A little Halloween tale based on an obscure Glamorgan myth that tailors (teiliwr) have bewitching powers.


That old coat. Ianto Jones knew the moment he'd laid eyes on the thing, worn by Captain Jack Harkness like a suit of armour – or security blanket – that it was his ticket in. A line of work like Jack's meant that coat most assuredly took a beating on a regular basis. He'd go through quite a lot of thread. But that was fine. All the better, really.

For every stitch of needle and thread Ianto applied to the coat, he weaved a stronger net around its wearer. And it would have to be strong, indeed, to bind another immortal being to his will. Oh yes, Ianto knew about that immediately as well, but it seemed Jack had no idea what Ianto was. He couldn't have come from a naturally immortal race, then. Which was fortunate, because otherwise Ianto doubted he'd have been able to get within 100 metres of the Hub without setting off Jack's senses.

The funny thing was how easy it was now. Nobody knew anymore. Save for a very few esoterics or goth-types, and even then they only knew about the unique abilities of the teiliwr academically. Absolutely no one would suspect the uptight young teaboy in the three-piece suit of any sort of supernatural goings-on. As far as they all were concerned, his magic lie in the brewing of coffee and systemization of files, nothing more.

Yes, he'd have Jack Harkness wrapped round his finger in no time. And the first chance he got to repair one of Dr. Harper's white coats… a little incident many years ago at St. Mary's church involving a gauntlet came to mind, and the right words uttered with needle and thread in hand would lay the groundwork for revenge rather nicely.