Title: The Queen's Magicians: Past Grief (1/4)
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: Jack is back, but trouble arrives in the form of one of his oldest enemies

Author's Note: I don't usually try to do two fics at the same time, but today I needed something to raise my spirits, so here's the first part of my version of KKBB

Author's Note: Carraig Phádraig is, of course, the Rock of Cashel. In this 'verse, the Aes Sidhe kept their seat. The Kings of Mumu (Muman, Munster), Jack's relatives, hold court as their ancestors did, at Slieveragh Hill

Author's Note: the title comes from A Winter's Tale, Act 3 Scene 2: What's gone and what's past help Should be past grief.

“A cluricaune? What the blinkin' hell is a cluricaune?”

Ianto winced. Owen could put more irritation into a single sentence than anyone else he knew. “A cluricaune, or clúrachán, is one of the three solitary sidhe, the other ones being the leprechaun and the far darrig.”

Gwen smothered a yawn. “What I want to know is, what is he doing with all that plonk he's stolen?”

They had been up for three days, after one of their police contacts had called to tell them about the strange little man who was raiding cellars all over Cardiff. At the home of Sir Joseph Treaherne, a well-known oenophile, he had left behind only a couple of cases of new wine Sir Joseph had acquired as a novelty to entertain his friends at a dinner party, but not before tasting it and expressing his opinion by pissing all over the bottles. They had been called in when one of the groundskeepers at Treaherne estate, an Irish man with a reputation for common sense and sober living, had sworn up and down that it had been one of the daoine beaga, the little folk.

“He drinks it.”

“He what?” Owen stared at him. “Ianto, not even a fairy could drink that much!”

“Actually,” Tosh sounded like she was suppressing a fit of the giggles, “that's what a cluricaune does. He drinks. And drinks. And drinks. And if he offers to pay for it he uses the spré na scillenagh, magical coins that return to him after he's gone. Not that this one has offered.”

Ianto grinned at her. “Tosh plotted his visits and he's working his way through the city in a slingshot pattern...”

“As befits a drunken fairy,” Owen muttered.

“Owen, please,” Gwen said. “Drunk or not, he can still knock us on our arses. Polite goes a long way with the Fair Ones.”

“All right, all right. So we're here outside the...” he moved around until he could see the sign on the pub across the street, “Anchor and Copper waiting for him to show up?”

“Exactly.” Ianto calibrated his scanner and nodded to Tosh. “The owner is a friend of my father’s. He's watching from inside and will signal us. The little folk can fool scanners sometimes.”

They waited while the pub emptied and the street grew dark as storefront stores and restaurants shut down for the night. It was dampish, but the rain had stopped in the afternoon, so at least they didn't have to contend with wet shoes or wet necks. Another hour passed, and just as Ianto was ready to give up for the night, they saw two flashes of light coming from the one of the windows. Ianto sprinted towards the alleyway that ran between the pub and the Indian restaurant next door. The others followed, pulling out their weapons.

Ianto led them through a door that opened into a walled garden with raised beds bursting with vegetables and herbs. Light spilled into the square from a large kitchen window. He pointed at the kitchen door, then at a narrow passageway leading to a side door. Owen nodded and moved towards the kitchen door, followed quickly by Tosh, while Ianto and Gwen headed for the side door.

Suddenly the silence was broken by wild laughter and the sound of bottles exploding like popcorn. They looked at each other and, abandoning any attempt at stealth, rushed through the door. They found themselves in a long, low public room that tried its best to mimic a nineteenth century gentleman’s club. They could see Owen and Tosh running in from the kitchen side, guns at the ready, only to skid to a stop, much as they themselves had done.

The cluricaune sat in mid-air, swigging from bottle after bottle while throwing the empties violently down to crash on the tiles and send shards flying in every direction. Behind the bar, an old man shielded a young woman from the flying glass; he had several cuts in his arms and face, and a long, jagged piece of green glass protruded from his shoulder. Every once in a while he would try to inch slowly out of the cluricaune’s line of sight, only to be brought back by a well-aimed bottle. The girl seemed about to collapse with terror;  it was clear that it wouldn't take much to tip her into catatonia.

Ianto saw Owen's eyes take in the condition of the old man and the girl and he knew they were all in trouble.

“Oi, you drunk fairy!” Owen shouted as he stepped into the room.

The cluricaune turned without losing his cross-legged stance. “Well, look who's here. Torchwood.” His head swiveled in all direction. “The Healer who cannot heal himself. The Medium who hides from her dead. The Speaker to Animals who silences her own voice.” He glared at Ianto. “And that leaves the Heir who fears his own nature. All of you, lost without your master. All of you, pretending to be so brave.” He began to swell. His mouth became an enormous slash filled with dirty yellow fangs and his nails lenghtened into knives. “Which one of you will fight me?”

