So, I suck. I know. I'm sorry. I made you all wait three weeks and two days for a chapter.
Real life kinda exploded all over me. There were finals, a deadline to get all my 100 overdue assignments turned in (starting in the middle of October at the beginning of September for online school is a bitch), and I may or may not have failed Geometry, so now I have to retake that. Then there was my mom and dad fighting all the damn time (now they're just ignoring each other and only speaking when they have to), rain so I couldn't escape to my rope swing outside (which is where I usually write tbh I get wifi so I blast Pandora radio and get my type on rabbit trail you're welcome), so I had to listen to all that, and take care of my 13-yr-old brother and my 9-yr-old sister, since they were too busy blowing up at each other to make sure things got done. I did have one good thing: my best friend took me to the mall and we blew over $200 together. I got the cutest blue dress! At Ross for $16 instead of $35 :). Anyway, then her brother had to go to the hospital, and now is at Doernbecher Children's hospital (13), and they're not sure what's wrong with him. On top of all THAT, my head isn't the greatest place to be in right now, and I had bad writer's block. Depression sucks ass, but, anyway.
I know it's not an excuse, but, please, don't hate me. I love you all very much!
Wow, okay, long A/N, over. Feel free to skip all that above, that's just excuses. I own nothing but Hazel. Torchwood S2E6 Reset, for all the people (giddyfan) that wanted a little more Doctor Who-ness in it. Better late than never, right? *smiles and hides*
Little bit of a surprise next chapter, which will be posted when I am done writing it. I'm gonna go start that right now, so, no pitchforks?
Please review!
Chapter Three: Cardiff part one
Dean drove until he couldn't drive any more, and I convinced him to pull into a motel after he'd nearly fallen asleep at the wheel twice. Our coupling was frantic and fast and brutal, but it was also satisfying, and we collapsed on each other, completely spent as we succumbed to sleep. This morning was more leisurely. We woke up late, took a shower together where we had sex again, and he treated me to a late breakfast at a greasy diner that (thankfully) had strawberry pancakes.
"So," I say as I spread butter on my strawberry pancakes. "Martha wants us to come visit her an' Mickey in London."
"'Us'?" Dean repeats.
"They want to meet you. I've also got to bomb over to Cardiff an' have Jack fix this piece of shit," I hold up my manipulator-clad wrist before cutting into the pancakes. "I can go by myself, s'just that I thought you might wanna come with me. Y'don't have to if you don't want to."
"How long would we be gone?" he asks, taking a bite of bacon and eggs.
"Um, couple days? A week, maybe?"
"We'd have to take the human way, wouldn't we?"
"Unfortunately, yes, we'd have to take an aeroplane."
"Airplane," he corrects me. I wonder who it was- him or Sam, that decided that I should start speaking American instead of British. Let me rephrase, I wonder how long it took Dean to be annoyed by the different words I use.
"Whatever. You wanna do it?" I look at him as he contemplates whether or not to come with me. He takes another bite of eggs and eats a sausage link before he answers.
"Sure, why not?"
He smiles at the excited look on my face.
"Really?" I check.
"Really," he nods once. I lean over the table and kiss him passionately.
"Thank you," I smile against his lips. "You've no idea what this means to me."
"When do we leave?"
"As soon as I get flight tickets, if that's okay with you."
"How- do you think we'll need weapons?"
"If we put everything in my duffel -including your own duffel- it'll register as normal on the airport scanners an' they'll be none the wiser."
"I think we'll also save money that way, with only one bag to check."
"Martha? It's Hazel."
"Oh, hello, sweetheart, have you made up your mind?"
"Yeah, Dean's all for it, an' as soon as we're done packin', we're gonna head to the airport."
"'Airport'?"
"Yeah, remind me to pop into Cardiff while we're there, need Jack to fix my damn vortex manipulator. S'broken, otherwise I'd be there in five seconds."
"Got it."
