Dabbling in Dibley | 03 by a_silver_story
Feb. 9th, 2010 03:05 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
a_silver_storyTitle: Dabbling in Dibley
Chapter: 03
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
a_silver_story
Genre Alternate Universe, Fluff, a bit domestic, crossover-ish
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Men men men men men and more men. Okay ... two.
Disclaimer: If I owned anything in this, I'd be a rich rich rich bitch. However, I am not a rich rich rich bitch so you may all, therefore, assume I own nothing. Which I don't. It all belongs RTD and the BBC, in case any of you didn't know.
Summary: Strange UFO behaviour over a sleepy English village draws out the Torchwood team ... well, Jack and Ianto. Any excuse for a mini-holiday ...
Definitely written more for the Brits, but internationals may still find it entertaining (this chapter is rather devoid of Britishness, but it is about to get very G.O.L.D)
MASTERLIST | Torchwood Index/Masterlist
FIRST PART | Chapter 1
Breakfast in the Vicar of Dibley’s house was a gargantuan affair. Ianto stared at the still-sizzling pork sausages, fried eggs and crispy bacon filling his plate as hash browns and mushrooms were added. Both he and Jack declined the offer of beans, instead tucking in and shovelling the good food into their mouths.
“So what have you boys got planned for today, then?” asked Geraldine brightly as she sat down with her own mountainous plate to join them.
“Well ... I have equipment to set up, and Ianto here is going to interview the witnesses, find out exactly what they saw,” Jack told her, the only one of the two present Torchwood employees who didn’t mind talking with their mouth full.
Ianto gave Jack the Look, and Jack had the decency to look abashed, swallow and apologise for talking with dead pig rolling around in his mouth. Ianto just rolled his eyes, and Geraldine grinned at them both.
“So how long have you two been a couple?” she asked.
“Four years,” Jack smiled over his orange juice.
“Three,” Ianto corrected.
Jack frowned as he tried to do maths in his head. “Four for me: three for you,” he decided. Geraldine gave them a questioning look. “Er ... bit of time travel,” Jack tried to explain, then cleared his throat. “Best if we don’t ....”
“Ahh ... okay. Um ... where did you meet?” the Vicar asked, changing the subject back.
“In a forest at night,” Jack told her, nonplussed. Ianto's cutlery clattered onto his plate.
“Right ....” answered Geraldine, looking a little shocked.
“It wasn’t like that!” Ianto insisted. “He was being attacked and ... and ... I helped! He just doesn’t think before he ... he says things.” Ianto knew he was blushing – there was no point trying to hide it. It didn’t help that Jack had made him wear his red shirt this morning, bringing the colouring of his cheeks out even more and making him look rosier than he probably was.
Geraldine giggled. “You change colour like a mood ring!”
Ianto picked up his knife and fork, once again very, very interested in his bacon. The comment made him blush deeper, and he knew it. Jack was grinning, reaching out to ruffle his hair.
“So ... Jack,” Geraldine continued sweetly. “You’re older than Ianto?”
“Only a little,” Jack pouted.
Ianto sniggered. “Try a lot,” he smirked.
Jack scowled in his general direction.
“He’s eleven years older physically, but mentally? I’d say he’s about ten years old.”
“Ohh my husband says I’m like that,” Geraldine told them dreamily.
“Where is your husband, Vicar?” Ianto asked her. They hadn’t met him yet.
“He’s away with work, but he’ll be back tomorrow.”
“What does he do?”
“He’s an Accountant.”
“Ooo,” Jack grinned. “Does he work in an office?”
“Er ... yes?”
“Good man. I like offices.”
Ianto rolled his eyes. “He’s funny like that. So ... where did you meet ... whatsisname?”
“Harry. He knocked on my door one day,” she said. “Just came to introduce himself and ... the rest is history. Sort of. There was a slight ... stalking phase ....”
Jack laughed. “Ianto had a stalky phase t- ow!”
Ianto smiled politely at Geraldine. “Really?”
Jack was half under the table, rubbing his calf and shooting unsubtle evils at Ianto. Geraldine watched them bemusedly, eating her mushrooms. She and Ianto both jumped a mile when Jack unexpectedly leapt to his feet and shot to the window.
“Did you see ... ?”
He half turned back to the confused face of the Vicar and the unimpressed eyebrow of the Ianto.
“There was ... I ... there ... must have been a bird ....” he mumbled, returning to his seat.
“Sorry,” Ianto apologised on his behalf. “We both get a bit jumpy in the countryside.”
“Really? Whatever for?”
Jack’s expression turned dark, and Ianto seemed to retreat into himself.
“Just ... bad experience,” Jack eventually chose to say.
Geraldine’s eyes flicked between them, and she decided that not replying would be best before she put her foot in her mouth. She announced that she was finished, and moved to collect their plates and do the washing up. Ianto helped her, banishing Jack back to their bedroom for the sake of the crockery.
Finished washing and drying, Ianto made his way back upstairs and found Jack sat on his side of the bed, staring out of the window.
“There’s something watching the house,” Jack told him, not needing to turn to see who had entered. “Can’t you feel it?”
Ianto sat down beside him, raising his eyes to the window. “I feel ... I dunno.”
“Here,” Jack said, getting up. He closed the curtains, and turned to Ianto expectantly. “Feel more ... I dunno ... at ease?”
Ianto frowned. “I don’t feel any different.”
Jack whipped open the curtains again, and Ianto squinted in the morning sun.
“Now?”
Ianto thought about it. “Nope. No different.”
Jack made a noise in the back of his throat, sounding unimpressed. “I think we should stick together,” he decided.
“How so?”
“We go and set up the equipment together. We go and interview witnesses together. We stick together. ‘Kay?”
“Mm. Okay,” shrugged Ianto. “But you’re doing the heavy-lifting. No way am I lugging that sack of sensors up to the site.”
“Okay,” Jack nodded, and Ianto frowned at his back as the Captain turned to gaze out of the window again.
“Just ... okay?”
“If it means you’ll stay where I can see you,” he admitted.
“What happened to ‘It’ll be fine in the country, Ianto’, ‘there’s hardly any real dangers in the country, Ianto’, ‘You’re more likely to get murdered in the city, Ianto ...’”
“Something followed us from that inn and you know it,” snapped Jack, turning to him and folding his arms. “and whatever it is, it’s watching the house.”
Ianto shivered unpleasantly, hugging himself. “Let’s get going,” he decided. “The sooner we get the sensors set up, the sooner we can start on this list of witnesses.”
He produced a neatly folded A4 sheet of paper from his pocket, covered with the Vicar’s tombstone handwriting.
“Oooh look,” grinned Ianto. “She’s even written on warnings. ‘Mrs. Cropley: Don’t eat the food. Frank Pickle: Don’t let him talk too much. Owen Newitt: Has an unhealthy and possibly sexual obsession with his farm animals ....”
Jack snorted involuntarily.
“Well,” sighed Ianto. “He’s called ‘Owen’. He’d have to have an unhealthy sexual obsession with something.”
They smiled wanly at each other.
“Right!” Jack declared, clapping his hands together and nearly making Ianto jump. “Alien detection equipment!”
They made their way out of the house, calling their goodbyes to Geraldine (who Ianto could tell was blatantly checking out Jack’s arse) and opened the boot of the car. Ianto pulled up the false bottom while Jack hefted out the large hiking rucksack, and they shut and locked it, putting on the alarm.
“I say, good morning!” called a cheery male voice behind them. Jack and Ianto turned in unison to see a tall, dark haired, lanky man grinning at them ... wearing a golf jumper.
Ianto tried not to think about it.
“Morning!” Jack offered his hand.
“Morning,” Ianto echoed, offering his own.
“I’m Hugo Horton; my father is the MP for Dibley and Whitworth and is the chairman onf the Parish Council,” he informed them proudly. “Are you the Alien Men?”
“Torchwood,” Jack said importantly. “Captain Jack Harkness, and this is Ianto Jones.”
Hugo stared at him for a second. “Right ... well. Golly gosh – isn’t all this exciting?”
Ianto raised an eyebrow. Really, for him this had so far been pretty mundane.
“Well, anyway, I’m sure you’re both very busy men!” beamed Hugo. “I’ll just ... be on my way, shall I? Oh! Oh – you must pop round to visit some time. Me and my wife Alice and I would just love to have you ‘round!”
Ianto cleared his throat. “If we have time, we’ll certainly drop by,” he said, remembering that Jack would simply accept any invitation of food and wives without a second thought. At least Ianto could earn them a little leeway. Besides, he wouldn’t be surprised if Hugo’s wife turned out to be a coconut on a stick with a lipstick mouth and biro eyes. “Anyway, as you said we’re both very busy, so we really should press on.”
“Yes, yes, of course! Well tally-ho gentlemen!” grinned Hugo, and he carried on towards the Vicarage whilst waving at them.
Jack and Ianto began to head towards the edge of the village, and Ianto felt distinctly uncomfortable at the number of strangers who wished them a good morning.
“Why do they keep saying that? They don’t even know us!”
“It’s the same in north England. Just a friendlier place, even if you are a stranger. Relax, City Boy!” grinned Jack. “It’s an adventure!”
Ianto sighed, and swerved out of the way of a newspaper boy on a bike hurtling around the corner. “Sorry, mister!” the boy yelled over his shoulder, and Ianto blinked.
“That kid had manners,” he frowned as they approached the edge of the village. He raised his eyes to the rolling hills and fields ahead and found himself stopping. “Jack ....” he called, the Captain not quite realising he was walking on alone yet.
“Hmm?” Jack asked, turning around and looking concerned when he realised Ianto wasn’t with him. “Ianto?”
“I ... I don’t ... open fields ....”
Jack turned to glance over the vast expanse of grass, a neat patchwork in shades of yellow and green, divided by neat dry-walling with the occasional cow, sheep or horse grazing.
“Ianto!” Jack called sharply, and Ianto brought his attention back.
“I ... just don’t stray too far from me, okay?”
“C’mon,” Jack encouraged, holding out his hand. Ianto bit his lip and took it, allowing Jack to slip both their hands into the pocket of the greatcoat. “It’ll be fine,” Jack assured him.
“I know ... and it’s silly ... I jus–”
“It’s not silly,” Jack cut him off. “It’s not.”
~*~*~*~
Ianto sat on Jack’s coat on the grass, tipping his head back in the sparse sunshine. The grass had not long been mown, and the sweet scent of it made him sluggish and sleepy. Jack was close, burying a sensor by the large rock Geraldine had pointed out to them as their best possible landmark for locating the UFO sightings exactly, and Ianto watched him for a minute or two.
His braces were slung low, his shirt discarded to Ianto's hands, and sweat made his white undershirt semi-transparent. His brow glistened with exertion, and Ianto lay back on his elbows, glad he wasn’t stuck in a stuffy house interviewing witnesses and missing the fantastic views on the hillside.
Jack glanced over and caught Ianto watching, flashing him a wolfish grin. “Enjoying the scenery?”
Ianto gave a small laugh, digging in the hiking bag and pulling out a thermos. “Nice cold water?” he offered. “I packed two thermoses, just in case.”
“That’s what the extra weight was,” Jack grumbled good-naturedly, striding over to sit next to him on the coat. “When we dig these things up, we’ll have to bring a picnic blanket.”
“Already made a note,” Ianto told him absently, pouring a cup full of water. Jack held his hand out for the thermos itself.
