To help get rid of lingering shudders from Chapter Nine - fluff, and a little implied smut.
Rated M. Occasional coarse language, nudity.
Ten
The door of the shooting gallery closed behind Jack with a thunk.
Merelyn swung around, had him covered before he had a chance to move. He raised his hands. "It's one-thirty in the morning. You shouldn't be here."
She lowered the gun, the regular pistol the team used, he noted, not her .22, and pulled a careless face.
"I mean, you really shouldn't be here. You're not supposed to be able to bypass security," he said, coming forward to inspect the array of weapons and ammo laid out on the table by her side. He'd seen her slip in on the CCTV. Dressed in the old grey hoodie and faded track pants, she looked so like the girl who'd dropped into his arms he'd had to smile. The hoodie lay in a crumpled heap on the table and the muscles in her shoulders and torso gleamed where not covered by her black sports crop or the fresh gauze dressing over the wound in her side. Already on a silver chain around her neck, the dragon medallion was half-hidden, tucked into the top of the crop.
She lifted one well-toned shoulder. "Picked the codes out of Ianto's mind."
Jack looked up sharply from the pulse rifle he was checking. "That's a worry."
"Before he learned how to block. Not the strongest talent in the world could take it from him now." Her voice became bitter. "I taught him well." She aimed at one of the new human-shaped targets Jack had added since her comments the first time he'd brought her down here, pulled the trigger and clipped the edge of the woman's right shoulder. Her mouth compressed into a thin line. She aimed again.
Jack made an impatient sound. "You're not doing anything I taught you. Wait." He jammed on muffs and protective glasses that matched hers. "Breathe and squeeze, remember - don't pull." Standing behind her, he corrected her stance, settling his hand over hers on the gun. "Now. Sque-eze gently."
A hole appeared in the right shoulder of the target. A satisfied grin spread across Merelyn's face.
Jack stepped away and crossed his arms. "Better. Now on your own."
A second hole appeared almost directly on top of the first. "Good. Correct your aim just a little."
The first hole became slightly wider as the third bullet ripped into it. "No. Correct your aim." Jack repositioned himself behind her, moved the weapon just a fraction, then stepped away. A fourth bullet ripped into the target, in the right hand.
Merelyn's triumphant look had Jack narrowing his eyes. "You're trying for disarm and disable shots."
"They're easier."
"They are not!"
"They are for me."
After her performance earlier at the village, he didn't bother with the kill lecture. Instead he decided to test her reflexes and decision-making and moved to the new console installed as part of the upgrade he'd undertaken on the gallery. He doused the lights in the target area, then set the sequence for random spotlights and target movement. "Okay. Let's have us a little battle. Remember, whatever - whoever's - out there'll kill you if they can."
Merelyn assumed the correct cover stance, her weapon raised, cocked and ready.
Jack shook his head. "From rest. Holster it."
She tucked the semi into the back of her trackpants with a slight wince as her side caught, then lounged against the table, folding her arms. Lit by sudden light, a Weevil loomed out of the dark. The gun was back in her hand so fast her move was almost a blur - then she lost all the advantage her speed had given by going for the Weevil's shoulder. The alien rolled forward through two more disable shots before she finally got the message and let off a fourth that tore through the head and the Weevil rumbled to a halt just short of the rail's end.
"Too slow!" was Jack's only comment.
On the other side of the room, another Weevil rumbled forward. This time she let off only one disable shot before accepting the inevitable and going for the head.
The third Weevil hardly had a chance to begin its journey forward before it halted, a bullet lodged in its head.
An unarmed human female appeared, and was stopped with a shoulder wound.
The main lights came on.
Merelyn swung around to Jack. "You said they'd all kill me!"
Jack grinned. "I did." He doused the lights again, and she swung back to the target area.
A Cyberman appeared in a halo of light. Merelyn dropped the pistol on the table, grabbed the pulse rifle, wincing as her knuckles caught in the trigger-guard, and took the metal monster out before it rolled further than a couple of metres.
Another human female, this one armed with an axe. "It's Toshiko!" called Jack.
The rifle dropped, the semi raised, and Tosh was disarmed by a shot in the hand and disabled with a thigh wound. She still rumbled forward - until a third bullet hit her brain.