"Listen, I've gotta go. I'll call you when we get our flight information, okay?"
"Okay. Talk to you soon, love. Goodbye."
"Chat soon, bye, Martha." She hangs up and I shove my mobile in my back pocket. "Almost packed?" I ask Dean.
"Almost," he says, rolling a shirt and shoving it in his duffel. "I know your bag is, like, bottomless, but, how is-"
"I'll show you," I smile toothily before zipping mine open and bending over the bed to reach one of my drawers in my ten metre-deep duffel bag. I open one of the many tan file-cabinet-like drawers (H for hooks, maybe?), and, when I don't find what I'm looking for, search in other drawers (P for purple, S for storage, U for utility) until I do find it (T for to be filed/too lazy to file). I feel a smack on my ass and immediately snap up to glare at my boyfriend.
"Couldn't help it," he grins, and I just look at him.
"Anyhow, if I just attach this hook-"
"That's not a hook."
"Yes it is, it's a utility hook, now shush. If I attach it to this wall in here, see, it just sticks on like that," I demonstrate, him watching my every move. "Not sure how, Jack or my dad could probably explain it better. I don't really question it. You done packin'?"
"Yeah, here," he hands me his duffel, and I carefully lower it in as I explain what I'm doing.
"You just flip this open, slide the handle on the hook, an' clip it shut, like so. Then a bit of sonic screwdrivering an' we're good." We both pull our heads out and I zip it shut.
"How will that not show up on the airport scanners?"
"Type of perception filter. Tricks the scanners to think there's normal things in there, like clothes an' a laptop an' shoes an' knickers an' stuff like that."
"That's actually really cool."
I smile and give him a quick kiss. "You ready to go?"
"Only if you are," he responds, and he kisses me again.
"Not productive," I say as his hands inch towards the hem of my shirt. I take them in mine to make him stop. "All of your weapons in your bag?"
"Unfortunately," he grumbles.
"Oh, come now, sweetheart, it won't be that bad. You can have them back as soon as we land."
"Fine, fine, let's go." He takes my hand and our bag and we walk to the Impala.
"Do you have any tickets for London?" I ask the woman at the counter.
"Let me check," she smiles before clacking away on her keyboard and clicking her mouse. "I've got open seats in first class and in coach for the 5:15 pm flight to London Heathrow airport."
"Do you have two seats together in first class?"
"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Dean interrupts, looking at me. "First class?"
"First class is the best, and we're going to see my Martha and Mickey. 'Sides, I've got the money. Really, it's no big deal."
"Hazel-"
"Dean," I copy, pouting adorably. "It's nothing." Money isn't really an object for me; with my sonic, I can just hit a cash point (ATM, Dean would correct me) and make it spit out all the cash the metal machine has. I don't wait for him to give in, instead turn back to the woman and buy the tickets.
Great. Now we've got four hours to kill.
Four. Hours.
"Food court?" Dean suggests, and I roll my eyes at the predictability. He is always hungry; doesn't matter that he just stuffed himself at breakfast two hours prior.
"Only if you'll split a thing of what you Americans call 'french fries' with me," I smile.
"Deal," he says, taking my hand and we walk to the food court. I like the way his calloused hand feels in mine. It's like they belong.
It's my first relationship ever, okay, don't judge me.
"Shit, I have to call Martha, hold on." I dial Martha and Mickey's home number and get their voicemail. "Hullo, Martha an' Mickey, it's Hazel. Our flight arrives at 9:15 am tomorrow mornin' at London Heathrow airport. An' the, uh, flight number is," I look at the two pieces of paper the woman in the dreadful uniform handed me, "five-six-four-four if I'm readin' it right. Oh, it's from Denver, Colorado to London Heathrow; I don't know the flight number. I don't even think I'm readin' this right, but, oh well. Dean, am I readin' this right?"
"I think so; aren't you leaving a message on their machine?" he prompts.
