Title: Trading Partners, Part One 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: Torchwood Three goes chasing monsters, and Toshiko has a glimpse of her true inheritance
Author's Note: In case you're keeping track, this is Countrycide

            Gwen watched in astonishment as her colleagues paraded towards her. Ianto, front and center, carried a birthday cake with a huge candle shaped like a zero; behind him, Owen carried a tray of champagne flutes. Tosh and Jack brought up the rear, arm-in-arm, each carrying a gift-wrapped package.

            “Uh… guys? It’s not my birthday.”

            “We know that.” Ianto set the cake down in front of her and handed her a knife. “But today is your official birth into Torchwood. You have passed your ninety days’ probation and you now a permanent employee of the Crown, with all the priviledges pertaining thereunto.”

            “I didn’t even know I was on probation,” she said.

            Jack shrugged. “That’s neither here nor there. The chair warmers in Westminster will be happy with my report and they will update their files and all will be well in their world. Which reminds me, Ianto, did you finish the report?”

            “Completed, signed, and off to London in the morning post. I put a copy on your desk but I doubt you’ll have any questions.”

            “I’m certain of it. Let’s eat. I need a sugar fix.”

            Gwen cut generous portions and slid them into the plates Ianto had produced from somewhere. He passed them around. After everyone had been served, Jack tapped his fork on the tray.

            “A toast first. To Gwen Cooper. May those who love you, love you, and those who don’t love you, may God turn their hearts. And if he cannot turn their hearts, may he turn their ankles, so you may know them by their limping.”

            She burst into giggles. “What in the world is that?”

            “Old Irish toast. I spent my summers with my cousins in Cashel when I was growing up. The Irish, bless them, have one for every occasion.”

            They sat around companionably, eating cake and enjoying the respite. It had been a mad couple of months. Mab’s visit had left behind all sorts of disturbances. Weevils had been seen ranging for miles beyond their usual grounds. Hauntings were so common that people didn’t even bother calling the exorcist, and undines had been seen in the Taff for the first time in a hundred years. Most of those they had left to the police and the Churches while they dealt with more dangerous things: the ghostly 9:15 from Paddington; the strange cult of the Old Ones Resurgent; and the reappearance of the Roman garrison at Carmarthen. Thankfully, things had begun to slow down in the last few days, and they had gone back to their usual routine.

            Just as Owen was reaching for the last piece of cake, the cog door rolled open and Andy walked in. Gwen, moving fast, slid the cake plate out of reach, earning a glare from the doctor.

            “Andy, come have some cake. I am born into Torchwood today.”

            “I’ve been keeping track.” He produced a small package from his pocket. “But you don’t get it if I don’t get cake.”

            She offered him the plate. “Trade.”

            He limped over to the sitting area, leaning lightly on his cane. He was still dealing with the fallout from his encounter with Elaine de Cussac, although his personal Healer, one doctor Owen Harper, predicted full recovery. As he passed Ianto he gripped the other man’s forearm briefly; Gwen had noticed that they had gotten into the habit of touching each time they met, as if to reassure themselves that everything was fine.

            “I’m afraid I have an ulterior motive for coming,” he said as he lowered himself to the sofa with some difficulty. “The deputy chief asked me to consult you about something. That’s his phrasing, of course. What he means is that we’re at the end of our rope and need help, but we know how strained you’ve been but he’s hoping you’ll jump to it anyway.”

            “The Saes made you, eh?” Gwen asked.

            “He’s cleverer that most of them, that one. Not the usual run of political hack.”

            “So what’s going on?” Jack asked.

            “There’s been a number of disappearances in the Brecons. People just vanishing. We find their cars and their belongings but not head or hair of them.” He bit into a piece of cake. “That’s good. It’s nice to have taste buds again.”

            “People disappear all the time in the mountains,” Owen scoffed. “Idiots who think that because they look so pretty they’re not dangerous.”

            “This is different,” Andy said. “We usually find those within a week, living or not. Like I said, neither head nor hair. Eight people in the last two weeks.”

            Jack sat up. “That’s rather a high number.”

            “We think so too. It’s been mostly tourists, but the last two were locals coming back from the festival at Swansea. People up there are starting to panic. Some are saying that there’s been wolves howling at night.” He sighed. “You know how that goes. Next thing we know there’s going to be rash of dog killings and someone’s going to take it into his head that some poor bloke who works nights is some sort of monster and we have a mess on our hands.”

            “Any reason to believe it’s werewolves?” Ianto asked.

            “I don’t think so.” The emphasis on the pronoun told them that there were other opinions in the Glamorgan Police Department. “Weres kill, eat, and leave the carcasses behind. There’s always something new under the moon, but… no.  Although, mind you, there’s something there, all right.”

            “What makes you think so?”

            “We’ve had one survivor. A Spanish bloke travelling with some folk he met at one of the hostels.” He slid a DVD case from his pocket. “He was found by one of the local farmers. He took him to the clinic at Cuddfadwn. The constable there called us.”

            Tosh took the case to her workstation. Popping the disc into the player, she turned the monitor to face the group. It showed a hospital room. A man lay on the bed, nearly invisible in a mass of tubes and machines. He was a mass of purplish-green bruises. The only thing that seemed unharmed was his eyes, and those were filled with terror.

            The constable next to him was trying to fight back tears. She held his hand in hers as he tried to answer questions, but it was clear that there was little or no sanity left in him.

            “Inhuman… no eran humanos… looked like people, but they were monsters… monsters… no eran humanos… eran monstruos…”

            “They were not human,” Jack translated. “They were monsters.”

            “We can’t get much more out of him, poor man. He’s been regressing more and more every day. Right now he thinks he’s twelve and on his first trip to the UK with his grandparents. The Healers are at their wits’ end. They say is as if something is taking his mind from him piecemeal, but they can’t find a trace of either illness or spell.”

            Jack  stared at the screen for a long time. “Owen, Gwen, we’re going camping. Go home and pack a change of clothes. Tosh, you know what to do. Ianto, would you come up to my office for a moment, please.”

            “Yes, sir.”

            The flat, even tone made Jack wince. He took the stairs two steps at a time without looking back. He had barely taken a few steps into the office before he heard the door click shut softly.

            “Ianto…”

            “Don’t worry, Jack. I understand. You can’t trust me.”

            “Is that what you think this is about?” He turned  to find Ianto standing so close that he could feel his breath. “God, Ianto. I can’t risk you yet. I can’t.”

            “And how long do you think you can keep me in cotton wool, sir?”

            “For a little while longer.  Please.” Jack took a deep breath and very gently gathered Ianto in until their foreheads were touching. “I nearly lost you.”

            Ianto wrapped his arms around Jack’s waist. “Jack… how long can we go on like this?”