Technically this should go under 'The Torchwood Philosophy', but I'm too lazy and I've learnt that that story is under surveillance. And apparently I'm only slightly easier to track down that Torchwood itself. The worst bit is that I didn't even get a free pizza out of it.

I just spent three minutes trying to think up an original and witty way of saying that I don't own Torchwood, but I can't.

Ask Ianto

"Um…" She can't help it. Up until a mere moment ago she had been stood by the waterside. She's not sure where she is now, but it's definitely nowhere in Cardiff. It's dry, for starters. And that console looks to be a good few centuries ahead of human technology at the very least… she'd love to get her hands on it. It looks like some kind of control system. For a spaceship? They never get many of those, which is probably a good thing knowing the way Jack drives. The characters scrolling across the screen aren't making much sense, but she's sure that she could figure most of it out…

"Cup of tea?" Says a small voice somewhere in the region of her waist. She looks down to see a small alien that is mostly nervous smile. It is holding out the beverage in question in a way that reminds Tosh of pictures of the Three Wise Men.

"Thank you." She says, receiving it automatically. She knows offering hot drinks doesn't necessarily equate to lack of evil intent, but manners are manners.

The alien takes a step back, wringing its second pair of hands. Tosh could swear that she caught a glimpse of another one just like it poking its head around the door, and withdrawing it again just as quickly.

"Biscuit?" The assortment provided doesn't rival Ianto's, but for an alien spaceship it's pretty good. This meeting has obviously been very carefully arranged.

Tosh sits down, as indicated, in the armchair she's only just noticed, and tries to make sense of this new type of alien. Hospitable ones. Torchwood reflexes give her the strong suspicion that they're trying to catch her off her guard…

"Yan-to?"

"Sorry?"

The question is repeated, this time with pointing.

"No, I'm not Ianto."

The alien looks crestfallen, making Tosh feel a bit guilty. And it's not really her fault that she's not Ianto. "Ianto is a Welsh name." She says, the impulse to try and be helpful taking over, even with a possibly hostile life-form that has effectively just kidnapped her. "I think you might have thought it's Japanese, but actually it's Welsh."

Her host brightens up immediately. Tosh watches in amazement as it manipulates what looks like a keypad at an amazing speed, instructions and equations scrolling across the screen. There is a small bing.

Ah. That's how she got here. Of course it was some sort of teleport, but how were they powering it and how did they….?

"Tosh? What's happening? Are you alright? Where-?"

Tosh bites her lip. "A Welsh male name."

The alien pauses in offering Gwen a steaming cup of tea, complete with chocolate biscuit. "Not Yan-to?"

"Not Yan-to." Tosh confirms. "I mean Ianto. Not Ianto. Ianto is a man. And Welsh. A Welsh man."

The alien turns back to the teleport system, and Gwen, still bewildered, barely has time to ask "What do you want with Ianto anyway?" before another small bing announces another new arrival in a spaceship that is rapidly becoming more and more crowded.

"Tea?"

"Yes, thank you. Hello Tosh."

"Hello."

"Yan-to?" The alien asks Tosh, its face lit up with a mixture of worry and hope eternal.

"Yes. That's Ianto."

Ianto gives a small wave. "Hello."

"Oh dear." Gwen murmured a moment later. The newest tick in the eye-spy book of extraterrestrials has just fainted on the floor.

A small delegation huddles in the doorway respectfully opposite them. Ianto has been pressed into taking the armchair, and boxes have been brought as seats for Gwen and Tosh. Each of them has a large plate of biscuits, which they feel obliged to at least nibble from, and a rather overexcited alien keeps coming round exclaiming "Tea! Tea!" at the top of its voice.

Their new friends' English appears to be limited, despite what they have picked up about the social customs, and conversation is slow. But things have at least sped up a bit now Ianto has persuaded them to stop prostrating themselves after every word.

It's decidedly strange, but at least no one's tried to kill them yet.

"So let me get this straight. They teleported you up there, like in Star Trek, having first accidentally abducted both Tosh and Gwen, just so that they could give you tea and biscuits?"

"No. They really wanted me to arbitrate a dispute."

"About what?" Owen is still sceptical. "What do you know about their disputes?"

"Not much." Ianto admits. "Their two tribes were about to go to war, but I think we sorted it out."

"Yeah, but why you? And why the hell did they give you tea and biscuits?"

"Um…"

Jack stepped in. "The Mbovafiu consider tea and biscuits to be the food of the gods."

"What?"

"And since they consider Ianto to be a god, they gave it to him."

"Their argument was about what kind of tea they should offer up to me. Milk or no milk. They were about to have a religious schism over it, and go into a sacred war. I convinced them to switch to coffee instead."

Owen fixes his gaze on Jack in a glare. "Explain."

"The Mbovafiu have quite an unusual custom when it comes to divinities. I've never worked out how, but for some reason all their gods and goddesses are British. Winston Churchill, that sort of thing."

"They worship Winston Churchill?"

"I don't think he's a particularly major god. They have a lot of them. As in – a lot. They just sort of acquire them, the same way..." Jack cast around for a suitable analogy. "The same way we acquire more people who hate us. Only they do it a bit more consciously than that. And I expect they added two new deities to their pantheon today."

"Eh?"

Ianto nodded. "As far as I could make out it was the divine Tosh-i-ko, goddess of looking longingly at a bicycle you wish was yours, where I think 'bicycle' was a translation error for 'spaceship', and Guwen Not-yan-to, goddess of muffled squeaks."

The look of utter incomprehension on Owen's face doesn't show any signs of going away, so Ianto elaborates a little. "She kept trying not to giggle, and then she got hiccups. I don't think the Mbo… the Mbon… I don't think they appreciate humour that much."

"Just as well." Tosh points out. "If they thought their gods were laughing at them…"

"So what am I then?"

Jack considers Owen carefully. "You could be a minor demon, if you like. Always nice to have a few minions."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I'm the devil incarnate, according to them."

Gwen twists a bit of hair back behind her ear. "You know, I'm not surprised."

"So what's Ianto then? Beezlebub or just the Coffee god?"

Tosh screws up her face in concentration, trying to remember. "What was that list they addressed him with again? Something about the Almighty…"

"All-knowing," Gwen chips in, "Omnipresent…"

"The Merciful, the Benevolent…"

"The All-seeing one, who knows the contents of your mind…"

"The Great Upholder of Order…"

"The Revealer of Truth…"

"And then we asked them to skip the next few hundred…"

"And they finished off with 'the Amazing Ianto Jones'."

"Yeah right. Like anyone would ever…"

"You got 'the Merciful' and 'the Benevolent' the wrong way round." Ianto corrects them. "And I'm sure there was something about 'All-loving' in there somewhere."

"'The All High and Mighty'" Owen snarls.

"Yeah, 'Mighty' was there too."

"Really?" The doctor's eyebrows are still raised.

"Yup."

"What did you do then?"

"I just smote a few of them to ensure good behaviour and then they sent us back."

Gwen collapses in a chair. "The worst thing is, it's all true."

"Apart from the smoting."

"Well, yeah. Obviously."

Tosh has already got her computer up and running again. "You did spill your tea though, didn't you, Almighty one?"

Jack leans back against the wall contentedly. "I'm gonna go back there and learn the whole list, provided they don't start stoning me again."

"Now that's the kind of religion I like. No wonder they're so confused they have to cross half the universe to answer a question about drinks orders when a central tenet of their religion is that their supreme god and the devil are shagging each other."

"Nicely put, Owen, nicely put."