\Title: Combat (3/4)

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: Something is killing weevils, and Torchwood is out to stop it...

After Jack’s revelations, they had managed to keep up the semblance of a business meeting. Gwen reported that the man in hospital was too scared to breathe, much less to speak to anyone about whatever had happened to him, but that his injuries had definitely been caused by a weevil. Owen had discussed the details of his autopsies, much to the disgust of Gwen, Tosh, and Andy, who complained loudly of having guts and gore along with their cocoanut meringues. Lunch had ended with a brief but spirited barrage of serviettes aimed at Owen's head after a particularly repulsive description.

Jack had retreated to his office after lunch to make some calls, or so he said. Ianto watched him go without a word. He did his usual afternoon rounds, then, after he had judged enough time had passed, he made some coffee, filled a mug, and went upstairs.

Jack took the mug with one hand and Ianto’s hand with the other. “Thank you.”

“For afternoon coffee?” Ianto moved to sit on the edge of the desk, his thigh providing a comfortable place for Jack to rest his arm. “Maybe I should have brought a biscuit too.”

“Ianto…”

“Jack, you care for me knowing what I am. Did you think it would be different for me?”

Jack brought Ianto’s hand to his cheek. “No, I suppose not. Though I wouldn’t have blamed you. Demon, weevil…”

“Dark empath, mind-rapist, vampire food… It’s not what happens to us that makes us, Jack. It’s what we choose to do with it. You taught me that.”

He leaned in and pressed his lips to Jack’s. The kiss deepened as Jack’s hands came up to frame his face and hold him in place and Jack’s tongue swept into his mouth. Ianto leaned in even further, loving the intoxicating, triumphant feeling that came from being kissed by Jack, of being Jack's chosen.

A loud cough made them pull apart. Ianto looked in the direction of the sound and saw Tosh standing by the door, holding some papers in her hand. She was flushed and breathing a bit hard. He gave her a wicked grin and watched as the flush deepened.

“Yes, Tosh?”

“We have some interesting results you might want to see.”

“And they sent you as messenger?” Jack asked.

“Well,” she answered pertly. “These days we’re likely to find you… like I found you. Not that we have any objections, but Owen is easily embarrassed and Gwen tends to drool a bit too much. So I’m the best choice. I only drool a little.”

Laughing, Jack stood up. “That’s a logical decision if I’ve ever heard one.”

They found Gwen and Owen in the sitting area drinking coffee and eating biscuits. Jack plunked himself down between them. Grabbing the last biscuit out of Gwen’s hand, he bit into it with gusto. “Report, children.”

“You first, Tosh.” Gwen said. “All I have is some confirmation of what you found.”

“All right.” Tosh used a remote to activate the largest monitor at her desk A photo of the man Jack and Ianto had briefly captured was displayed on the left hand side. “Bob Kasey. Mediocre professional boxer and failed pub owner. For the last ten years he’s worked for Lynch Frost, the estate agents. Odd jobs. Cleanups, furniture moving, that sort of thing. Now, when I was looking into Tresillian Transport,” Alan Tresillian’s face came up on the right, “I found out they worked almost exclusively for Lynch Frost. The industrial park is owned and operated by Lynch Frost.”

She hit the remote again and another man’s face appeared. It was a hard face, but not unattractive. “Mark Lynch, CEO of Lynch Frost. Came out of nowhere fifteen years ago and built an industrial property empire. His official biography hits all the right notes. Right schools, right events, right charities. And it's all rubbish.”

“And his unofficial one?” Jack asked.

“Council housing boy, scholarship to St. Paul’s cathedral school, scholarship to what was then Middlesex Polytechnic. Altogether unexceptional, really, but not the background that would have let him move in City circles. But this is the really interesting part.”

She pulled up another photo, showing Mark Lynch wearing boxing gears but no gloves. “Mark Lynch earned his living expenses during college in fight clubs. He was very successful. Then he branched out into other sorts of bets. In fact, he made his first million on a bet that he could climb the London Eye and dive off the top.”

“Arsehole.” Owen spoke with the disdain of the casualty ward doctor for the idiots that made their hard lives harder. “It's him, Jack.”

“Watch out, Owen. Your prejudices are showing.”

“In this case, he's probably right.” Gwen said. “Mike ap Gwyn at Caernarfon swears that Mark Lynch is responsible for a couple of fatal accidents up Yr Wyddfa. Rumour is he drove two men to near-bankruptcy then told them in front of witnesses that he would return everything they had lost and invest a million pounds into their business if they climbed Snowdon in the fog by way of Clogwyn y Grochan. They fell off one of the paths. And there's a former detective inspector in Shrewsbury who's driving tour buses for a living after he tried to bring charges against Lynch for his part in the suicide of a well-known schoolmistress.”

“So we are fairly certain that Mark Lynch is behind this,” Ianto said, “but we have no proof. And we're not likely to get it, the way people run for cover or get murdered every time we get close.”

“We need to work from the inside,” Gwen said. “But how?”