"Owen!"
Again the figure was taken out with hand, thigh and finally brain.
"Evan Sherman!"
The .22 was snatched up. "I'll give you peashooter!" A tiny hole appeared dead centre of Evan's forehead.
"Ianto!"
The .22 wavered.
"Ianto!"
The figure halted with a hole in the forehead.
"Me!"
He was taken out with shots to hand, thigh and head.
He turned on the main lights and came forward to the table. "Me you don't kill, I just come back. Me you incapacitate, both shoulders and kneecaps, possibly belly too. That should slow me down - until I bleed out. Then I'll resurrect and be after you again."
Merelyn nodded and dropped her gaze. Through the lenses of her protective glasses tears sparkled that Jack didn't think were for him.
"Why no chances for Ianto?"
"If he ever lets… If he ever learns how, he could take me out with a snap of his fingers."
"He's that strong?"
"Yes." Merelyn unloaded the cartridge from the .22, set them both on the table, reached for the semi. Jack caught her wrist. Her knuckles were red, grazed.
"Working out? Who was on the receiving end?"
"Just a bag."
He held her gaze. "No, who?"
"Me."
He tightened his grip on her wrist. "You did what was necessary to get your opponent down to your level - and you kept him there. Ianto would be veal now if you hadn't." At her stare, he added, "I debriefed Tosh and Owen."
"You didn't debrief me."
"In the morning. Owen said you put on a helluva performance."
"It wasn't a performance. I really felt the lust for Evan, the wanting. I made myself that way; Evan had to believe me. Ianto felt it too. I… used him. And it disgusted him. I disgust him." Her mouth tilted into a crooked smile. "And I needn't have cos Captain Jack came to the rescue. You'd have saved him. It's what you hero-types do. Just in the nick of time."
He shook his head. "I'd have been too late for Ianto. No nicks for him - except from that cleaver." He let her wrist go. "If you need someone to hit, I'll go a few rounds with you."
Her eyes ran over his height. "Nah, you'd sulk when I beat you. Boys always do."
"I am not a boy."
Her look was very considering. "No."
He stuck his hands in his pockets and nodded at the targets. "Want to try some more?"
They continued until her hit rate dropped and she was sweating hard. Jack realised she was shaking with fatigue. "Enough. Well done. Go home, get some rest. You need it."
She reloaded the gun. "No point. I won't sleep."
Jack took the weapon off her. "Try." Her rebellious look made him catch both her gaze and her shoulders. "You are no good to Torchwood sleep deprived."
"Jack, I'm always sleep deprived. I never sleep well in the city, though I'm better now than at the hospital. Just… not tonight."
Jack felt the knots in the muscles under his fingers. He kneaded lightly. She stiffened, then relaxed a little. "Massage would help."
"Tried that. Never managed to find a masseuse who blocked completely. They'd all leak something; reminders to pick up cat-food, or what weird tattoos people have, or what they were going to do to their partners that night - really bizarre some of those - or the curry they'd had the night before and the gas and crap they needed to get rid of and could they last til the end of the session. Not conducive to relaxation." She slipped out of his grip and picked up the gun. "I need to get better at this."
"You have, by a huge leap."
Her mouth twitched. "A quantum leap?"
"If you like. Okay, you can have ten minutes more. Then everything unloaded and locked away. Twenty minutes max. Don't make me come get you."
She nodded her agreement and brought up the gun, her face utter concentration.
Nineteen minutes later, quick, light footsteps sounded on the metal stairs up to the workstation level.
Jack emerged from his office in time to see the look of wonder on Merelyn's face as she took in the candles and tea-lights shimmering pools of soft yellow light around and on the old coffee table and the gentle sounds of a flute that floated around the Hub. The look altered to apprehension at the half-full bottle of oil, the chair, blanket and pillow set before the brown settee, the couple of white towels draped over his shoulder, and his half-dressed state of T-shirt, trousers with braces pushed down and bare feet.
