padded barefoot into the bathroom. After taking care of her full bladder and washing the remnants of sleep from her face, she decided to climb back into bed. She needed to think.

 

            From the moment John had told her about Jack’s plan, she wondered what the hell the Torchwood leader was up to. She had expected to be yanked back to Cardiff under heavy guard; instead she had been thrown headfirst into an investigation where she would be facing all her worst fears. And to top it all off, he had tossed two very sexy, male males at her. She remembered something Martha had told her once: Jack will do what he thinks it’s best for you, even if it means putting you through hell. The damned thing is, he’s usually right.

 

            What remained was figuring out what she was going to do about it.

 

            Jack was giving her a choice. If she cut and ran he would never, ever give her a moment’s grief. But did she want to? Over the years her life had become unbearably narrow. It had purpose and discipline, and even a measure of contentment, but no passion and certainly very little joy. She had managed to make it work but her father’s sudden death had broken something inside her and everything she had repressed had started gushing out. She could repair the cracks in the dam and go on the way she had been or she could take a hammer to the whole fucking thing and grow.

 

            At least a little. She didn’t think she would ever be ready for… John or Andy. She wasn’t even ready to think about that.

 

            She slid out of bed and started to get ready for the day. Presenting a polished façade was second nature, but she found herself applying makeup with a view to attraction rather than merely elegance. She pulled on her best lace camisole and panty set, black jeans, and a v-neck dark green cashmere jumper, and finished with big gold hoops and mid-heeled boots.

 

            As she stared at herself in the mirror it occurred to her that if she wanted to discourage the interest she had seen in Andy’s and John’s eyes she was going about it the wrong way. Returning to the bathroom she ruthlessly wiped off most of her makeup, exchanging the deep red lipstick for a barely tinted gloss, but as she started to strip her clothes off, she was nearly shoved to her knees by a wave of anger and grief. If she wanted to grow, she had to start somewhere. Defiantly, she added two copper and gold bracelets to complement the hoops in her ears, smoothed down her jumper, and started out to face her… choices.

 

            John and Andy were obviously already on their second or third cup of coffee by the time she entered the kitchen. She was greeted by cheery hellos and wolf-whistles; Andy jumped up and pulled out a chair. As she slid into it, John presented her with a cup of coffee and a slice of buttered toast.

 

            “Perfect service. My thanks, gentlemen.”

 

            “Our pleasure.” Andy smiled down at her. “Would you like eggs or something? I am considered a decent breakfast cook.”

 

            “No, thank you, Andy.” This will do nicely until we get into town.”

 

            They waited patiently until she finished, keeping up a light-hearted banter. It gave her the chance to observe them. John Hart, the man who playfully referred to himself as ‘Jack’s ex-wife,’ was the kind of man who attracted attention by simply walking into a room, and he knew it. He dressed to reinforce the first impression – fitting jumpers, perfectly tailored trousers, and handmade leather boots and coat. He looked… hell, he looked like sex on the hoof, with eyes that would draw a woman in, wild, all-knowing eyes, full of sin and invitation. Rumor was, he would have no problem keeping her once he got her, but never seemed interested in stopping for long.

 

            Andy Davidson, on the other hand, looked exactly like what he was, a very fit middle-aged policeman; even Torchwood people referred to him as ‘the copper’.  He had the kind of harmless face that made witnesses spill their guts before they even thought about it. He was gentle where John was abrasive, thoughtful where John could be reckless. In any situation, a woman would look at John first, but if she were observant, she would discover Andy. Well, actually she would discover Andy’s fabulous hands. Andy touched, stroked, petted, and rubbed. Tish remembered one drunken girls’ night at Gwen’s where the Torchwood women spent forty-five minutes paying homage to Andy’s hands.

 

            And she was supposed to choose? Someday she would kill Jack Harkness.

 

            She tossed back the last of her coffee and stood up. “So what are you planning for today?”

 

            John studied her for a few seconds, then smiled in a way that let Tish know he understood exactly what was going on in her mind.

 

            “We’re going to Fulworth. By car, just in case we need to make a quick exit. We have an old map from the seventeen-sixties that shows the original location of all the buildings that washed out to sea. We also brought a portable scanner. We should get something from those neural nets even if they are dormant.”

 

            “All right. Let’s get going.”

 

            They trooped out to the Fiat. Tish stared in dismay at the two-seater. The idea of being trapped between the men terrified her. “We won’t fit!”

 

            “Tish,” John said patiently, “we’re supposed to be fooling around. Being squished together makes a statement.”

 

            “I’ve an idea,” Andy said.  He slid into the passenger seat and held out a hand. Tish felt a moment’s panic then sat in Andy’s lap, making a conscious effort to relax into the body beneath her. Andy pulled the seat belt across both of them.

 

            “I’m usually stuck in here carrying something or another much less interesting than yourself,”  he confided, “ so I had him install an extra-long seatbelt.”

 

            She couldn’t help it. She giggled.

 

            The ride to Fulworth took only a few minutes. Tish had tried to keep contact with Andy to a minimum, but John’s insane driving had her leaning back and grasping at Andy’s arms in self-preservation. She couldn’t miss his arousal, but for the first time in almost twenty years she was attracted rather than repulsed.

 

            John found a small area to park on the verge of the churchyard, in plain view of curious passersby. He walked around to the passenger side and picked Tish out of Andy’s lap, brushing a light kiss over her lips as he set her down. She rolled her eyes at him.

 

            “Giving the locals something to think about?”

 

            “That, and giving the poor guy a little time to pull himself together. Can’t be easy, with you riding him the whole way.”