“I’m parched,” he sighed, glugging down seven huge mouthfuls. He leant over to the side until he slumped on Ianto's shoulder.
“You’re boiling,” Ianto complained, shrugging him off playfully. Jack pouted, then smirked. Lunging, he trapped Ianto in his arms, and was at first surprised by the lack of struggle. He didn’t realise that Ianto would be quite so momentarily overcome by the pheromones in his excess sweat, mixed with the scent of a man hard at work. Then Ianto remembered himself, and in his struggle to get away accidentally spilt his cup of ice cold water down the front of Jack’s t-shirt.
Jack gasped in shock, and Ianto tried not to laugh.
“Sorry! I didn’t mean to- no!” Ianto tried to get away as Jack swung the thermos, splashing a small amount down the back of Ianto's neck. Ianto squealed and scrambled to get away as another splash lashed over his back. “It’s cold!” he squeaked, finding himself trapped face down, Jack on top of him. “No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no!” he begged, feeling water starting to drip onto the back of his head as Jack began to tip the thermos.
Suddenly, Jack's weight disappeared, and Ianto rolled over in confusion. “Jack?”
“Ianto!” Jack yelled, and Ianto turned to see him wrestling a ... thing.
It looked like a small boy – about ten years old – with milk white skin, a shock of black hair and wearing grubby, dirty clothes. The comparison ended there as Ianto saw the scaled claws extended from its arms towards Jack’s throat, and the hollow, black spaces with deep set and glittering onyx eyes. It didn’t have a mouth – not where Ianto could see.
Seeing Jack in danger, Ianto lunged forward, tackling the creature off him and rolling with it a little way down the hill. It made an angry gurgling sound, and capturing one of its arms Ianto managed to stop them tumbling as well as getting the Thing onto its front, pressing his weight onto its back and pinning it down.
“Ianto!” he heard Jack calling, and he appeared at his side with restraints.
“The sensors didn’t pick it up,” Ianto panted. “They should have picked it up.”
The Thing bucked beneath him, and Ianto lost his balance with the force of it, falling to his side. It sprang up, still with restraints on its hands, and launched itself at Jack again. Jack had seen Ianto tumble and was ready for it, puncturing its neck with a syringe and holding it down until the sedative took effect.
“What is it?” asked Ianto, clutching Jack’s arm as they crouched by it. He shivered, cold from the water Jack had poured over him, and was grateful when the Captain pulled him close, kissed his head and put a firm arm around him.
“Not sure,” sighed Jack. “How do we get it back?”
“We could put it in the hiking bag,” suggested Ianto. “I’ll fetch it.”
He stood and hurried over to the coat and the bag, shivering again. He gathered up the rucksack and took it to Jack, who was lifting the creature up carefully. “I don’t know how long the sedatives will last,” he was saying. “so keep a couple of doses ready.”
“Already have,” Ianto said, holding the bag open as Jack put the alien in it feet-first. He ensured it was curled up safely before half-zipping the top and buckling it shut.
“Help me on with it?” he asked, and Ianto helped him heft it onto his shoulders. “Heavier than it looks ....” he grunted, testing the weight before Ianto let go. He adjusted the straps while Ianto went to fetch his coat and shirt.
Ianto winced as he pulled his suit jacket on over his wet clothes, inwardly cursing Jack now that the moisture was spreading and making him colder and colder. He slung the greatcoat over his arm, hurrying back to where Jack was waiting. Jack tutted and rolled his eyes. “Still cold?” he asked.
“Bloody freezing,” grumbled Ianto.
“Put the coat on,” Jack told him.
Ianto blinked, but didn’t need telling twice. He swung the heavy wool around him, buttoning it up and fastening the belt, basking in the warmth of it – and in Jack’s lingering scent.
“You don’t need to button it up, surely?”
“It looks smarter buttoned up,” Ianto sniffed. “Besides – the neck frames my head.”
Jack gave him a sidelong glance as they set off walking. “Have you been trying my coat on in the mirror when I’ve not been looking?”
“Erm ...”
Ianto was cut off when a high pitched gurgle sounded in the rucksack. The Thing started squirming and scratching with its claws, and Ianto quickly stabbed the syringe through the hiking bag and sedated it again. “Is this what’s been causing the bother? The UFOs?”
“I don’t think so,” sighed Jack. “I think this is what’s been following us.”
Ianto frowned. “It ... it was on the sign. For the inn.”
“Or a representation of it,” agreed Jack. “Maybe we should have stayed to question the locals?”
“Maybe,” sighed Ianto. “Speaking of questioning: what do we do with the Thing while we’re out chatting to witnesses?”
“We could tell Geraldine it’s our wayward nephew and could she possibly watch him for a couple of hours?” joked Jack.
“Our wayward nephew?” asked Ianto, a smile tugging at his lips.
Jack shrugged. “She thinks we’re a couple, so it’d make sense.”
“Thinks?” Ianto raised an eyebrow.
“Y’know in the ... ‘how long have you been together, where did you meet, how many children do you have?’ sort of way.”
“I see.”
“... you sound unimpressed. Have I said something?”
“No ... no it’s nothing.”
Jack narrowed his eyes at him a little. “My Yantoe-senses are tingling,” Jack informed him.
Ianto gave a small laugh. “I said it’s nothing,” he sighed affectionately, reaching out to ruffle Jack’s hair. There was a gurgle and a squirm in the rucksack, and Ianto grumbled as he injected another lot of sedative into the bag. “Bloody thing. Why do you think it was following us?”
Jack attempted a shrug, but it was hard with the heavy bag strapped to his back. “Maybe we’re new; maybe it just liked the taste of us.”
“Taste?” frowned Ianto. “It doesn’t have a mouth ....”
“There’s tiny little suckers under its nails. I think it absorbs blood,” Jack explained. “We’ll examine it properly once we get back. Maybe pump it full of sedatives and have a proper look.”
“I brought that collapsible cage we found last year,” Ianto told him. “The gold one. Maybe we can keep it in that for the time being – until we can get it back to the Hub.”
“I’m not so sure we should keep it alive,” Jack said quietly.
“Why?”
“It’s on its own, it’s not exactly scared of attacking people and it hasn’t kept itself too secret so far.”
“So? We could keep it in the vaults.”
“What for? Would it enjoy life in the vaults?”
Ianto sighed. “We’ll see how sentient it is,” he decided.
“Mmm,” agreed Jack, though Ianto was pretty sure the Captain had already made up his mind.
They trudged onwards, Ianto sticking close to Jack and occasionally glancing around furtively. Other than that he kept his eyes down, watching Jack’s booted feet striding in step beside him until the mud paths gave way to gravel, then tarmac road. Geraldine let them into her cottage, looking a little flustered at Jack’s semi-undressed state and the sweat on his brow from carrying the bag, and they both made their way upstairs to get showered and changed before facing the witnesses.
First, though, they had a restless alien to deal with.
Both of them lifted it into the cage Ianto had brought, and crouched by it, waiting for the creature to stir. They sat at the foot of their pushed-together beds patiently, and eventually the Thing gurgled and stirred. As soon as it was able, it tried reaching through the bars, uselessly clawing at Jack’s boots.
“Hey!” Jack complained, pulling his feet away. “Stop that!” he commanded. The creature looked at him, cocking its head to the side as it calculated. Ianto leaned forward to get a bet look at it, and its eyes tracked the movement. Slowly, the clawed arm retracted inside the cage, and the alien knelt and clutched the bars like a prisoner. It stared at Ianto, and Ianto squirmed.
“Did you understand me?” Jack asked, finding himself ignored.
“I don’t think it did,” whispered Ianto, feeling wary as the creature sat up to the sound of his voice. It’s head cocked to the side again, watching him, black eyes boring into his blue.
“Hey!” Jack commanded, but again the alien ignored him.
“Hello?” Ianto said, and the creature twitched. “Well ... it hears me ....”
“I think you should stay away from it,” Jack decided, raising his arm and pushing Ianto back from where he’d been leaning into the cage. Without warning, the creature lashed forward and dug its claws into Jack’s arm. Jack hissed and grabbed its wrist, wrenching it out of his forearm. Ianto pulled Jack back, glaring at the mouthless Thing, and moving to inspect the wound.
“Ouch,” he assessed, looking at it.
“Just what I was thinking,” grimaced Jack. “Unless I die soon, it’s gonna take forever to heal,” he grumbled.
“Let it drink you dry then,” Ianto smirked.
“Oh, har har.”
“I’ve got a first aid kit,” Ianto told him, pulling out the green box from the bedside cabinet. He got some tissues from the box on the side as well in case blood started dripping on the floor, and sat back beside Jack, pulling an antiseptic wipe from a foil packet. “Told you I didn’t over-pack,” he declared proudly.
Jack was a little distracted by the pain shooting through his arm – especially with the wipe now applied, no matter how gentle Ianto was being. Ianto tutted, inspecting the clean wound.
“You might need stitches,” he said, biting his lip. “The claws tore in pretty deep.”
“You remember how?”
“Yeah,” nodded Ianto, getting anaesthetic ready.
“Ahhh that feels better,” sighed Jack as the painkillers took effect. “You,” He pointed at the Thing. “are a little bastard.”
It didn’t react to him, simply flexing its claws and watching the movements of Ianto's hands around the bloodied wounds.
Nearly twenty minutes later, Ianto pressed a cotton pad to the sewn-up gashes and wrapped a bandage around the forearm. They both jumped as there was a knock on the door, and Geraldine bustled in with a smile, glanced around and froze.
“What in God’s name is that?” she gasped.
“We’re not sure,” Jack told her, standing up and flexing his arm.
“Is that what’s ... is that ... is ... how ... UFOs?” she managed to finally say.
“Nah,” Jack shook his head. “That’s just something that followed us here. We’ll pump it full of sedatives and it won’t be a bother.”
“... we don’t think,” Ianto finished for him.
Geraldine was still staring at it, and it was still staring at Ianto.
“It’s very ... human-like ....” she mumbled. Then she cleared her throat. “Well ... erm ... councillor Horton is here to see you when ... you’re ... ready ....”
“Oh!” Ianto exclaimed. “Can’t we at least shower and change first. We’ve been hard at work all morning.”
Jack raised an eyebrow. “Especially me,” he clarified.
Ianto thought out loud. “We could share a quick shower ... not like that!” he realised, as both Jack and Geraldine’s faces lit up. “I meant ... for ... timing and ... practicality.”
“Yes ... that could work ....” Geraldine agreed dreamily. “Well ... don’t be too long and ... don’t get distracted ....” she winked, making her way out of the room and trying not to stare at the alien. Ianto had suspected to this point she had probably thought aliens weren’t real and she was just humouring her Parish.
“Okay,” Jack clapped his hands together. “How do we sedate this thing?”
“I’ll distract it, you stab it.”
“That sounds familiar.”
“Well ... it ignored you,” Ianto pointed out.
It stared at Ianto transfixed, jumping only marginally when the first syringe jabbed it, forcing it to slump over. They injected it with a few more doses, checked it was still alive and covered the cage with a throw. They left a note on it in case Geraldine came back, warning her not to let it touch her, not to try and give it food or drink or to let it out – no matter how sad or lonely it sounded if it woke up.
Quickly Ianto managed to drag Jack into the shower and back to the bedroom without too much hassle, and they dressed as fast as possible, hurrying back down the stairs with wet hair to meet the councillor.
