Creator's Note:
Hi! It's me again. I'm still not RTD, JB, or any of the other people in charge of BBC programming, actors, affiliates, yadda yadda. The only stuff I have worth much is a couple of items my grandpa left me. So go ahead, and sue. And watch me fall over dead laughing.
This story is something I've tried to work out in my own mind first (being as I began writing it in an emotionally frenzied state), but not all things might be exceedingly clear. Please leave a comment if something is not so I may fix it. You should alsoknow this does deal with themes of violence, murder, and even some psychiatric/troubling topics (none of which I wish to be insensitive to-trust me) and so I apologize in advance.
I also love Janto, but there is a minimum of pairing and an almost lack of smut (which is slightly refreshing for me). This is almost a fantasy fic for me as well, so expect some things to happen which only I would think of. But I believe every TW person has a story like this buried somewhere inside of them (where they are inadvertantly put in the midst of the Rift). In this case, Darius speaking is underlined. As other things arise, they will be addressed.
All this being said; I'moff towatch Anthony Bourdain. Please, enjoy mynewest Torchwood story; "One Dangerous Gentleman".
---------On With the Show!--------
"There's a devil in the pudding pot. There's a devil in the pudding pot."
John sat, shivering and muttering to himself against the imaginary cold. It was rainy in this part of Wales; always dark and rainy. Long ago, John had amazing shoulder length red hair; the kind where you'd go into the sun and his hair looked as if it had been colored by an orange sharpie. Most of that had been shaved off. John had also been chunky in that time; had quite a bit of meat on his bones. Now, though, he was wasting into a corpse-like state. He was greasy, sweating constantly from the mugginess, dressed in rags soiled with unknown age and dirt. His fingernails, he kept deceptively clean and often admired the little cracked lines in his dried palms. Tonight, he cradled himself and the springs continued to twang as he watched the rain fall through barred windows.
"There's a devil in the pudding pot. There's a devil in the pudding pot."
Gwen peered out into the rain; vaguely unsure as to whether on not she actually wanted to make a dash for it. She offered a shrug to Ianto, who sat reading a magazine while at the tourist desk.
"Sorry, I know you want to go home, but sometimes Cardiff can be a bloody drag."
"Eh, don't worry about it. Just try not to think about the rain too hard."
"I can't help it. Tosh? Look out!" Tosh collided as she kept her head down and the rain off of it.
"Sorry Gwen. Did I get you wet?"
"No, no. I'm just standing the doorway for my own health."
"Ooh, I soaked you all the way through your white shirt, I'm sorry."
"Don't worry. Mind looking away while I change?" She glanced to Ianto who turned and thought to himself, It's entirely possible that we are too comfortable with each other.
Gwen quickly changed into her workout shirt; grey and black, just like the sky. "Too bad I'm not Owen; scenes like these are wasted on me."
"Oy, I'm glad you aren't Owen, Ianto. And that's exactly why."
"So, what did you forget Tosh?"
"Can't get to my car. Streets are flooded out."
"Bloody hell, what did I miss?"
"Hello again, Owen."
"Why are you all changed then Gwen?"
"I was gonna make a dash for my car, but it looks as though none of us are getting out tonight. I'd better call Rhys. You don't mind us staying, do you Ianto?"
Sigh. "Of course not. It's not like I had anything planned", he muttered, as the "Hubbies" headed back to their workstations for the night.
"Honey, were we expecting company?" Jack stood nearly naked before them, except for an exceptionally long button-down dress shirt.
"Woah, Jack, sorry to disturb you, but..."
"It seems they are all flooded out on the street Jack. Seems they'll be staying the night."
"I suppose I should get my pants back on then."
"Just a thought, mate, just a thought."
The next morning, Jack thought he awoke to the sound of birds, but really it was Gwen's phone chirping. She answered groggily.
"Hello? Yes, Devon, yes. No, calm down Devon. We'll be right there."
"Who is Devon?" Owen asked groggily from two sprawled-out computer chairs.
"An old co-worker. He seems like a right mess. Seems a body washed up on a bridge over night and he needs some of my expertise on it. Said I always seemed to have the touch."
"Well, flattery does often get men where they need to go. Who's up for a murder mystery?"
Tosh yawned. "Isn't it a little early for murder without coffee?"
"I'm two steps ahead of you, Toshiko."