Ianto couldn't really see what happened. One moment the cluricaune was sitting in midair and the next he was behind the bar, slapping the old man half-way across the room and holding the girl in front of him like a shield, with one arm wrapped around her neck. The girl's terrified screams trailed off into a gurgle as his elbow tightened, cutting off her air. “Well, which one of you will take the chance that your cold iron will kill her instead? Which one of you will bear her soul's destruction? Do you dare pay the price, as your master has done? Do you...”

Whatever else he was going to say was lost in the loud bark of a Webley. The cluricaune slid to the floor in a heap that smoked and smouldered. Ianto turned towards the sound, heart nearly jumping out of his chest, terrified of disappointment.

Jack stood by the front door, still in his usual shooting stance. “Hi, kids. Did you miss me?”

Ianto didn't know who gave the loud banshee screech as they all ran at Jack, throwing themselves at him. It turned into a group hug as Jack distributes kisses at random. Even Owen came in for a loud smack on the lips. Then the others detached themselves and left him and Jack standing with their arms around each other's waists. He was aware of Owen and Gwen moving to help the old man and the girl while Tosh scanned the pile of old rags and acrid-smelling bones that had been the cluricaune, but his attention was completely focused on Jack, who was shaking as he hung on, burying his face into Ianto's neck and inhaling as if trying to breath in Ianto's essence.

“Jack,” Ianto whispered. “Are you all right?”

“Now I am.” Jack tightened his arms a little. “We'll talk later. I promise.”

He stepped back. “Tosh, don't stand so close. It's going to catch fire soon.” As if Jack's comment were an order the cluricaune's corpse burst into flames that jumped high over Tosh's head and immediately died down, leaving behind a pile of ash. “Gwen, did you call the constabulary yet? Good. Owen, any major damage to either Mr. Stoner or his daughter?”

Trust Jack to know who the two people were, Ianto thought, as he helped Tosh collect samples.

“No.” Owen stood up. “Cuts and bruises, mostly. They're going to need a spiritual Healer, though.”

“Agreed. “ He looked around. “Where is Andy?”

“On his way back from Ireland.” Ianto put the sample bags into a zippered carry bag and activated the Seals. “There has been some strange news coming out of Carraig Phádraig. He was asked by Mother Katherine to go investigate. Something about his having a foot in at Court?”

Jack nodded. “I introduced him a number of years ago to my cousin Nuada and his wife Grainne at Slieveragh. Grainne has relatives in Phádraig, and she is very fond of Andy. If anyone can get the Lord Ogma to speak to a Christian it might just be her.”

“When he called all he said was that he had interesting news.” Ianto rolled his eyes. “Which might mean anything from there are rumours but nothing solid to batten down the hatches there's a shitstorm coming.”

Jack laughed. “That's my Andy.” He cocked his head. “The police are here.”

A few minutes later a plainclothes inspector swaggered in, followed by a senior constable and several uniformed patrol men. The constable smug expression collapsed into chagrin as he spotted Jack.

“Good evening, Inpector Lougher.” Jack was at his most charming. “I believe my team has taken care of your little thief. I think I shall leave you to manage. You can, can't you? The pile of ashes is your criminal and the two people over there have received first aid but need medical attention. I'll file a report with the Chief tomorrow.” A single gesture brought the others to his side. “Now I think I shall buy them a well deserved beer, take them home, and tuck them in for the night.”

He swept out, coat flaring. The others fell into their usual phalanx behind him. Ianto caught Tosh's eye and they grinned at each other. They could hear muttering from some of the assembled police, but they also got more than a few discreet smiles and nods as they passed. At that moment Ianto didn't care one way or another. He was where he belonged, right behind Jack's left shoulder.

Outside, the usual crowd had gathered. Ianto noticed he didn't have to tell Jack where he had parked the SUV, which probably meant Jack had been tracking them for a while. They followed in his wake. As they passed the onlookers, a young girl darted out and grabbed Jack's coat.

“Captain Harkness, sir.” Her voice had the soft tinge of the Romani Cymreig. “I have something for you.”

Jack crouched to be at her eye level. “Have you, my sweet?”

“Aye.” She offered him an envelope. “From your friend in Helmantika.”

Ianto couldn't see Jack's face, but the sudden rigidity of his back told him all he needed to know.

“Thank you, my sweet.” Jack reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a coin. “And this is for you. Tell your sero that Jack sends his regards.”

“And so I will,” she curtsyed and was gone in a flash, disappearing into the crowd.

“Jack?” Gwen asked hesitantly.

Jack turned to face them and Ianto was shocked by the coldness in his eyes. He opened the envelope and pulled out three dried oak leaves. He rubbed them between his fingers for a few long moments, then looked at them. “I have to go meet someone. Stay here. Don't follow me.”

“Jack!” Gwen protested.

Jack jumped into the SUV and drove away, leaving them staring at each other.

“The bastard!” Owen exploded. “He shows up, he leaves, just like that? No explanation?”

Tosh dug into her bag and produced her tablet. “I can track him.”

Gwen was looking at Ianto. “You know where he's going, don't you?”

“Yes.” He put two fingers to his mouth and let out a loud whistle. “Taxi!”