The councillor – the father of Hugo, whom they had met earlier – was seemingly as fond of tweed as his son was golf jumpers. Ianto could instantly tell he was old-fashioned and traditionalist, probably opposed the hunting ban and had a pipe tucked inside his breast pocket.
“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” he greeted them austerely, holding out his hand to Ianto. Ianto shook it, and watched the rigidity with which Jack’s was accepted. “So, you’re here to humour the crackpots, then?” he asked, sitting down on the couch.
“I’ll go and make some tea,” Geraldine said awkwardly, scooting out of the room as quickly as possible.
“Very good, Vicar!” boomed Horton. “I’m David Horton, councillor for Dibley and Whitworth and head of the Parish Council. You are?”
He spoke to Ianto, not Jack, and Ianto wasn’t quite used to being addressed first.
“I’m Ianto Jones,” he said. “And this is Captain Jack Harkness.”
“Good afternoon, David,” smiled Jack.
“Hmm. They said there was a Yank,” Horton commented. “Captain, eh?”
“Royal Air Force,” clarified Jack. “And I’m not American. I just have the accent.”
“Mm. And ‘Ianto’? Where’s that from?”
“Wales,” Ianto told him proudly.
“Beautiful country,” nodded Horton. “Bit of a funny accent though.”
“Hilarious,” Ianto replied dryly. Well ... he couldn’t exactly disagree ....
“So,” Horton was trying to move things on. “What exactly are you two doing about these ... ‘sightings’.”
He was speaking to Ianto again, and his tone suggested he didn’t believe that aliens existed, and that whomever had reported UFOs was insane. The fact they’d got a response was apparently ludicrous to him.
Jack spoke. “We took some sensors up to the site, we’ve set up a boundary and we’ve established a translation and communication port by the phone masts. If the sightings are real we can find out what the aliens want.”
“They could just be lost,” nodded Ianto. “Or they could be here on purpose with unforeseen and ulterior motives.”
“I see,” nodded councillor Horton. “You do realise that the three ‘witnesses’ are the biggest crackpots in this entire village? Chances are they were just seeing things – or maybe they had a dreams they thought were real?”
“No harm it checking it out,” Jack reasoned. “Besides, we got to see your beautiful village and meet its ... agreeable residents.”
Jack glared at Horton, and Horton glared at Jack. Ianto could almost taste the testosterone. “We need to ... erm ... do some ... interviews,” he cut in, and Horton broke the stare with Jack.
“Of course you do,” he agreed. “Well, gentlemen, I’ll be off. I shan’t need tea, Vicar!” he called through to the kitchen. “I’m off now.”
The Vicar trotted back through and bade him goodbye, closing the door behind him. “Don’t mind him,” she smiled to Jack and Ianto. “He’s just looking out for the village. His heart’s in the right place, he’s just ... uptight, doesn’t much like strangers.”
“Or Americans,” Jack observed grimly.
“Long story,” Geraldine batted his concerns away. “So – who are you going to interview first?”
“Umm ... Mrs. Cropley?” Ianto suggested, taking out his list.
“Ooo, good choice. Crazy old bat – just ... promise me you won’t eat anything? Okay?”
“Is her cooking that bad?” Ianto raised an eyebrow.
“Let’s just say ‘Parsnip Brownies’, shall we?” she said overly-sweetly.
~*~*~*~
“As soon as I heard you were coming I got my baking mitts out and I started the oven up!”
“That’s ... lovely,” smiled Ianto politely as they were lead into a small, cosy country kitchen by a tiny old woman wearing a beanie hat and sporting very few of her original teeth. She was also huddled into a bright red cardigan that made Ianto want to package it up and return it to the fifties.
Jack and Ianto had to fold themselves down one side of the tiny and overfilled table, laden with all sorts of cakes and biscuits.
“Have a slice of orange cake!” Mrs. Cropley encouraged, pushing a plate towards them.
“I’m diabetic,” Ianto informed her regretfully, mindful of the Vicar’s warnings. He gave Jack a very smug and pointed ‘Be Polite’ look.
Jack swallowed.
“Erm ... I suppose ... erm ... a little won’t hurt ....” he stammered, reaching for the cake. He lifted it to his mouth, took a bite and chewed for a moment.
His jaw froze.
His eyes widened.
“This is ... interesting,” he managed, over a mouthful of crumbs. “The icing is ... different ....”
“I made it with pickles!” Mrs. Cropley told them proudly. “If you liked the orange cake, maybe you’ll like the Marmite sponge!”
She pushed another plate towards him, and on it was a mound of what appeared to be black sludge.
“It is a shame you’re dietetic, dear,” she sadly said to Ianto.
“Really limits my diet,” Ianto replied, watching as Jack forced some of the Marmite ‘cake’ into his mouth. “Now – Mrs. Cropley – we need to talk to you about the UFOs you say you saw.”
“UFOs?” she frowned.
“The ... the Unidentified Flying Objects,” he clarified.
“Aliens?” choked out Jack as a plate of brownies was pushed towards him. Ianto gave him the ‘Be Polite’ look again, and no matter how exasperated – and slightly green – Jack looked, he was going to eat the damn cake. Just so Ianto could laugh at him later.
“The lights!” realised Mrs. Cropley. “The lights over there! In the sky!”
“Yes, yes,” nodded Ianto. “Can you tell me about them?”
“They were over there – in the sky.”
“Right ... and is there anything else? Were they in formation? Did they make a shape?”
“They were in a circle, and it spun and spun and spun. Over there – in the sky. Would you like some bread and butter pudding surprise?”
Jack looked dubious. “What’s the surprise?”
“Eat it and find out!” she grinned, pushing a plate filled with electric yellow and concrete grey ... stuff ... towards him.
Ianto frowned at it, then internally sniggered. He watched Jack carefully as he raised the smallest spoonful he could manage to his mouth. Ianto waited for him to chew a couple of times, then: “Is that snail?”
Jack looked like he was about to choke.
“From my garden! Bred them myself,” beamed Mrs. Cropley.
Jack swallowed and tried to hide his convulsions. He gave Ianto a very, very, very, very evil look before doing his best to give a somewhat queasy Harkness Grin towards Mrs. Cropley. “Well,” he declared. “The food was delicious, and you’ve been very helpful,” he told her. “but we’re very busy, and really do need to do the rounds of the village.”
“You know – most people usually just leave my food!” beamed Mrs. Cropley as they began to get up to leave.
Jack gave Ianto a very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very evil look.
~*~*~*~
Jack was spitting nails all the way to Frank Pickle’s house.
“... and you just sat there, and let me eat garden snails - have you any idea how unsafe garden snails are to eat – let alone parsnip brownies or Marmite cake!”
“You’d have done the same to ... okay, you wouldn’t have done the same to me,” Ianto conceded. “You’d have done it to Gwen or Owen, though.”
“Yes, but you’re here, Gwen’s not and Owen’s a bit dead,” Jack retorted before grumbling to himself. “Lucky Owen didn’t have to eat bread and butter pudding surprise ....”
Ianto knocked on the door of the house the Vicar’s list indicated. “This is the one we apparently don’t want to talk too much,” he informed Jack, who was still mumbling about the luck of the dead.
The door opened, and a short, elderly but still spritely looking gentleman with a white moustache opened the door, wearing bright red blazer and dickie bow that made Ianto internally bleed.
“Mr. Pickle?” he asked.
“Yes, yes! Do come in! You’re from the alien place aren’t you? Well lots of aliens around here – I saw them, over there, in the sky, don’t you know? Have a seat and I’ll brew some tea and tell you all about it ....”
He guided them into yet another cramped room – this time a living room – and they wedged themselves into the sofa. Five minutes later teacups and saucers were pushed into their hands, and they politely sipped the weak, milky substance as Frank Pickle began to speak.
“Well, it would have been three weeks ago now that I first saw them. I was out for an evening stroll – you know how it is, when your legs just want to pick you up and take you somewhere – when I just happened to see a spark of light out of the corner of my eye. At first I thought it might be lightning, and glanced over at the horizon ... and there, moving through the darkening sky was this ... thing. Speeding and spinning, grey metal shaped like a tortoise shell – and the lights! The lights were beautiful, shining down below it ... and I thought to myself ‘Could it be a plane? Could it be a new kind of helicopter?’. So I went through my head of all the new helicopters I could think of, starting with Airwolf ....”
~*~
“... and from those numerous models I could determine that it probably wasn’t a helicopter at all. At least – not a one that conformed to anything I’d seen before. So, then, I started thinking about planes ....”
~*~
“... so I realised it couldn’t be a plane, either. After a while, I did begin to wonder about hovercraft, but I don’t really know so much about them. Anyway, after I spoke to Letitia Cropley about it, I realise that they might, possibly, be not of this world. So, I thought about every type of science fiction film and television show I’d seen and compared the lights and things and realise that it was probably a likely explanation that what I saw was not of this world.
“Anyway, that was the first time I saw them. The second time, I was looking out of my win- I say, is your young friend alright?”
Jack snapped out of his daze, and looked to his side to find Ianto fast asleep on his shoulder, practically snuggled into his neck.
“Er ... he’s diabetic,” Jack explained, and gave him a hard nudge. Ianto jumped awake, collected his surroundings and cleared his throat.
“Ahem ... that’s a very interesting account, Mr. Pickle,” he said, quite convincingly. He gave his watch a casual glance. “Oh buggeration – Jack, it’s time for our dinner appointment with the Vicar.”
“Already?” asked Jack incredulously. “We really should get going, then, shouldn’t we ... Ianto?”
“Unfortunately, it looks like we’ll have to leave now,” nodded Ianto, and they both made to leave as Mr. Pickle showed to the door. They smiled and said their goodbyes, agreeing that they should all get together again sometime, and as they walked away down the garden path Ianto massaged his cheeks, aching from all the smiling. “It’s nearly twilight,” he noted. “Should we check on the thingy while we’ve got a chance?”
“Probably should – even if it’s still asleep we should give it more sedative, I’d think.”
“We don’t want to kill it,” Ianto reminded him.
“Mmm,” Jack grunted, noncommittally.
Ianto sighed. “Jack ... we can’t just kill it because we don’t know what it is.”
There was no reply, and Ianto sensed Jack’s discomfort.
“What?” he asked. “Jack ... what?”
“I might not have been ... totally honest about ... like ... not knowing what it is.”
Ianto stopped, and Jack turned to face him.
“It’s a ... I don’t know what it’s called. But I know what it does to survive.”
“Other than absorbing blood?”
“It absorbs blood for energy, yeah. But ... well, the boy wouldn’t have been its original form,” Jack began carefully. “In fact, it doesn’t exactly have a form. It transfers from body to body, mutating it to its needs.”
Ianto blinked. “You mean ... in that cage ... that used to be a ten-year-old boy?”
Jack gazed at him sadly, then nodded.
Ianto turned to start walking. “Can we get it out of him?”
“He’s been dead a long time, I’d think. We could scan his brain, but I doubt there’s any activity.”
Ianto nodded, allowing Jack to walk down the path to the Vicarage first. “So ... what is it following us for?”
“I think it might be looking for a stronger host,” Jack said, clearing his throat and knocking to be let in. Geraldine poked her head around the door and let them in with a grin.
“Your day gone well?” she asked. “Dinner should be ready shortly – gammon okay with you boys?”