"Welcome to Jack's Spa. First treatment on the house." He pulled the towels from his shoulder and lifted an eyebrow, tempting. "I don't give freebies to just any old employee." She stood looking at him, the hoodie she carried swinging loosely in her grasp. "I'm good. A quiet few months and a blond, blue-eyed Swede coincided in the Sixties, so my massages are pretty special. Be even better with a little of your lavender." Still she stood, silent. He came over, took her hand, held her palm to his forehead. "No leaks from this mind, I guarantee." He let her tug her hand away, only to catch her upper arm. "Let me do this for you, you need it." He rubbed her arm. "Just a massage, Merelyn, to help you sleep."
The look in the blue-grey eyes was completely unreadable. Then she slipped from his grasp, went to her workstation and came back holding out a little blue bottle.
He added a few drops to his bigger bottle of oil. She dropped her hoodie onto the coffee table, her gaze thoughtful on the oil. Don't ask, he thought.
"None of the tables are the right height," he said, setting the pillow upright on the chair and spreading a towel over it, dropping the other by the bowl of warm water on the floor. "Except in the autopsy room. But hospital-grade disinfectant…" He grimaced. "So we'll improvise. Slip your shoes off." Hitching up the knees of his trousers, he sat on the settee and spread his legs wide. He patted the seat between his legs. "Park yourself."
To his surprise, she complied without argument, perching on the very edge of the cushion. Careful of her dressing, he pulled her back a touch, so her thighs were bracketed by his, not so far she was in his groin. Reaching around, he manoeuvred the chair in front of them, then set his palms on his thighs. The wide straps of the black racer-back crop-top stared at him. Unable to resist, he leaned forward, put his mouth very close to her ear. The faintest whiff of lavender blended with the sharper scent of female sweat caught at his nose. "Take-"
With one fluid move she stripped the top over her head, the muscles in her back rippling in a way that made Jack dig his fingers into his thighs and feel glad she wasn't sitting right in his groin, which was precisely why he'd left a gap between. Her head turned a touch. "Do you want the trackies off as well?" Her voice was pitched as low as his.
"No," he said quickly, glancing down at the round black-clad bottom that flared so firm-soft and full from her waist, hoping the negative hadn't come out too fast. This was already proving harder than he'd imagined. "Just your medallion."
She reached around and undid the clasp, the flickering light playing over the musculature of her back again. Jack's fingers dug harder.
She twisted the silver chain around her hand, leant forward and draped her torso and shoulders over the towel-covered pillow, turning her head to one side.
"Put your hands wherever they're comfortable." Jack gathered her hair together, and his pulse, already too fast, picked up even more as silken strands kissed his fingers, caressed his palms. Not allowing himself to linger, he carefully twisted them up out of the way. The skin of her neck was very white. Reaching down, he lifted a cloth from the bowl. Water trickled, mingling with the melody of the flute. He squeezed the cloth and the trickle became a rush. With long, slow strokes he washed the sweat from her back and shoulders, keeping the cloth well away from the dressing, then gently dried her with the towel. Pouring a little oil into his palm, releasing the scent of the lavender, he hauled in a settling breath, spread the oil over both palms and set to work.
The tiny moans and catching sighs that escaped her as he found the knots in her muscles and firmly dug in the pads of his thumbs and fingers sounded erotic, incredibly erotic. She looked erotic too; eyes lightly closed, lashes long against her cheek, occasionally fluttering; bottom lip caught between little white teeth; the tiny furrow between her brows as he found a tight spot, her slight smile as he eased it away; the fingers of the hand on the pillow beside her face flexing and unflexing around the medallion.
Damn, he was getting uncomfortable. Thank God for baggy trousers - or he wouldn't just be uncomfortable, he'd be in real pain, pain growing greater every second. The temptation to hitch forward so that lovely round bottom nestled firmly against the swell of his cock, to drape himself over her, trace the delicate line of the skull behind her ear with his tongue, pull her back against him so he could bury his face in her neck, so his hands could slip to her front to discover the exact shape and feel of her breasts before one hand skimmed down, slid under the waistband of the trackpants to discover the heat between her thighs, was almost unbearable.
Down boy, he mentally smacked himself. She needed sleep far more than he needed to get his rocks off. Taking long, slow, calming breaths, he mustered all his fortitude and forced himself to concentrate solely on his hands, ensuring he kept his touch firm, business-like with no hint of sensuality, finding the tension and tightness, taking his pleasure in feeling it melt away under his fingers. He worked for over an hour, down and across her upper back, across her shoulders, up her neck, found the pressure points on her skull through the silky hair and all the way back again, until his fingers ached from the unexpected exercise and Merelyn was completely limp and had made no sound other than deep, relaxed breathing for a good ten minutes.