"Oh, yeah! Anyway, please don't forget about us, love you!" I hang up my beautiful special-ordered TARDIS blue iPhone 7C and jam it in my back pocket. "French fries?"
"French fries," he smiles, and we walk to a McDonalds.
We spend most of the flight listening to music on my phone, sharing a set of ear buds. Taking turns, he'd pick Led Zeppelin or AC/DC and I'd pick Fall Out Boy or 5 Seconds of Summer or Wonderland by Taylor Swift. Then, he accused me of cheating when the same song played about three times (that Taylor Swift one), so I set it to shuffle. Other than that, the flight was uneventful.
Martha and Mickey, as promised, wait by customs for us with smiles on their faces.
"Hi!" Martha beams, immediately wrapping her arms around me in a tight embrace. I hug her back in equal fervour.
"Hi, Martha," I smile back. "Hey, Mickey!"
"Well, look at you, Care-bear!" he hugs me. "An' who's this?"
"Dean, Mickey Smith an' Martha Smith-Jones. You two are in trouble for gettin' married without me, by the way!" I say in mock anger. "Mickey an' Martha, my boyfriend, Dean Winchester."
"Nice to meet you," Dean smiles politely, shaking Mickey's hand.
"'Boyfriend'?" they both repeat. Oops.
"Oops, ha, ha, did I accidentally forget to mention tha' on the phone?" I smile innocently. "My bad. Baggage claim?"
Martha and Mickey lead the way with Dean and I (holding hands) following shortly behind.
"Dean Winchester, where have I heard that name before?" Martha asks no one in particular.
"UNIT has files on everyone, maybe you heard his name in passing," I shrug.
"Everyone?" Dean asks.
"You should see how thick mine is," I laugh, holding my fingers about an inch and a half apart.
"Tha's because you go lookin' for trouble," Mickey retorts.
"Oi! Tha's not completely true! Trouble finds me!"
"An' you go lookin' for it! Oh, the stories I could tell about you, squirt."
"Yeah, let's not," I say.
"No, let's," Dean smiles. I look up to glare at him.
"Do you value your life, dear Winchester?"
"Nope," he jokes. "I wanna hear every single little embarrassing story you have, Hazelnut."
"Nope, nope, nobody say a word."
Mickey sucks at listening, claiming it's his his job to embarrass me as my uncle. But he doesn't really tell any embarrassing stories (except for the time Peter convinced me that peanut butter was good for my hair), he instead sings my praises. I'm actually not sure which one I prefer: the peanut butter story, or how it only took me three days to get through school on a planet called Academia (for Peter it took two, and he'd taken to rubbing in in my face whenever he could when he was that age).
"No, no, no, now that's not true," I protest while we wait at the baggage claim. "I did not almost set the TARDIS on fire. You're full of crap."
"Care-bear, you're such a liar," Mickey laughs.
"Oh, what do you know?" I jibe with him, pushing on his arm with my hand. "Oh, there's-"
"I got it," Dean says, walking closer to the moving belt of bags and grabbing our duffel.
"Ooh," Martha smiles, "chivalrous?"
"He's a big sweetheart, but you didn't hear it from me," I smile appreciatively as he walks back towards us.
"What are you two smiling about?" he asks suspiciously.
"Your bum," I quip, and he winks at me.
"Oi, I'm a married woman!" Martha protests, laughing.
"Yes, but, you do see it, no?"
"Are you... objectifying me?" Dean asks, that suspicious tone still there.
"Possibly," I beam, taking his hand and secretly admiring the way his shoulder muscles tense as he flings the bag over. "So! Martha, Mickey. Where we goin'?"
Their flat is so cute! It's not big, but perfect. Perfect for them. Comfortable. And they have a little dog!
"He's so cute!" I beam at the little yorkshire terrier, giving him a nice belly rub.
"Oi, leave Sampson alone," Mickey orders.
"But he loves me," I pout.
"No, you're probably scarring him for life, now, get," he orders again, heading into their little kitchen.
