Title: Day One, Part Three of Four

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: Gwen’s first day at work is… not the usual thing
Author's Note: AU like nobody's business!

Author’s Note: The cockatrice, or basilisk, is a common “monster” and heraldic symbol; the revenant part of the legend is all mine.
Author's Note: This is Ianto's car.

            Toshiko backed out of the NHS database, covering her tracks as she went. Even though any anti-hacking software that sniffed her out would be stopped in its tracks by the Torchwood mainframe’s own security systems, she took pride in doing a thorough job. It did not do to become sloppy just because one had a failsafe backup.

            She sat back, sighing with pleasure. It was in moments like this, when everything worked flawlessly and data was found, sorted and correlated into the proper pattern, that she truly understood that her psychic blindness was not the crippling disability her parents had obsessed over. Her materialistic skills, as her father contemptuously described them, served a purpose that honored her ancestors in ways he would never understand.

            Her lips curved into a little smile as she wondered how Midori was doing these days. The last time they had spoken, her mother had told her that her cousin was once again getting married. It seemed the paragon’s career consisted of finding progressively older and wealthier men to pay for her expensive tastes. Tosh chuckled as she admired her bespoke high-heeled boots. She managed very well on her own, thank you.

            “Now that’s a wicked little sound,” Ianto remarked, offering her a fresh cup of coffee. “And yes, that is just amazing footwear. How you don’t break your neck remains a mystery to all of us.”

            “Natural talent, Ianto. Natural talent.” She waved at the monitor. “Have we heard from Jack and Gwen?”

            “Not yet. Did you find anything?”

            Tosh tapped a key and a police record filled the screen. The girl in the photo looked like the girl in the CCTV feed, but, in her hopelessness, she looked more dead than the revenant. “Carys Weston. Prostitution record. Kid got pregnant at sixteen and her parents kicked her out of the house. Conservative Catholics, wanted her to be a nun. She lost the baby and ended up working for one of the less reputable clubs. Killed herself at nineteen. She was buried outside the wall at St. Peter. Her father died three days later.”

            “Shit.” Owen had come up behind them. “Can we find out who the father of the baby is? Because she’s going to go for him sooner or later.”

            “I’ve been looking. Nothing so far. I’m going to…”

            The soft ping that signaled incoming data interrupted her. She put it up on the screen.

            “Missing person. Jonathan Astell, owner and operator of the KitKat Club… That’s classy, isn’t it? Imaginative too…There’s a witness this time, a Mary Pennyman. Constable at the scene says they’ve had to take her to Psychiatric ICU. She was hysterical, screaming that a dead girl was coming to get them all.” The computer pinged again. “Another report. A Mrs. Ellen Weston called 999. She says her daughter is trying to break into her house.”  She scribbled down the address and handed it to Ianto. “Owen…”

            “Yeah.” The doctor stripped off the lab coat. “Let’s go, Ianto. Tosh, call Jack. Have them meet us there. Also, run a check on the teachers at her school. Married, middle-aged, tends to take students under his wing, maybe a few whispers have surfaced here and there.  In cases like this there are hints all over the place but nobody wants to tackle the problem.”

            “All right.”

            “Hey, Tea-Boy, can we take the Sprite? It’ll get us there faster.”

            Ianto rolled his eyes. “Yes, Owen, we can take my car. But you’re not driving. You’re never, ever driving it.”

            “Spoilsport.”

            The Weston house was in on of those Council subdivisions where considerable effort had been spent on making the neighbourhood look presentable, and yet it had a sad, derelict look to it. Perhaps it was the desolate expanse of closely-clipped grass, where all the other places around it had made an attempt at a garden, or at least a few window boxes filled with pansies or geraniums. Or maybe it was the shuttered windows, where many other places had cheerful curtains open to the afternoon breeze.

            “Gawd, this is a depressing place,” Owen muttered as they walked up to the front door. “No wonder the girl…”

            Ianto help up a finger. “Listen.”

            Somewhere inside the house things were being shattered while a woman wailed.

            Owen tried the front door. It swung open. They charged in, following the noises to the eat-in kitchen at the back of the house. What they found was so different from what they had been expecting that they were momentarily paralyzed. A woman wearing a faded housecoat was sitting at the table, staring into the distance, while Carys Weston screamed hoarsely at her as she stalked around the room throwing things to the floor.

            The older woman turned to them. “Finally. Really, I don’t know what use the police is these days. You’ve come to take her away, right?”

            Owen started to say something but was stopped by Ianto’s hand on his arm. He turned away in disgust as the Welshman stepped into the kitchen.

            “Yes, Mrs. Weston. That’s what we’re here for.”

            “So she wasn’t dead after all and the old man died for nothing. He wanted to be with her, he said, and he was dead and gone in three days. Didn’t think about me once, did he? Leaving me in this place, having to live off charity…”

            Ianto tuned her out as he approached Carys. The girl had snatched up a knife and was holding it inexpertly in both hands.

            “Carys? Why don’t you come with us and we can get this sorted out?”

            She laughed hysterically. “Sorted out? They killed my baby. They threw me away like I was garbage. I’m sorting it out just fine. Go away.”

            “Have you thought about this? Suicides go to Purgatory, Carys, but murderers…”

            He made a lunge at her. Slapping the knife out of her hand, he tried to restrain her by grabbing her wrists and using his body weight to pin her in place. But he hadn’t counted on the terrible heat pouring off her skin. It burned his palms. He could smell burning flesh and Owen screaming at him to let go. Stubbornly, he tried to hang on, but finally he had to pull his hands away as his skin began to redden and blister.

            Carys ran towards Owen, hands outstretched. He pivoted out of the way and tried to push her off balance as she went past him. She slapped at his shoulder, and the force of the blow sent him flying. His jacket burst into flames where she had touched it, and he yelped, tearing it off and stomping on it.

            She ran out the front door. They gave chase, but she was moving incredibly fast. As they reached the pavement they saw the Torchwood SUV turn the corner. It screeched to a stop and Gwen jumped out, holding her police issue revolver in her hand and pointing it at the girl running towards them.

            “Stop! Stop or I’ll shoot. Stop!”

            Carys cannonaded right into her, sending her to the ground. Gwen dropped the gun as her head bounced off the tarmac with the force of the impact.  Carys looked at Jack, who was moving towards her from the other side of the car and laughed as she slammed her hands on the back of the SUV.  The metal burst into flames. Jack changed course immediately, diving for the storage space under the front passenger seat. Pulling out the fire extinguisher, he aimed it at the fire. Carys ran down the street and was soon out of sight.

            Ianto and Owen had reached Gwen and were helping her to her feet.

            “Hey, newbie,” Owen groused as he checked her over, “next time you have a gun pointed at an undead creature who’s walking about turning people into dust, do me a favor and pull the trigger, ok?”

            “Owen, stop bullying Gwen,” Ianto said, “or I’ll tell her all about your encounter with the succubus.”

            “No loyalty from one’s colleagues,” the Doctor muttered as he pulled the first aid kit from the smouldering SUV. “Come here and let me check those hands.”

            “What now?” Ianto asked Jack as the Captain put down the extinguisher to examine Ianto’s hands himself.

            “Now we try to figure out who she’s going after next.”

            “The old bat knows something,” Owen said. “Go work your charm while I take care of these two.”