“Fine, Vicar,” smiled Ianto. “We need to just ... check on the ... Thing. Has it been ... quiet?” he asked.
“Not heard a thing,” Geraldine assured him.
He and Jack hurried up the stairs, and Jack sat on the bed while Ianto pulled back the throw to reveal the cage and the contents. Ianto closed his eyes and massaged his forehead.
“You killed it.”
“It was looking for a new host,” Jack repeated. “And ... well. It could only see you, couldn’t it?”
“What do you mean?”
“Look at the boy. Pale ... dark hair ... what’s the betting his eyes were originally blue? The Thing appears to have a type.”
“So ... why was it attacking you?”
“To absorb energy from me to leave that form and take over you.”
Ianto's eyes widened. “You said it felt ... felt like something was watching me ... at the inn ....”
“So I had to kill it.”
Ianto bit his lip, then nodded. “We’ll burn it in the morning,” he sighed. “What do we do with until then? And what do we tell the Vicar?”
“Tell her it died of old age? She wouldn’t know the difference,” suggested Jack.
“I don’t feel comfortable lying to a Vicar,” Ianto sighed.
“You lie to everyone,” Jack pointed out, and Ianto gave him a sharp look. “I mean like ... um ... the public, and stuff ....” he mumbled. “Look, I’ll tell her we had to kill it before it killed the whole of the village. It’s true, after all.”
“Okay. Maybe,” agreed Ianto, then ran his hand through his hair. “What do we do with the body? I think ... considering it used to be a human ... maybe the Vicar might want to do a small funeral for him?”
Jack shrugged. “We’ll ask her. Maybe move the body to the church or something ....”
“What did you give it to kill it?”
“Overdose of sedative with a couple of air bubbles in it – and there’s some shower gel and toilet bleach in there as well. It won’t have felt a thing.”
Ianto nodded. “Anyway ... we ... should get back downstairs.”
Jack gave him a reassuring smile, and let him lead the way.
~*~*~*~
Jack had checked to make sure the Thing was dead over and over again before locking it in the Church of Saint Barnabus crypt. Locking it securely. Ianto had a feeling he wouldn’t be happy it was dead until it was ashes and dust.
Before going to bed, they checked the readouts of their equipment and set it to sound an alert should anything be picked up.
With a sigh, Ianto climbed between the sheets, still feeling awake after having a nap earlier that afternoon during Frank Pickle’s soliloquy. Jack yawned beside him, and reached out to switch off the bedside lamp. Ianto put a hand on his chest and stopped him, and Jack hesitated, taking Ianto's meaning. Leaning slightly, he allowed Ianto to catch his lips with his own.
“Homosexual relations in a Vicarage? Didn’t think you’d be up for it ....” Jack muttered, flipping Ianto onto his back and lying between his legs.
“Geraldine’s Church of England. She won’t mind,” shrugged Ianto, wrapping his legs around Jack and squeezing him with his thighs, sliding arms around his neck as Jack’s head dipped to kiss and nip at the soft skin below his ear. He felt a strange roughness on the Captain’s arm, and hesitated, remembering what it was. “How’s the wound?” he asked.
“I think you might have to kiss me better,” Jack pouted, leaning down to his lips again. Ianto didn’t even wait before opening his mouth for Jack’s tongue. Jack broke away for air, and smirked down at him. “You know what my own personal goal for tonight is?” he asked.
“Go on?”
He leaned close to Ianto's ear, his lips grazing the lobe with each word. “I’m going to make you cry out to God ....” he whispered.
Ianto shivered, and did his best to roll his eyes. “Tenner says you can’t,” he replied.
“Twenty says I can.”
“Fifty says can’t.”
“You’re on,” grinned Jack wolfishly, kissing his way down Ianto's body and pulling off both their pyjama bottoms as he went. He rested Ianto's thighs on his shoulders, his mouth hovering over hard cock and fingers slick with spit as he nudged them forward and inside.
Ianto sucked air in through his teeth, half gasping and half hissing. He felt Jack’s tongue ghost over the head of his erection, barely even touching but still making him bite his lip and close his eyes. More tongue this time, licking a circle around the tip, then a stripe downwards towards his balls. He clenched hard as the fingers inside him tried to stretch him open, the saliva cooling under Jack’s breath before he groaned and bucked as the head of his cock was swallowed.
“Whatwuszat?” Jack asked, mouth filled with hard flesh.
Ianto moaned again. “I said ... good ... good ... feels good ....” he murmured.
“Mmm,” hummed Jack, and Ianto writhed, restraining himself from bucking as the Captain allowed pale hands to push his head down until teeth touched pelvic bone and dick slipped down throat. Jack pulled back, gasping for air, moving his fingers in and out of Ianto's body as he reached into the duffel for the lube. He sucked and kissed a mark onto the insides of Ianto's thigh, just below where the leg creased to pelvis and the flesh was soft and sensitised. Withdrawing his fingers, he squeezed on some gel and pushed them inside again, shoving Ianto's legs open wider with his other hand.
In counteraction, Ianto reached down and squeezed Jack’s cock with a grin, feeling fingers inside him scissor and stretch out in response, his head tipping back as he arched and let go. Finally the fingers withdrew, and Jack nearly growled when Ianto pushed him back and stopped him from shoving himself inside. He watched as Ianto rolled over and got on all fours.
“If we’re fucking in a Vicarage, we’re not being girls about it,” he said, turning back, his voice gravelled and low.
Jack smirked, kneeling up behind him and guiding his hips back until his body was breached and cock sinking further and further inside him. His arms gave a little and his head dipped as he rocked himself, moving his body off and on Jack’s erection, clutching his hair in his hands. Jack’s fingers were bruising his hips, complementing the faded ones on his biceps from when he’d been on his back in the SUV ....
Finally, the Captain began to work with him, their pace picking up as they frantically began to chase la petite mort, and Ianto gasped and moaned as firm fingers curled around his own erection, moving and squeezing and twisting. He bit his lip, keeping in his sudden urge to sigh ‘oh ... God ....’, part of his brain still intact enough to know that that was bad. He couldn’t remember why it was bad ... but ... all he knew ... was ... that ....
“Oh ... God ....” he moaned. “Fuckkkk ....”
Jack was sucking gently on his nape, leaning over him and holding his body tight as he fucked it, and Ianto reached down to where Jack’s hand was wrapped around his cock, knowing he was about to come and not wanting to leave too many stains on the sheets.
“Jack ...” he gasped.
“Ianto ....” Jack replied, kissing his ear, then jaw. Ianto turned his head awkwardly, their tongues touched and they came together, collapsing and panting entangled in the sheets. Ianto shivered with the cold, and Jack pulled the duvet over them both, rearranging the pillows to get comfortable.
“Haven’t managed it together in a while,” Jack panted, turning Ianto onto his side and moulding himself into his back.
“Hmmnf,” Ianto agreed, still regaining a little coordination. Jack obligingly licked his hand clean, carefully running his tongue up and down each finger and sucking them individually into his mouth. He finished and switched off the light, settling back down with his arm over Ianto's waist. He was back where he liked to be – between Ianto and the door, and also naked.
Half an hour later, Jack became aware that Ianto still wasn’t asleep. “What’s up?” he asked quietly.
“I think that nap this afternoon has thrown my body clock off,” Ianto sighed. “I can’t sleep.”
“Here,” Jack readjusted his position, propped himself up on his elbow and ran the fingers of his free hand through Ianto's hair. “You always fall asleep when I do this.”
Ianto smiled to himself. He loved having his hair stroked, and it always did make him sleepy. He found himself yawning and his eyes drifting shut as Jack gently ran his fingers through dark locks and traced the shell of his ear.
Even after he fell asleep, Jack watched over him a little longer.
~*~*~*~
The second breakfast at the Vicar of Dibley’s house wasn’t quite so gargantuan. Easily managed dippy eggs and toast were on the menu, and Jack and Ianto ate hungrily and in companionable silence. Geraldine poured breakfast tea for them, and smiled at them shovelling down their food.
“Look at you two – eating like you haven’t been fed,” she sighed. “Then again, I suppose after last night you’ll be needing to keep your strength up.”
Jack and Ianto stared at her blankly, then Ianto's eyes widened as he realise what she meant. He was about to open his mouth to speak, when Geraldine cut him off.
“Oh – and Ianto, dearest. I believe you owe the Captain fifty quid.”
Ianto stared at his eggs intently, face flaming.
"Oh yeah!" remembered Jack.
Ianto scrambled out of the room and up the stairs, embarrassed.
"Oops," giggled Geraldine. "Didn't expect that."
Jack grinned and pulled Ianto's half abandoned plate towards him.
"So ... what does he owe you fifty quid for?" Geraldine asked. "You never said."
"Oh ... just a ... little bet we had," smirked Jack.
"Do elaborate ...?"
Jack smiled wanly. "Ahh, Vicar. I don't think my life would be worth telling you."
"Ohh go on!" she chided.
After a moment's thought, Jack smirked to himself. He leant into the Vicar's ear, and whispered.
FIN
I have three incredibly drunken men draped over my bed.
They're all mine! MINE! MIIIIINNNNE!
... okay, they're not. But they did threaten me with a 'deflowering' earlier. To be honest I couldn't take them seriously - at the time they did have inflated condoms on their heads so that they could pretend to be the Queen's Guard.
Previous Part | Torchwood Index | Request a Convo/Prose Fic
Chapter: 03
Author:
a_silver_storyGenre Alternate Universe, Fluff, a bit domestic, crossover-ish
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Men men men men men and more men. Okay ... two.
Disclaimer: If I owned anything in this, I'd be a rich rich rich bitch. However, I am not a rich rich rich bitch so you may all, therefore, assume I own nothing. Which I don't. It all belongs RTD and the BBC, in case any of you didn't know.
Summary: Strange UFO behaviour over a sleepy English village draws out the Torchwood team ... well, Jack and Ianto. Any excuse for a mini-holiday ...
Definitely written more for the Brits, but internationals may still find it entertaining (this chapter is rather devoid of Britishness, but it is about to get very G.O.L.D)
MASTERLIST | Torchwood Index/Masterlist
FIRST PART | Chapter 1
Breakfast in the Vicar of Dibley’s house was a gargantuan affair. Ianto stared at the still-sizzling pork sausages, fried eggs and crispy bacon filling his plate as hash browns and mushrooms were added. Both he and Jack declined the offer of beans, instead tucking in and shovelling the good food into their mouths.
“So what have you boys got planned for today, then?” asked Geraldine brightly as she sat down with her own mountainous plate to join them.
“Well ... I have equipment to set up, and Ianto here is going to interview the witnesses, find out exactly what they saw,” Jack told her, the only one of the two present Torchwood employees who didn’t mind talking with their mouth full.
Ianto gave Jack the Look, and Jack had the decency to look abashed, swallow and apologise for talking with dead pig rolling around in his mouth. Ianto just rolled his eyes, and Geraldine grinned at them both.
“So how long have you two been a couple?” she asked.
“Four years,” Jack smiled over his orange juice.
“Three,” Ianto corrected.
Jack frowned as he tried to do maths in his head. “Four for me: three for you,” he decided. Geraldine gave them a questioning look. “Er ... bit of time travel,” Jack tried to explain, then cleared his throat. “Best if we don’t ....”
“Ahh ... okay. Um ... where did you meet?” the Vicar asked, changing the subject back.