"Merelyn. Sweetheart. Lean back." Settling back into the settee cushions himself, he gently pulled her onto him. With a long sigh, she lifted her legs and curled, trusting, into his lap like a kitten. She fit well in his arms, this short stocky girl, better than he'd ever have thought.
How long had it been since he'd held someone, simply held someone, like this?
His eyes prickled, the old ache spread across his chest, and his arms tightened involuntarily around Merelyn as the pain constricted his breathing. She stirred and sighed and spread the fingers of the hand holding the old medallion loosely on his chest, settled her relaxed warmth more closely against him. The pain eased away and he wasn't sure if she was cause or cure. Almost feeling as though he was stealing, he stroked her hair. She had a generous heart, this girl, and somehow Jack felt she wouldn't mind his thievery, so he kept her in his lap instead of laying her on the cushions to sleep as he'd originally intended. Carefully, he stuffed the pillow behind his head, pulled the blanket up over them both, and rested his chin on the top of her head.
As he gazed unblinking at the small blue bottle shining in the tea-lights, old memories, too old and too many, slipped into his mind one after another, to be soothed away by Merelyn's warm, comforting presence. Eventually, the last fragment of thought faded. Jack closed his eyes and, encircled by the sweet scent of lavender, slid into the semi-conscious state that was the closest he came to sleep.
- - - - - - - -
Ianto found them in the morning, surrounded still by faint lavender and flickering lights.
Jack opened his eyes, placed a warning finger on his lips. Without a word, the younger man turned on his heel and went back down the stairs to the lift, taking with him the mellow aroma of the two take-away coffees he carried.
Jack tipped his head back on the pillow and silently cursed.
It was a full twenty minutes more before Merelyn groggily lifted her head. "Where…? Oh," she mumbled. Swinging her legs to the floor, she sat up, blinking. The blanket fell away.
"Feel better?" Jack carefully kept his hands neutral on the settee cushions wishing like hell she wasn't facing away.
"What? Oh." She raked her hair back from her face, then heeled her hands into her eyes. "God. How long did I sleep?"
"About three hours."
"That all? Feels like ten." She raised arms high in a joint-cracking stretch, winced as her side caught. Grabbing her crop-top from the floor, she pulled it over her head. "Have I got time to get home for a shower and change?" She stood, hesitating.
Jack rose too. "If you're quick. Take the scenic route, it'll be faster." She really didn't need to see Ianto's closed-in face just yet. He picked up his wrist device from the coffee table, opened the top section of the Lift. "I'll clear all this away. Here, don't forget this." As he gave her the little blue bottle, she caught his hand. Jack wondered if he was about to get kissed, wasn't sure if he was glad or disappointed when he didn't. The warm look he did get was almost as good as a kiss anyway, and a lot less complicated.
"Thanks. I feel really great." The blue-grey eyes were very bright and alive.
He flashed her a cocky grin. "Told you I was good." His gaze drifted down a little. "Your tattoo. It's fading."
She waved the medallion, its chain still wrapped around her fingers. "Have the real thing now. Mamo meant well when she gave it to me, but it's been the bane of my life." Her eyes clouded a little. "And now, now I'd give anything… Jack, Ianto needs to know someone cares, and he won't…"
He tightened his clasp. "He'll know. I'll make sure. Off you go, before someone falls in."
One final squeeze of his hand and she was gone, shrugging herself into the hoodie she grabbed from the table. Jack set about snuffing out lights, deciding he needed a shower and change himself before he saw Ianto.
Ianto didn't look up from his computer as Jack, hands deep in clean trouser pockets, approached him. Jack stood before the counter where two cups sat, one full, one empty, somehow feeling more like an unwelcome customer than the guy's boss.
Ianto turned his head. His blue eyes were as cold and hard as his voice. "What makes you feel you owe me an explanation?"
Sudden anger flared in Jack. "What makes you feel you're owed one?" He snatched the full cup from the counter and left, having a hard time to not crush the container in his fingers.
The coffee was stone-cold and very bitter.