The morning was grey when they got out finally. Piercing winter wind had kicked up, even though winter had yet to sink its teeth into the world. The screeched to the site in their normal impressive way and Gwen headed off to talk to Devon about the case.
The rest of the team used their "normal" formation and swooped around the canvassed body.
"What do we know about him, Gwen?"
"His name is Derrick Valeria, age 43. Son of a wine magnate; very Posh lifestyle. What he was doing in Cardiff is bloody beyond me. His last known address was his dad's place in Italy."
"Okay, that's a start. Tag and bag the body. Tosh, run the info log and bring all your findings to me. Owen, you've got the autopsy. Ianto; make some tea. I've got a feeling we'll need some after being through all this rain."
The way back to the Hub was silent except for Tosh clicking away at her mobile computer connection and Owen muttering about the bloody disaster area the body was turning into, while he and Ianto tried to soak up as much water as they could.
In the stark bareness of the autopsy room, Jack hovered in the balcony, arms folded and waiting.
"Jack, you might want to come down here."
"What is it, Owen?" Jack appeared at Owen's side and looked into the corpse.
"Well, first is that he is amazingly well-preserved for a man his age who was left out in the rain, but there is one thing missing."
"And what is that?"
"His liver."
"Why would someone take a liver?"
"I don't know, but if you'll look here," Owen showed slides while the rest of the team looked through papers featuring the autopsy results, "you'll see that his liver was taken postmortem."
"He was dead when the liver was taken?"
"Based on the incision, I'd say that's correct."
"Nasty business, this is."
"Tosh, did you get anything on Mr. Valeria?"
"Nothing, Jack. No tax audits; no bad report cards, not a blip. The man led a perfect and sheltered life."
"Well, something must have gone awry. Keep searching." The phone in Jack's office began to ring. Ianto looked at his cellular phone.
"Jack, Martha Jones is on Line One."
"Martha, how are you?" Jack sat back in his office captain's chair, slightly tense but trying to keep his voice reigned in.
"I've been better Jack. I wish this were a social call, but there is something going on that needs your team's expertise."
"A Torchwood case? I'm touched you thought of us, Martha. And thank you for the cap for Ianto. It looks simply darling."
"I'll abstain from comment. I'm faxing over all the information we have Jack. I hope you have better luck than we've had."
"We'll do our best."
"I wouldn't doubt it. Keep me informed on progress though?"
"Will do." Jack and Martha hung up in unison. "Okay, people. Dinner meeting in one hour." They could hear Jack's voice echoing from his office. "I hope you've got tight stomachs cause I think this thing is about to blow wide open."
Owen gave Gwen and Tosh a look, half in concern and half confused.
Papers lay scattered all over the board room table; diagrams, charts, personal photos, everything and Jack began to rub his forehead with his palm, visibly sagging with the weight of the information.
"Okay, we have a total of seven victims, each had a body part removed after death."
"They seem to have no connection other than the fact these body parts were taken."
"There is no common denominator of receiving or donating organs; they reach across different continents, fitness levels, occupations, but the attacks all seem to be at random, death by mugging at knife point."
"It's not mugging."
"Well, that seems to be obvious. The ulterior motive is the body part. But the question is why?"
"Jack, I may have something!" Ianto called from his computer at the Hub. Jack switched over the CCTV footage.
"We're watching Ianto. What do you have?"
"A possible connective case from California. I'm printing the documents now sir."
"What can you tell us?"
"It seems that this man was killed at home, and it seems like it was done at knife-point, his body left to drain in the shower, very courteous for the clean-up team. His adopted son was charged with the murder, but was given a plea of insanity in put in the care of the state."
"What's the connection?"
"It should be obvious, sir."
The paper rose from the boardroom's printing machine and Tosh ripped it off the copier a second before it finished. She scanned quickly and her eyes rose to meet Jack's.
"Well, Tosh, what is it?" Gwen's voice sounded edgy.
"His kneecaps were taken, but then replaced. The coroner thought it odd that a man with replaced kneecaps would have the screws popped out."
"And you think there is a connection Ianto?"
"Well, sir, the thing is," and he walked into the boardroom, "this man's son is now under the care of a psychiatric hospital here in Wales. And his benefactor is working in London."
"I suppose it couldn't hurt to pay this son a visit. Tosh, do some background work on the son and then Gwen and I will pay the boy a visit."