“In a forest at night,” Jack told her, nonplussed. Ianto's cutlery clattered onto his plate.
“Right ....” answered Geraldine, looking a little shocked.
“It wasn’t like that!” Ianto insisted. “He was being attacked and ... and ... I helped! He just doesn’t think before he ... he says things.” Ianto knew he was blushing – there was no point trying to hide it. It didn’t help that Jack had made him wear his red shirt this morning, bringing the colouring of his cheeks out even more and making him look rosier than he probably was.
Geraldine giggled. “You change colour like a mood ring!”
Ianto picked up his knife and fork, once again very, very interested in his bacon. The comment made him blush deeper, and he knew it. Jack was grinning, reaching out to ruffle his hair.
“So ... Jack,” Geraldine continued sweetly. “You’re older than Ianto?”
“Only a little,” Jack pouted.
Ianto sniggered. “Try a lot,” he smirked.
Jack scowled in his general direction.
“He’s eleven years older physically, but mentally? I’d say he’s about ten years old.”
“Ohh my husband says I’m like that,” Geraldine told them dreamily.
“Where is your husband, Vicar?” Ianto asked her. They hadn’t met him yet.
“He’s away with work, but he’ll be back tomorrow.”
“What does he do?”
“He’s an Accountant.”
“Ooo,” Jack grinned. “Does he work in an office?”
“Er ... yes?”
“Good man. I like offices.”
Ianto rolled his eyes. “He’s funny like that. So ... where did you meet ... whatsisname?”
“Harry. He knocked on my door one day,” she said. “Just came to introduce himself and ... the rest is history. Sort of. There was a slight ... stalking phase ....”
Jack laughed. “Ianto had a stalky phase t- ow!”
Ianto smiled politely at Geraldine. “Really?”
Jack was half under the table, rubbing his calf and shooting unsubtle evils at Ianto. Geraldine watched them bemusedly, eating her mushrooms. She and Ianto both jumped a mile when Jack unexpectedly leapt to his feet and shot to the window.
“Did you see ... ?”
He half turned back to the confused face of the Vicar and the unimpressed eyebrow of the Ianto.
“There was ... I ... there ... must have been a bird ....” he mumbled, returning to his seat.
“Sorry,” Ianto apologised on his behalf. “We both get a bit jumpy in the countryside.”
“Really? Whatever for?”
Jack’s expression turned dark, and Ianto seemed to retreat into himself.
“Just ... bad experience,” Jack eventually chose to say.
Geraldine’s eyes flicked between them, and she decided that not replying would be best before she put her foot in her mouth. She announced that she was finished, and moved to collect their plates and do the washing up. Ianto helped her, banishing Jack back to their bedroom for the sake of the crockery.
Finished washing and drying, Ianto made his way back upstairs and found Jack sat on his side of the bed, staring out of the window.
“There’s something watching the house,” Jack told him, not needing to turn to see who had entered. “Can’t you feel it?”
Ianto sat down beside him, raising his eyes to the window. “I feel ... I dunno.”
“Here,” Jack said, getting up. He closed the curtains, and turned to Ianto expectantly. “Feel more ... I dunno ... at ease?”
Ianto frowned. “I don’t feel any different.”
Jack whipped open the curtains again, and Ianto squinted in the morning sun.
“Now?”
Ianto thought about it. “Nope. No different.”
Jack made a noise in the back of his throat, sounding unimpressed. “I think we should stick together,” he decided.
“How so?”
“We go and set up the equipment together. We go and interview witnesses together. We stick together. ‘Kay?”
“Mm. Okay,” shrugged Ianto. “But you’re doing the heavy-lifting. No way am I lugging that sack of sensors up to the site.”
“Okay,” Jack nodded, and Ianto frowned at his back as the Captain turned to gaze out of the window again.
“Just ... okay?”
“If it means you’ll stay where I can see you,” he admitted.
“What happened to ‘It’ll be fine in the country, Ianto’, ‘there’s hardly any real dangers in the country, Ianto’, ‘You’re more likely to get murdered in the city, Ianto ...’”
“Something followed us from that inn and you know it,” snapped Jack, turning to him and folding his arms. “and whatever it is, it’s watching the house.”
Ianto shivered unpleasantly, hugging himself. “Let’s get going,” he decided. “The sooner we get the sensors set up, the sooner we can start on this list of witnesses.”
He produced a neatly folded A4 sheet of paper from his pocket, covered with the Vicar’s tombstone handwriting.
“Oooh look,” grinned Ianto. “She’s even written on warnings. ‘Mrs. Cropley: Don’t eat the food. Frank Pickle: Don’t let him talk too much. Owen Newitt: Has an unhealthy and possibly sexual obsession with his farm animals ....”
Jack snorted involuntarily.
“Well,” sighed Ianto. “He’s called ‘Owen’. He’d have to have an unhealthy sexual obsession with something.”
They smiled wanly at each other.
“Right!” Jack declared, clapping his hands together and nearly making Ianto jump. “Alien detection equipment!”
They made their way out of the house, calling their goodbyes to Geraldine (who Ianto could tell was blatantly checking out Jack’s arse) and opened the boot of the car. Ianto pulled up the false bottom while Jack hefted out the large hiking rucksack, and they shut and locked it, putting on the alarm.
“I say, good morning!” called a cheery male voice behind them. Jack and Ianto turned in unison to see a tall, dark haired, lanky man grinning at them ... wearing a golf jumper.
Ianto tried not to think about it.
“Morning!” Jack offered his hand.
“Morning,” Ianto echoed, offering his own.
“I’m Hugo Horton; my father is the MP for Dibley and Whitworth and is the chairman onf the Parish Council,” he informed them proudly. “Are you the Alien Men?”
“Torchwood,” Jack said importantly. “Captain Jack Harkness, and this is Ianto Jones.”
Hugo stared at him for a second. “Right ... well. Golly gosh – isn’t all this exciting?”
Ianto raised an eyebrow. Really, for him this had so far been pretty mundane.
“Well, anyway, I’m sure you’re both very busy men!” beamed Hugo. “I’ll just ... be on my way, shall I? Oh! Oh – you must pop round to visit some time. Me and my wife Alice and I would just love to have you ‘round!”
Ianto cleared his throat. “If we have time, we’ll certainly drop by,” he said, remembering that Jack would simply accept any invitation of food and wives without a second thought. At least Ianto could earn them a little leeway. Besides, he wouldn’t be surprised if Hugo’s wife turned out to be a coconut on a stick with a lipstick mouth and biro eyes. “Anyway, as you said we’re both very busy, so we really should press on.”
“Yes, yes, of course! Well tally-ho gentlemen!” grinned Hugo, and he carried on towards the Vicarage whilst waving at them.
Jack and Ianto began to head towards the edge of the village, and Ianto felt distinctly uncomfortable at the number of strangers who wished them a good morning.
“Why do they keep saying that? They don’t even know us!”
“It’s the same in north England. Just a friendlier place, even if you are a stranger. Relax, City Boy!” grinned Jack. “It’s an adventure!”
Ianto sighed, and swerved out of the way of a newspaper boy on a bike hurtling around the corner. “Sorry, mister!” the boy yelled over his shoulder, and Ianto blinked.
“That kid had manners,” he frowned as they approached the edge of the village. He raised his eyes to the rolling hills and fields ahead and found himself stopping. “Jack ....” he called, the Captain not quite realising he was walking on alone yet.
“Hmm?” Jack asked, turning around and looking concerned when he realised Ianto wasn’t with him. “Ianto?”
“I ... I don’t ... open fields ....”
Jack turned to glance over the vast expanse of grass, a neat patchwork in shades of yellow and green, divided by neat dry-walling with the occasional cow, sheep or horse grazing.
“Ianto!” Jack called sharply, and Ianto brought his attention back.
“I ... just don’t stray too far from me, okay?”
“C’mon,” Jack encouraged, holding out his hand. Ianto bit his lip and took it, allowing Jack to slip both their hands into the pocket of the greatcoat. “It’ll be fine,” Jack assured him.
“I know ... and it’s silly ... I jus–”
“It’s not silly,” Jack cut him off. “It’s not.”
Ianto sat on Jack’s coat on the grass, tipping his head back in the sparse sunshine. The grass had not long been mown, and the sweet scent of it made him sluggish and sleepy. Jack was close, burying a sensor by the large rock Geraldine had pointed out to them as their best possible landmark for locating the UFO sightings exactly, and Ianto watched him for a minute or two.
His braces were slung low, his shirt discarded to Ianto's hands, and sweat made his white undershirt semi-transparent. His brow glistened with exertion, and Ianto lay back on his elbows, glad he wasn’t stuck in a stuffy house interviewing witnesses and missing the fantastic views on the hillside.
Jack glanced over and caught Ianto watching, flashing him a wolfish grin. “Enjoying the scenery?”
Ianto gave a small laugh, digging in the hiking bag and pulling out a thermos. “Nice cold water?” he offered. “I packed two thermoses, just in case.”
“That’s what the extra weight was,” Jack grumbled good-naturedly, striding over to sit next to him on the coat. “When we dig these things up, we’ll have to bring a picnic blanket.”
“Already made a note,” Ianto told him absently, pouring a cup full of water. Jack held his hand out for the thermos itself.
“I’m parched,” he sighed, glugging down seven huge mouthfuls. He leant over to the side until he slumped on Ianto's shoulder.
“You’re boiling,” Ianto complained, shrugging him off playfully. Jack pouted, then smirked. Lunging, he trapped Ianto in his arms, and was at first surprised by the lack of struggle. He didn’t realise that Ianto would be quite so momentarily overcome by the pheromones in his excess sweat, mixed with the scent of a man hard at work. Then Ianto remembered himself, and in his struggle to get away accidentally spilt his cup of ice cold water down the front of Jack’s t-shirt.
Jack gasped in shock, and Ianto tried not to laugh.
“Sorry! I didn’t mean to- no!” Ianto tried to get away as Jack swung the thermos, splashing a small amount down the back of Ianto's neck. Ianto squealed and scrambled to get away as another splash lashed over his back. “It’s cold!” he squeaked, finding himself trapped face down, Jack on top of him. “No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no!” he begged, feeling water starting to drip onto the back of his head as Jack began to tip the thermos.
Suddenly, Jack's weight disappeared, and Ianto rolled over in confusion. “Jack?”
“Ianto!” Jack yelled, and Ianto turned to see him wrestling a ... thing.
It looked like a small boy – about ten years old – with milk white skin, a shock of black hair and wearing grubby, dirty clothes. The comparison ended there as Ianto saw the scaled claws extended from its arms towards Jack’s throat, and the hollow, black spaces with deep set and glittering onyx eyes. It didn’t have a mouth – not where Ianto could see.
Seeing Jack in danger, Ianto lunged forward, tackling the creature off him and rolling with it a little way down the hill. It made an angry gurgling sound, and capturing one of its arms Ianto managed to stop them tumbling as well as getting the Thing onto its front, pressing his weight onto its back and pinning it down.
“Ianto!” he heard Jack calling, and he appeared at his side with restraints.
“The sensors didn’t pick it up,” Ianto panted. “They should have picked it up.”
The Thing bucked beneath him, and Ianto lost his balance with the force of it, falling to his side. It sprang up, still with restraints on its hands, and launched itself at Jack again. Jack had seen Ianto tumble and was ready for it, puncturing its neck with a syringe and holding it down until the sedative took effect.