 

            The visual he implanted in her brain made her damn nearly melt. “You’re as bad as Jack!”

 

            “Considerably worse, actually.” He let her go. “But I don’t boast about it.”

 

            “Is Andy ok? Marie’s death was hard on him.”

 

            “He’s all right, although I’ll say you’re the first woman… Anyway. Not my place. Just be kind.”

 

            “I have a feeling I’m the wrong person to ask for kindness.” She sighed, then walked back to where Andy was standing. “Ready for the tour?”

 

            Andy was staring up at the church. “I thought it had been washed away.”

 

            “It was.” John said. “Every time it happens they rebuild from the original plan. This one dates from 1789.”

 

            They walked along the harbor road to the coffee shop, playing tourist. Andy whipped out his camera – Tish was willing to bet there were some highly specialized electronics built into the compact body – and kept snapping in every direction. John held Tish’s hand and flirted with both of them shamelessly. Tish couldn’t help but respond to his deliberate playfulness, and she found herself touching back, laughing, even at times siding with Andy to smack down John’s more outrageous antics. She noticed the speculative looks they got as they passed, but was having too much fun to care.

 

            He shop was busy. Out front a large party of walkers had pushed several tables together and was poring over maps while consuming prodigious amounts of coffee and pastries. Inside, a jittery bride and her equally jittery mother were squabbling over the merits of ganache versus fondant icing for the cake. Annie waved at Tish as she came in, then discreetly pointed at the bickering women and rolled her eyes. Then she looked past Tish at the two men behind her; her eyes widened and she primped a bit. Tish was startled by her insane desire to warn the teenager off her property.

 

            “Good morning, Annie.” Tish smiled at the girl as she put her hands unsubtly on the men’s shoulders. “This is Mr. Hart and this is Mr. Davidson. Guys, this is Annie Lovett. Her mother works for Jack and Ianto.”

 

            “I think I met your mother last time I was here,” John said. “She mentioned a daughter traveling in Australia for her gap year?”

 

            “That’s me.” Annie wriggled like a puppy. “We have scones and muffins fresh out of the oven and some nice Majorca bread. Would you like to try some samples?”

 

            “Love to.”

 

            Tish watched John charm Annie. The man was as big a flirt as Jack, but was rumored to have considerably less restraint. She wondered exactly how trustworthy he was.

 

            “John doesn’t rob cradles,” Andy stroked gently between her shoulder blades. “He says bedding virgins is a fool’s game.”

 

            She leaned into him, arching like a cat, and felt as well as heard his answering chuckle. She reached back and took his other hand, linking their fingers briefly.

 

            “Why don’t we get something to eat, then” Andy said, “and rescue poor John from his admirer?”

 

            They managed to redirect Annie’s attention to the coffee pot. Armed with scones and fresh coffee, they walked outside, but, to Tish’s surprise, John insisted on going down tot the tiny esplanade in front of the breakwater, where a couple of benches faced the bay.

 

            “Too many of the wrong sort about,” he said when she asked.

 

            “What do you mean, the wrong sort?”

 

            “The walkers,” Andy said. “Wrong sort of muscles, wrong sort of haircuts. Ex-soldiers.”

 

            “Ex?”

 

            “Yeah,” John said. “They’re starting to go soft and sloppy. They kept calling the ginger one Sarge. My instructors would have beaten me bloody for that sort of carelessness. Andy, do you think your pictures are ready?”

 

            “Should be.” He pulled out the camera and turned it on, pressing several buttons in rapid sequence. Instead of photos, the screen filled with a map of the town overlaid by a series of wave-form patterns. One of them, right around the church, was a bright red.

 

            “I guess the old ones are still the best.” John said. “They’ve recovered the artifacts and hidden them somewhere in the church.”

 

            “Logical,” said Andy. “Plenty of storage places, not to mention mausoleums and crypts.”

 

            “What does he want with it?” Tish asked. “It’s not as if…”

 

            She broke off as her phone rang. She looked at the screen. Martha.

 

            “Hey, sis…”

 

            “Hello, Letitia.” The deep, raspy voice drove all breath away from her lungs. “It’s lovely to see you after all these years.”

 

            “What the hell do you want, Stannick?”

 

            “Nice to see I haven’t been forgotten, Letitia. I’m glad, because you’ve grown more lovely every passing year. Although I’m disappointed in the company you keep. I might have to punish you for that, Letitia. I wonder if you remember how I punished you.”

 

            Tish was shaking all over, but she could see John making keep him talking gestures as he and Andy did things to their own phones. “You will never get your hands on anything again, Stannick, least of all me. I’ll make sure of that myself.”

 

            “Insolent as ever. You seem to have forgotten all I taught you.”

 

            “You? You taught me nothing except to hate. You stupid man, I was doing Jack Harkness’ bidding at every step. A man hanging in chains in an engine room, being killed every week for entertainment, had more power over me than you ever did.”

 

            “I think we’ll have to meet again, Letitia. Tell your friends to stop trying to track me.”

 

            The phone went dead. Tish calmly returned it to her purse, then looked at John. “Did you track him?”

 

            “Better than that. Tracked his link. UNIT headquarters in London.” He  was texting rapidly as he spoke. “There. Any bets on what happens next?”

 

            “Jack kicks over the anthills.” Andy said. “UNIT needs a good airing out.”

 

            “And what about us? What do we do next?” Tish asked.

 

            “We go back home and wait for Jack. When he gives us the sign, we go into that church and get our hands on the artifacts.” John stood up, picking up Tish and swinging her around until she squealed. “And until then, we just keep all the eyes and ears guessing.”