“Simple.” Owen jabbed a finger in the direction of the monitor. “Someone has to draw the tosser out. It can't be either one of you. Whoever shot at you saw  you,” he said pointing to Jack and Ianto in turn. “It can't be one of the girls because men like Lynch don't really think of women as sentient beings. So it has to be me. I'm their sort of person. Council housing, scholarship, a little too brash, a lot too unrefined, given to taking long chances because that's what paid off. Even if Ianto here were to use his talent for disguise, he'd have to practice to be like Mark Lynch. On the other hand, I'm exactly like him.”

“You're nothing like him,” Tosh protested.

“Not now, but there but for the grace of God and Jack go I.” He turned back to Jack. “Well?”

“All right. Tosh, we need to give Owen a solid background. Lynch probably runs complete checks on everyone who comes hear him. Make sure Owen's new life stands up to scrutiny. Give him a great deal to lose.”

She grinned at him. “I know just the thing.”

Owen groaned. “She's going to do something horrid, I know she is. So what's the best way to meet this bloke?”

 

“The Siren. Place with all female bartenders?” Tosh said without turning around. “Lynch goes there almost every night. Owen, do you have any clothes that don't look like you got got them at Oxfam?” She laughed at his outraged bellow. “Well, the king of jellied eels can't go around looking like something the cat dragged in, now, can he?”

“The what? No, never mind.” He turned the monitor around and studied her work. “Lord, you are really something. All right. I'll go home now and get ready.”

“Wear the green silk tie I gave you for Christmas,” Ianto ordered. “The tracker will look perfect against it.”

As Owen left, Ianto, Gwen, and Jack moved as one to look at the monitor. They burst out laughing at the garish website and at Owen's portrait, looking smug and self-satisfied while staring into a giant vat full of eels.

About an hour later, Owen phoned. “I'm in place. Tracker on, Tosh. Keep an eye on me, will you? I don't fancy ending up in hospital tonight. Here comes Lynch.”

They listened in as Owen chatted up the pretty bartender. Moving my business to Cardiff.... I'm trying to find industrial properties. Processing plant and warehouses, that sort of thing... Her answers were lost in the music, but they did hear Mark Lynch introduce himself and start making his sales pitch. Owen's let's go sit over there where it's a bit more quiet was followed by another burst of music and then God, that's better. If that's the only entertainment I can find in Cardiff I'm going to be going back to London frequently. Mark Lynch laughed. There's better things to do, if you have a mind to it. Owen, Like what? Another laugh from Lynch. A better way to let out the anger. Owen, with just the right amount of defensiveness, I'm not angry. Lynch, amused, everybody is, Owen. Something's coming. Out there in the darkness, something is coming. And it brings rage. Soon enough that's all we'll have.

Owen, I'll keep it in mind, but not tonight. I've had a long day and I don't feel like traipsing all over Cardiff looking for entertainment. Lynch, eager now, actually we're quite close to the place. Coming? Owen, not too eager, why not? I'm still wired.

They left the club and walked towards the dock area, away from the lights and noise of the tourist spots. As they passed last of the flat blocks on Pier Head Road, the image on the monitor disappeared and was replaced with old-fashioned white “snow”. At the same time the tracker signal sputtered and fell silent. Toshiko swore sulfurously and inventively and her fingers went into overdrive as she tried to retrieve the signals.

“Forget it, Tosh,” Ianto said quietly. “It's not mechanical failure. Someone's interfering.”

“What do we do, Jack?” Gwen suddenly felt on the edge of tears. “We can't lose him.”

“We won't. Ianto, would you help Tosh with the preparations? Gwen, with me.”

She followed him down the same corridor that led to the underground beach. They passed by the hidden door and kept going. The corridor turned left and then right again. It ended at a broad wood and steel door. Jack took a key from his pocket and unlocked it.

“Be careful. She's not used to strangers.”

He pushed the door open. Beyond it there was another corridor lined on either side by small rooms resembling cells. “A prison? We keep prisoners here?”

“We have, if it was necessary. Mostly we use them to house sick or hurt weevils. And Janet.”

“Janet?”

“She's a female weevil. Probably the one and only fertile female in the Cardiff population at the moment.” Jack opened one of the cells. “She's very intelligent and she recognizes us as individuals, which most weevils can't do.” He turned on the small light above the door. “Janet?”

A weevil came out of the shadows. She – Jack said she was a she, but to Gwen's eyes she was identical to every other weevil she had ever seen – moved close to Jack and sniffed him. Jack copied the gesture. Janet moved to Gwen and sniffed her also. A little doubtfully, Gwen sniffed back. To her surprise Janet's smell was earthy but pleasant, a bit like a forest after a thorough rain.

“Janet,” Jack said. “We need your help. Someone is hurting weevils.” Janet whined low in the throat and seemed to be nodding. Jack took her hand. “Can you help us find them, Janet?” Another whine and nod. “Can you show us where the hurt weevils are?”

“We're going to use Janet to find Owen?” Gwen gasped.

“Weevils are slightly telepathic with each other. Janet can probably sense another weevil, especially if it's hurt. She'll lead us to the club.”

“And Owen.” Gwen said.

“Yes. And Owen.”