“What is it?” asked Ianto, clutching Jack’s arm as they crouched by it. He shivered, cold from the water Jack had poured over him, and was grateful when the Captain pulled him close, kissed his head and put a firm arm around him.
“Not sure,” sighed Jack. “How do we get it back?”
“We could put it in the hiking bag,” suggested Ianto. “I’ll fetch it.”
He stood and hurried over to the coat and the bag, shivering again. He gathered up the rucksack and took it to Jack, who was lifting the creature up carefully. “I don’t know how long the sedatives will last,” he was saying. “so keep a couple of doses ready.”
“Already have,” Ianto said, holding the bag open as Jack put the alien in it feet-first. He ensured it was curled up safely before half-zipping the top and buckling it shut.
“Help me on with it?” he asked, and Ianto helped him heft it onto his shoulders. “Heavier than it looks ....” he grunted, testing the weight before Ianto let go. He adjusted the straps while Ianto went to fetch his coat and shirt.
Ianto winced as he pulled his suit jacket on over his wet clothes, inwardly cursing Jack now that the moisture was spreading and making him colder and colder. He slung the greatcoat over his arm, hurrying back to where Jack was waiting. Jack tutted and rolled his eyes. “Still cold?” he asked.
“Bloody freezing,” grumbled Ianto.
“Put the coat on,” Jack told him.
Ianto blinked, but didn’t need telling twice. He swung the heavy wool around him, buttoning it up and fastening the belt, basking in the warmth of it – and in Jack’s lingering scent.
“You don’t need to button it up, surely?”
“It looks smarter buttoned up,” Ianto sniffed. “Besides – the neck frames my head.”
Jack gave him a sidelong glance as they set off walking. “Have you been trying my coat on in the mirror when I’ve not been looking?”
“Erm ...”
Ianto was cut off when a high pitched gurgle sounded in the rucksack. The Thing started squirming and scratching with its claws, and Ianto quickly stabbed the syringe through the hiking bag and sedated it again. “Is this what’s been causing the bother? The UFOs?”
“I don’t think so,” sighed Jack. “I think this is what’s been following us.”
Ianto frowned. “It ... it was on the sign. For the inn.”
“Or a representation of it,” agreed Jack. “Maybe we should have stayed to question the locals?”
“Maybe,” sighed Ianto. “Speaking of questioning: what do we do with the Thing while we’re out chatting to witnesses?”
“We could tell Geraldine it’s our wayward nephew and could she possibly watch him for a couple of hours?” joked Jack.
“Our wayward nephew?” asked Ianto, a smile tugging at his lips.
Jack shrugged. “She thinks we’re a couple, so it’d make sense.”
“Thinks?” Ianto raised an eyebrow.
“Y’know in the ... ‘how long have you been together, where did you meet, how many children do you have?’ sort of way.”
“I see.”
“... you sound unimpressed. Have I said something?”
“No ... no it’s nothing.”
Jack narrowed his eyes at him a little. “My Yantoe-senses are tingling,” Jack informed him.
Ianto gave a small laugh. “I said it’s nothing,” he sighed affectionately, reaching out to ruffle Jack’s hair. There was a gurgle and a squirm in the rucksack, and Ianto grumbled as he injected another lot of sedative into the bag. “Bloody thing. Why do you think it was following us?”
Jack attempted a shrug, but it was hard with the heavy bag strapped to his back. “Maybe we’re new; maybe it just liked the taste of us.”
“Taste?” frowned Ianto. “It doesn’t have a mouth ....”
“There’s tiny little suckers under its nails. I think it absorbs blood,” Jack explained. “We’ll examine it properly once we get back. Maybe pump it full of sedatives and have a proper look.”
“I brought that collapsible cage we found last year,” Ianto told him. “The gold one. Maybe we can keep it in that for the time being – until we can get it back to the Hub.”
“I’m not so sure we should keep it alive,” Jack said quietly.
“Why?”
“It’s on its own, it’s not exactly scared of attacking people and it hasn’t kept itself too secret so far.”
“So? We could keep it in the vaults.”
“What for? Would it enjoy life in the vaults?”
Ianto sighed. “We’ll see how sentient it is,” he decided.
“Mmm,” agreed Jack, though Ianto was pretty sure the Captain had already made up his mind.
They trudged onwards, Ianto sticking close to Jack and occasionally glancing around furtively. Other than that he kept his eyes down, watching Jack’s booted feet striding in step beside him until the mud paths gave way to gravel, then tarmac road. Geraldine let them into her cottage, looking a little flustered at Jack’s semi-undressed state and the sweat on his brow from carrying the bag, and they both made their way upstairs to get showered and changed before facing the witnesses.
First, though, they had a restless alien to deal with.
Both of them lifted it into the cage Ianto had brought, and crouched by it, waiting for the creature to stir. They sat at the foot of their pushed-together beds patiently, and eventually the Thing gurgled and stirred. As soon as it was able, it tried reaching through the bars, uselessly clawing at Jack’s boots.
“Hey!” Jack complained, pulling his feet away. “Stop that!” he commanded. The creature looked at him, cocking its head to the side as it calculated. Ianto leaned forward to get a bet look at it, and its eyes tracked the movement. Slowly, the clawed arm retracted inside the cage, and the alien knelt and clutched the bars like a prisoner. It stared at Ianto, and Ianto squirmed.
“Did you understand me?” Jack asked, finding himself ignored.
“I don’t think it did,” whispered Ianto, feeling wary as the creature sat up to the sound of his voice. It’s head cocked to the side again, watching him, black eyes boring into his blue.
“Hey!” Jack commanded, but again the alien ignored him.
“Hello?” Ianto said, and the creature twitched. “Well ... it hears me ....”
“I think you should stay away from it,” Jack decided, raising his arm and pushing Ianto back from where he’d been leaning into the cage. Without warning, the creature lashed forward and dug its claws into Jack’s arm. Jack hissed and grabbed its wrist, wrenching it out of his forearm. Ianto pulled Jack back, glaring at the mouthless Thing, and moving to inspect the wound.
“Ouch,” he assessed, looking at it.
“Just what I was thinking,” grimaced Jack. “Unless I die soon, it’s gonna take forever to heal,” he grumbled.
“Let it drink you dry then,” Ianto smirked.
“Oh, har har.”
“I’ve got a first aid kit,” Ianto told him, pulling out the green box from the bedside cabinet. He got some tissues from the box on the side as well in case blood started dripping on the floor, and sat back beside Jack, pulling an antiseptic wipe from a foil packet. “Told you I didn’t over-pack,” he declared proudly.
Jack was a little distracted by the pain shooting through his arm – especially with the wipe now applied, no matter how gentle Ianto was being. Ianto tutted, inspecting the clean wound.
“You might need stitches,” he said, biting his lip. “The claws tore in pretty deep.”
“You remember how?”
“Yeah,” nodded Ianto, getting anaesthetic ready.
“Ahhh that feels better,” sighed Jack as the painkillers took effect. “You,” He pointed at the Thing. “are a little bastard.”
It didn’t react to him, simply flexing its claws and watching the movements of Ianto's hands around the bloodied wounds.
Nearly twenty minutes later, Ianto pressed a cotton pad to the sewn-up gashes and wrapped a bandage around the forearm. They both jumped as there was a knock on the door, and Geraldine bustled in with a smile, glanced around and froze.
“What in God’s name is that?” she gasped.
“We’re not sure,” Jack told her, standing up and flexing his arm.
“Is that what’s ... is that ... is ... how ... UFOs?” she managed to finally say.
“Nah,” Jack shook his head. “That’s just something that followed us here. We’ll pump it full of sedatives and it won’t be a bother.”
“... we don’t think,” Ianto finished for him.
Geraldine was still staring at it, and it was still staring at Ianto.
“It’s very ... human-like ....” she mumbled. Then she cleared her throat. “Well ... erm ... councillor Horton is here to see you when ... you’re ... ready ....”
“Oh!” Ianto exclaimed. “Can’t we at least shower and change first. We’ve been hard at work all morning.”
Jack raised an eyebrow. “Especially me,” he clarified.
Ianto thought out loud. “We could share a quick shower ... not like that!” he realised, as both Jack and Geraldine’s faces lit up. “I meant ... for ... timing and ... practicality.”
“Yes ... that could work ....” Geraldine agreed dreamily. “Well ... don’t be too long and ... don’t get distracted ....” she winked, making her way out of the room and trying not to stare at the alien. Ianto had suspected to this point she had probably thought aliens weren’t real and she was just humouring her Parish.
“Okay,” Jack clapped his hands together. “How do we sedate this thing?”
“I’ll distract it, you stab it.”
“That sounds familiar.”
“Well ... it ignored you,” Ianto pointed out.
It stared at Ianto transfixed, jumping only marginally when the first syringe jabbed it, forcing it to slump over. They injected it with a few more doses, checked it was still alive and covered the cage with a throw. They left a note on it in case Geraldine came back, warning her not to let it touch her, not to try and give it food or drink or to let it out – no matter how sad or lonely it sounded if it woke up.
Quickly Ianto managed to drag Jack into the shower and back to the bedroom without too much hassle, and they dressed as fast as possible, hurrying back down the stairs with wet hair to meet the councillor.
The councillor – the father of Hugo, whom they had met earlier – was seemingly as fond of tweed as his son was golf jumpers. Ianto could instantly tell he was old-fashioned and traditionalist, probably opposed the hunting ban and had a pipe tucked inside his breast pocket.
“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” he greeted them austerely, holding out his hand to Ianto. Ianto shook it, and watched the rigidity with which Jack’s was accepted. “So, you’re here to humour the crackpots, then?” he asked, sitting down on the couch.
“I’ll go and make some tea,” Geraldine said awkwardly, scooting out of the room as quickly as possible.
“Very good, Vicar!” boomed Horton. “I’m David Horton, councillor for Dibley and Whitworth and head of the Parish Council. You are?”
He spoke to Ianto, not Jack, and Ianto wasn’t quite used to being addressed first.
“I’m Ianto Jones,” he said. “And this is Captain Jack Harkness.”
“Good afternoon, David,” smiled Jack.
“Hmm. They said there was a Yank,” Horton commented. “Captain, eh?”
“Royal Air Force,” clarified Jack. “And I’m not American. I just have the accent.”
“Mm. And ‘Ianto’? Where’s that from?”
“Wales,” Ianto told him proudly.
“Beautiful country,” nodded Horton. “Bit of a funny accent though.”
“Hilarious,” Ianto replied dryly. Well ... he couldn’t exactly disagree ....
“So,” Horton was trying to move things on. “What exactly are you two doing about these ... ‘sightings’.”
He was speaking to Ianto again, and his tone suggested he didn’t believe that aliens existed, and that whomever had reported UFOs was insane. The fact they’d got a response was apparently ludicrous to him.
Jack spoke. “We took some sensors up to the site, we’ve set up a boundary and we’ve established a translation and communication port by the phone masts. If the sightings are real we can find out what the aliens want.”
“They could just be lost,” nodded Ianto. “Or they could be here on purpose with unforeseen and ulterior motives.”
“I see,” nodded councillor Horton. “You do realise that the three ‘witnesses’ are the biggest crackpots in this entire village? Chances are they were just seeing things – or maybe they had a dreams they thought were real?”
“No harm it checking it out,” Jack reasoned. “Besides, we got to see your beautiful village and meet its ... agreeable residents.”
Jack glared at Horton, and Horton glared at Jack. Ianto could almost taste the testosterone. “We need to ... erm ... do some ... interviews,” he cut in, and Horton broke the stare with Jack.
“Of course you do,” he agreed. “Well, gentlemen, I’ll be off. I shan’t need tea, Vicar!” he called through to the kitchen. “I’m off now.”
The Vicar trotted back through and bade him goodbye, closing the door behind him. “Don’t mind him,” she smiled to Jack and Ianto. “He’s just looking out for the village. His heart’s in the right place, he’s just ... uptight, doesn’t much like strangers.”
“Or Americans,” Jack observed grimly.
“Long story,” Geraldine batted his concerns away. “So – who are you going to interview first?”
“Umm ... Mrs. Cropley?” Ianto suggested, taking out his list.
“Ooo, good choice. Crazy old bat – just ... promise me you won’t eat anything? Okay?”
“Is her cooking that bad?” Ianto raised an eyebrow.
“Let’s just say ‘Parsnip Brownies’, shall we?” she said overly-sweetly.
“As soon as I heard you were coming I got my baking mitts out and I started the oven up!”
“That’s ... lovely,” smiled Ianto politely as they were lead into a small, cosy country kitchen by a tiny old woman wearing a beanie hat and sporting very few of her original teeth. She was also huddled into a bright red cardigan that made Ianto want to package it up and return it to the fifties.
Jack and Ianto had to fold themselves down one side of the tiny and overfilled table, laden with all sorts of cakes and biscuits.
“Have a slice of orange cake!” Mrs. Cropley encouraged, pushing a plate towards them.
“I’m diabetic,” Ianto informed her regretfully, mindful of the Vicar’s warnings. He gave Jack a very smug and pointed ‘Be Polite’ look.
Jack swallowed.
“Erm ... I suppose ... erm ... a little won’t hurt ....” he stammered, reaching for the cake. He lifted it to his mouth, took a bite and chewed for a moment.
His jaw froze.
His eyes widened.
“This is ... interesting,” he managed, over a mouthful of crumbs. “The icing is ... different ....”
“I made it with pickles!” Mrs. Cropley told them proudly. “If you liked the orange cake, maybe you’ll like the Marmite sponge!”
She pushed another plate towards him, and on it was a mound of what appeared to be black sludge.
“It is a shame you’re dietetic, dear,” she sadly said to Ianto.
“Really limits my diet,” Ianto replied, watching as Jack forced some of the Marmite ‘cake’ into his mouth. “Now – Mrs. Cropley – we need to talk to you about the UFOs you say you saw.”
“UFOs?” she frowned.
“The ... the Unidentified Flying Objects,” he clarified.
“Aliens?” choked out Jack as a plate of brownies was pushed towards him. Ianto gave him the ‘Be Polite’ look again, and no matter how exasperated – and slightly green – Jack looked, he was going to eat the damn cake. Just so Ianto could laugh at him later.
“The lights!” realised Mrs. Cropley. “The lights over there! In the sky!”
“Yes, yes,” nodded Ianto. “Can you tell me about them?”
“They were over there – in the sky.”
“Right ... and is there anything else? Were they in formation? Did they make a shape?”
“They were in a circle, and it spun and spun and spun. Over there – in the sky. Would you like some bread and butter pudding surprise?”
Jack looked dubious. “What’s the surprise?”
“Eat it and find out!” she grinned, pushing a plate filled with electric yellow and concrete grey ... stuff ... towards him.
Ianto frowned at it, then internally sniggered. He watched Jack carefully as he raised the smallest spoonful he could manage to his mouth. Ianto waited for him to chew a couple of times, then: “Is that snail?”
Jack looked like he was about to choke.
“From my garden! Bred them myself,” beamed Mrs. Cropley.
Jack swallowed and tried to hide his convulsions. He gave Ianto a very, very, very, very evil look before doing his best to give a somewhat queasy Harkness Grin towards Mrs. Cropley. “Well,” he declared. “The food was delicious, and you’ve been very helpful,” he told her. “but we’re very busy, and really do need to do the rounds of the village.”
“You know – most people usually just leave my food!” beamed Mrs. Cropley as they began to get up to leave.
Jack gave Ianto a very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very evil look.
Jack was spitting nails all the way to Frank Pickle’s house.
“... and you just sat there, and let me eat garden snails - have you any idea how unsafe garden snails are to eat – let alone parsnip brownies or Marmite cake!”
“You’d have done the same to ... okay, you wouldn’t have done the same to me,” Ianto conceded. “You’d have done it to Gwen or Owen, though.”
“Yes, but you’re here, Gwen’s not and Owen’s a bit dead,” Jack retorted before grumbling to himself. “Lucky Owen didn’t have to eat bread and butter pudding surprise ....”
Ianto knocked on the door of the house the Vicar’s list indicated. “This is the one we apparently don’t want to talk too much,” he informed Jack, who was still mumbling about the luck of the dead.
The door opened, and a short, elderly but still spritely looking gentleman with a white moustache opened the door, wearing bright red blazer and dickie bow that made Ianto internally bleed.
“Mr. Pickle?” he asked.
“Yes, yes! Do come in! You’re from the alien place aren’t you? Well lots of aliens around here – I saw them, over there, in the sky, don’t you know? Have a seat and I’ll brew some tea and tell you all about it ....”
He guided them into yet another cramped room – this time a living room – and they wedged themselves into the sofa. Five minutes later teacups and saucers were pushed into their hands, and they politely sipped the weak, milky substance as Frank Pickle began to speak.
“Well, it would have been three weeks ago now that I first saw them. I was out for an evening stroll – you know how it is, when your legs just want to pick you up and take you somewhere – when I just happened to see a spark of light out of the corner of my eye. At first I thought it might be lightning, and glanced over at the horizon ... and there, moving through the darkening sky was this ... thing. Speeding and spinning, grey metal shaped like a tortoise shell – and the lights! The lights were beautiful, shining down below it ... and I thought to myself ‘Could it be a plane? Could it be a new kind of helicopter?’. So I went through my head of all the new helicopters I could think of, starting with Airwolf ....”
“... and from those numerous models I could determine that it probably wasn’t a helicopter at all. At least – not a one that conformed to anything I’d seen before. So, then, I started thinking about planes ....”
“... so I realised it couldn’t be a plane, either. After a while, I did begin to wonder about hovercraft, but I don’t really know so much about them. Anyway, after I spoke to Letitia Cropley about it, I realise that they might, possibly, be not of this world. So, I thought about every type of science fiction film and television show I’d seen and compared the lights and things and realise that it was probably a likely explanation that what I saw was not of this world.
“Anyway, that was the first time I saw them. The second time, I was looking out of my win- I say, is your young friend alright?”
Jack snapped out of his daze, and looked to his side to find Ianto fast asleep on his shoulder, practically snuggled into his neck.
“Er ... he’s diabetic,” Jack explained, and gave him a hard nudge. Ianto jumped awake, collected his surroundings and cleared his throat.
“Ahem ... that’s a very interesting account, Mr. Pickle,” he said, quite convincingly. He gave his watch a casual glance. “Oh buggeration – Jack, it’s time for our dinner appointment with the Vicar.”
“Already?” asked Jack incredulously. “We really should get going, then, shouldn’t we ... Ianto?”
“Unfortunately, it looks like we’ll have to leave now,” nodded Ianto, and they both made to leave as Mr. Pickle showed to the door. They smiled and said their goodbyes, agreeing that they should all get together again sometime, and as they walked away down the garden path Ianto massaged his cheeks, aching from all the smiling. “It’s nearly twilight,” he noted. “Should we check on the thingy while we’ve got a chance?”
“Probably should – even if it’s still asleep we should give it more sedative, I’d think.”
“We don’t want to kill it,” Ianto reminded him.
“Mmm,” Jack grunted, noncommittally.
Ianto sighed. “Jack ... we can’t just kill it because we don’t know what it is.”
There was no reply, and Ianto sensed Jack’s discomfort.
“What?” he asked. “Jack ... what?”
“I might not have been ... totally honest about ... like ... not knowing what it is.”
Ianto stopped, and Jack turned to face him.
“It’s a ... I don’t know what it’s called. But I know what it does to survive.”
“Other than absorbing blood?”
“It absorbs blood for energy, yeah. But ... well, the boy wouldn’t have been its original form,” Jack began carefully. “In fact, it doesn’t exactly have a form. It transfers from body to body, mutating it to its needs.”
Ianto blinked. “You mean ... in that cage ... that used to be a ten-year-old boy?”
Jack gazed at him sadly, then nodded.
Ianto turned to start walking. “Can we get it out of him?”
“He’s been dead a long time, I’d think. We could scan his brain, but I doubt there’s any activity.”
Ianto nodded, allowing Jack to walk down the path to the Vicarage first. “So ... what is it following us for?”
“I think it might be looking for a stronger host,” Jack said, clearing his throat and knocking to be let in. Geraldine poked her head around the door and let them in with a grin.
“Your day gone well?” she asked. “Dinner should be ready shortly – gammon okay with you boys?”
“Fine, Vicar,” smiled Ianto. “We need to just ... check on the ... Thing. Has it been ... quiet?” he asked.
“Not heard a thing,” Geraldine assured him.
He and Jack hurried up the stairs, and Jack sat on the bed while Ianto pulled back the throw to reveal the cage and the contents. Ianto closed his eyes and massaged his forehead.
“You killed it.”
“It was looking for a new host,” Jack repeated. “And ... well. It could only see you, couldn’t it?”
“What do you mean?”
“Look at the boy. Pale ... dark hair ... what’s the betting his eyes were originally blue? The Thing appears to have a type.”
“So ... why was it attacking you?”
“To absorb energy from me to leave that form and take over you.”
Ianto's eyes widened. “You said it felt ... felt like something was watching me ... at the inn ....”
“So I had to kill it.”
Ianto bit his lip, then nodded. “We’ll burn it in the morning,” he sighed. “What do we do with until then? And what do we tell the Vicar?”
“Tell her it died of old age? She wouldn’t know the difference,” suggested Jack.
“I don’t feel comfortable lying to a Vicar,” Ianto sighed.
“You lie to everyone,” Jack pointed out, and Ianto gave him a sharp look. “I mean like ... um ... the public, and stuff ....” he mumbled. “Look, I’ll tell her we had to kill it before it killed the whole of the village. It’s true, after all.”
“Okay. Maybe,” agreed Ianto, then ran his hand through his hair. “What do we do with the body? I think ... considering it used to be a human ... maybe the Vicar might want to do a small funeral for him?”
Jack shrugged. “We’ll ask her. Maybe move the body to the church or something ....”
“What did you give it to kill it?”
“Overdose of sedative with a couple of air bubbles in it – and there’s some shower gel and toilet bleach in there as well. It won’t have felt a thing.”
Ianto nodded. “Anyway ... we ... should get back downstairs.”
Jack gave him a reassuring smile, and let him lead the way.
Jack had checked to make sure the Thing was dead over and over again before locking it in the Church of Saint Barnabus crypt. Locking it securely. Ianto had a feeling he wouldn’t be happy it was dead until it was ashes and dust.
Before going to bed, they checked the readouts of their equipment and set it to sound an alert should anything be picked up.
With a sigh, Ianto climbed between the sheets, still feeling awake after having a nap earlier that afternoon during Frank Pickle’s soliloquy. Jack yawned beside him, and reached out to switch off the bedside lamp. Ianto put a hand on his chest and stopped him, and Jack hesitated, taking Ianto's meaning. Leaning slightly, he allowed Ianto to catch his lips with his own.
“Homosexual relations in a Vicarage? Didn’t think you’d be up for it ....” Jack muttered, flipping Ianto onto his back and lying between his legs.
“Geraldine’s Church of England. She won’t mind,” shrugged Ianto, wrapping his legs around Jack and squeezing him with his thighs, sliding arms around his neck as Jack’s head dipped to kiss and nip at the soft skin below his ear. He felt a strange roughness on the Captain’s arm, and hesitated, remembering what it was. “How’s the wound?” he asked.
“I think you might have to kiss me better,” Jack pouted, leaning down to his lips again. Ianto didn’t even wait before opening his mouth for Jack’s tongue. Jack broke away for air, and smirked down at him. “You know what my own personal goal for tonight is?” he asked.
“Go on?”
He leaned close to Ianto's ear, his lips grazing the lobe with each word. “I’m going to make you cry out to God ....” he whispered.
Ianto shivered, and did his best to roll his eyes. “Tenner says you can’t,” he replied.
“Twenty says I can.”
“Fifty says can’t.”
“You’re on,” grinned Jack wolfishly, kissing his way down Ianto's body and pulling off both their pyjama bottoms as he went. He rested Ianto's thighs on his shoulders, his mouth hovering over hard cock and fingers slick with spit as he nudged them forward and inside.
Ianto sucked air in through his teeth, half gasping and half hissing. He felt Jack’s tongue ghost over the head of his erection, barely even touching but still making him bite his lip and close his eyes. More tongue this time, licking a circle around the tip, then a stripe downwards towards his balls. He clenched hard as the fingers inside him tried to stretch him open, the saliva cooling under Jack’s breath before he groaned and bucked as the head of his cock was swallowed.
“Whatwuszat?” Jack asked, mouth filled with hard flesh.
Ianto moaned again. “I said ... good ... good ... feels good ....” he murmured.
“Mmm,” hummed Jack, and Ianto writhed, restraining himself from bucking as the Captain allowed pale hands to push his head down until teeth touched pelvic bone and dick slipped down throat. Jack pulled back, gasping for air, moving his fingers in and out of Ianto's body as he reached into the duffel for the lube. He sucked and kissed a mark onto the insides of Ianto's thigh, just below where the leg creased to pelvis and the flesh was soft and sensitised. Withdrawing his fingers, he squeezed on some gel and pushed them inside again, shoving Ianto's legs open wider with his other hand.
In counteraction, Ianto reached down and squeezed Jack’s cock with a grin, feeling fingers inside him scissor and stretch out in response, his head tipping back as he arched and let go. Finally the fingers withdrew, and Jack nearly growled when Ianto pushed him back and stopped him from shoving himself inside. He watched as Ianto rolled over and got on all fours.
“If we’re fucking in a Vicarage, we’re not being girls about it,” he said, turning back, his voice gravelled and low.
Jack smirked, kneeling up behind him and guiding his hips back until his body was breached and cock sinking further and further inside him. His arms gave a little and his head dipped as he rocked himself, moving his body off and on Jack’s erection, clutching his hair in his hands. Jack’s fingers were bruising his hips, complementing the faded ones on his biceps from when he’d been on his back in the SUV ....
Finally, the Captain began to work with him, their pace picking up as they frantically began to chase la petite mort, and Ianto gasped and moaned as firm fingers curled around his own erection, moving and squeezing and twisting. He bit his lip, keeping in his sudden urge to sigh ‘oh ... God ....’, part of his brain still intact enough to know that that was bad. He couldn’t remember why it was bad ... but ... all he knew ... was ... that ....
“Oh ... God ....” he moaned. “Fuckkkk ....”
Jack was sucking gently on his nape, leaning over him and holding his body tight as he fucked it, and Ianto reached down to where Jack’s hand was wrapped around his cock, knowing he was about to come and not wanting to leave too many stains on the sheets.
“Jack ...” he gasped.
“Ianto ....” Jack replied, kissing his ear, then jaw. Ianto turned his head awkwardly, their tongues touched and they came together, collapsing and panting entangled in the sheets. Ianto shivered with the cold, and Jack pulled the duvet over them both, rearranging the pillows to get comfortable.
“Haven’t managed it together in a while,” Jack panted, turning Ianto onto his side and moulding himself into his back.
“Hmmnf,” Ianto agreed, still regaining a little coordination. Jack obligingly licked his hand clean, carefully running his tongue up and down each finger and sucking them individually into his mouth. He finished and switched off the light, settling back down with his arm over Ianto's waist. He was back where he liked to be – between Ianto and the door, and also naked.
Half an hour later, Jack became aware that Ianto still wasn’t asleep. “What’s up?” he asked quietly.
“I think that nap this afternoon has thrown my body clock off,” Ianto sighed. “I can’t sleep.”
“Here,” Jack readjusted his position, propped himself up on his elbow and ran the fingers of his free hand through Ianto's hair. “You always fall asleep when I do this.”
Ianto smiled to himself. He loved having his hair stroked, and it always did make him sleepy. He found himself yawning and his eyes drifting shut as Jack gently ran his fingers through dark locks and traced the shell of his ear.
Even after he fell asleep, Jack watched over him a little longer.
The second breakfast at the Vicar of Dibley’s house wasn’t quite so gargantuan. Easily managed dippy eggs and toast were on the menu, and Jack and Ianto ate hungrily and in companionable silence. Geraldine poured breakfast tea for them, and smiled at them shovelling down their food.
“Look at you two – eating like you haven’t been fed,” she sighed. “Then again, I suppose after last night you’ll be needing to keep your strength up.”
Jack and Ianto stared at her blankly, then Ianto's eyes widened as he realise what she meant. He was about to open his mouth to speak, when Geraldine cut him off.
“Oh – and Ianto, dearest. I believe you owe the Captain fifty quid.”
Ianto stared at his eggs intently, face flaming.
"Oh yeah!" remembered Jack.
Ianto scrambled out of the room and up the stairs, embarrassed.
"Oops," giggled Geraldine. "Didn't expect that."
Jack grinned and pulled Ianto's half abandoned plate towards him.
"So ... what does he owe you fifty quid for?" Geraldine asked. "You never said."
"Oh ... just a ... little bet we had," smirked Jack.
"Do elaborate ...?"
Jack smiled wanly. "Ahh, Vicar. I don't think my life would be worth telling you."
"Ohh go on!" she chided.
After a moment's thought, Jack smirked to himself. He leant into the Vicar's ear, and whispered.
FIN
They're all mine! MINE! MIIIIINNNNE!
... okay, they're not. But they did threaten me with a 'deflowering' earlier. To be honest I couldn't take them seriously - at the time they did have inflated condoms on their heads so that they could pretend to be the Queen's Guard.
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Date: 2010-02-09 03:55 am (UTC)This is so funny! Though, the Thing was A LOT creepy. *shivers*
One little thing: they frantically began to chase la petit mort
That would be "la petite mort" ;)
Sorry about the editing, it seems I don't know how to write tonight.
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Date: 2010-02-09 09:20 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-02-09 04:43 am (UTC)<3
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Date: 2010-02-09 05:42 am (UTC)"I have three incredibly drunken men draped over my bed. They're all mine! MINE! MIIIIINNNNE! ... okay, they're not. But they did threaten me with a 'deflowering' earlier. To be honest I couldn't take them seriously - at the time they did have inflated condoms on their heads so that they could pretend to be the Queen's Guard."
That just made my entire week.
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Date: 2010-02-09 07:12 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-02-09 05:43 am (UTC)That Thing? Sounds so, so creepy.
Eep. >_>
But I do love all the characters of Dibley about. Parsnip brownies... oh dear. Poor Jack. XD
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Date: 2010-02-09 06:08 am (UTC)Yay for Jack immediately killing the Thing because it wanted to hurt Ianto. Cuteness...
Glad you didn't forget about this one ^.^
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Date: 2010-02-09 07:01 am (UTC)So glad they got the Thing. It was very very creepy! Love protective Jack though.
hehe Oh, I am loving Geraldine!
More!!??
Date: 2010-02-09 07:01 am (UTC)2. Very much enjoying this fic.
3. Hate parsnip anything.
4. Strongly suspect I am related to Mr. Pickles.
XOXOXO
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Date: 2010-02-09 09:18 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-02-09 10:17 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-02-09 10:34 am (UTC)I loved it, natch. I've never not loved Dawn French. And now I have a hope of at least partly getting this fic.
It's great, BTW.
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Date: 2010-02-09 12:08 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-02-09 05:04 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-02-09 08:41 pm (UTC)This is brilliant. The Dibleyians (Diblonians? Dibleyites? Dibbles?) are clearly the stars of this crossover. Geraldine's a Janto Fangirl...bien entendu, c'est naturellement. Between that, the creepy lil' bastard thing stalking Ianto (and Overprotective!Jack making sure the only thing stalking Ianto is Jack himself), the Airwolf reference and non-girly man-sex (unf!)...yeah, I think you ticked all the right boxes here.
Jack was half under the table, rubbing his calf and shooting unsubtle evils at Ianto.
Don't go giving Ianto evils!
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Date: 2010-02-09 08:57 pm (UTC)Ianto smiled politely at Geraldine. “Really?”
Jack was half under the table, rubbing his calf and shooting unsubtle evils at Ianto. Geraldine watched them bemusedly, eating her mushrooms. She and Ianto both jumped a mile when Jack unexpectedly leapt to his feet and shot to the window. LOL at this part <3 missed this story its awsome
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Date: 2010-02-10 08:14 am (UTC)Would comment more, but am already running late from reading this while I should've been getting ready!
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Date: 2010-02-10 10:36 am (UTC)OooooOooh, brain not working *fizzle*.
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Date: 2010-02-10 08:23 pm (UTC)Oh, have you seen John Barrowman being interviewed by Dawn French on the Paul O'Grady show? They have a freakin' awesome chemistry and I can only think of that while reading this XD
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Date: 2010-02-10 09:09 pm (UTC)WHOOPI: ... you can't do me.
[glances at John]
... well okay. He could, but he wouldn't.
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Date: 2010-02-10 09:10 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-02-10 10:34 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-02-11 10:48 pm (UTC)Funny, interesting, sweet and HOT!!!
More please! *poke you*
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Date: 2010-02-14 03:56 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-02-17 09:02 pm (UTC)The thing creeped me out...
Did i say you are awesome?
I now have a strange image of men with condoms on their head (Knowing my boys they would probably do that too!)
Keep going!
x
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Date: 2010-06-14 08:34 am (UTC)Anyway, this is wonderful - you've got everyone's personalities down pat - I was so very sad when Mrs Cropley died, and her last words with Geraldine at her bedside were about was she a good cook? Another very tearful, tear-filled moment.
I love the way Jack always sleeps on the door-side of the bed - first line of defense and all that. I wonder if he also walks on the outside of the sidewalk, to prevent Ianto's skirts from being splashed by passing coaches and carts. I'll bet he makes Ianto stay on his left side, also, when they're out and about so that Jack's gunhand is free for a quick draw!!! Chivalry never dies - it's lasted all the way to the 51st century.
Lots more Dibley, please!!!! It's absolutely fantastic!!!!!