"Whatever," I scoff after him, but let the yorkie go as he darts over to Dean. "Ooh, lookit, sweetheart, you've made a friend."
"Dog. From. Hell," is all he says, refusing to even bend down and pet him, and I roll my eyes fondly.
"He's a little dog, he's not possessed or anythin'. Relax."
"I don't like little dogs."
"I can tell," I laugh, picking up the little one and rubbing my face into his fur. "Look at him, though, he loves me."
"Better you than me."
I tsk at him. "Big child."
"I neither confirm nor deny," he says cheekily, sitting down on their couch.
"I hate you."
"No, you don't."
"I know," I sigh dramatically. "Look at him, though, he's so cute!"
"Don't coddle Sampson," Mickey walks back in with a beer. "He's a killin' machine."
"Really?" I ask as Sampson rolls over on his back and lolls his tongue out.
"Sampson's an attack dog," he insists.
"Oh, yeah, the 'terrorist terrier', yeah, I believe it," I say sarcastically.
"Hey, I've got to pop into UNIT for a couple hours," Martha announces, grabbing her badge from a drawer in the little table by the door. "Please don't burn the flat down while I'm gone, yeah?"
"Don't worry, we will!" I chirp.
"Tha's not helpin'!" she accuses.
"Don't worry, babe, nothin'll 'appen," Mickey reassures her, giving her a quick peck on her lips.
"No way, I know how you two are. Dean, you'll make sure they won't get into too much trouble?"
"Don't worry, Martha," Dean smiles. "Your apartment will be just as you found it when you get home."
"You've inflated his ego," I tell her, matter-of-fact.
"Has not!" he protests.
"Has too!"
"Has not!"
"Has too!" I bicker with him, like we are children.
"Oh, I'm sorry, I forgot you know everything," he says sarcastically.
"You'd do best to remember tha', huh?" I say cheekily. "Bye, Martha!"
"Bye, sweetheart," she says before pulling the door shut and walking down the hall.
I would be content to listen to music all day in Martha and Mickey's flat, alone with Dean who likes to criticise my choices and the songs I have downloaded. Just lounging on their couch, his arms around me and my ear on his chest, listening to his strong heartbeat.
"You paid money for this?" he says, about a minute into 'Fancy' by Iggy Azalea and Charli XCX.
"I have a very eclectic taste in music. Shut up an' listen to it," I smile sleepily.
"You tired, Hazelnut?" he yawns, closing his eyes.
"Not one bit," I close mine as well.
It seems like seconds later when I hear, "Leave them alone, Mickey, they're adorable."
"You see the way that man has 'is arms around 'er?"
"Yeah, an' lookit her hands, too. They've 'ad a long day, just leave 'em be."
"But Martha-"
"Let them sleep. We'll wake 'em when the takeaway gets here."
"What- did you just take a picture?"
"Yeah, m'sendin' it to Jack."
"Now tha's just cruel."
Martha just laughs. "He'll love it. Our little girl, all grown up."
"Yeah, he'll love it for about five seconds before wantin' t'put a bullet in 'is head."
"Oh, it won't be tha' bad. Come help me find a bottle of wine for our late lunch," she prompts, and their voices fade away. I wonder what time it is. Early afternoon, at least. I don't feel like checking more in depth; I'm not completely calibrated to this time zone yet. I'm content to just say in Dean's arms.
I know the exact moment he wakes because he startles slightly. If I wasn't so attuned to him, I wouldn't have even noticed.
"You okay?" I whisper. His only response is to hold me tighter, and I burrow even closer still in his arms. "I love the sound of your heartbeat," I say softly.
"Why?" he croaks before clearing his throat.
"Dunno. Just do."
"Oh, good, you're awake," Martha smiles from the kitchen doorway, a glass of wine in her hand. "Mind popping over to the market for me?"
"What d'ya need?" I ask, sitting up and stretching.
"No, princess, come back, I'm cold," Dean complains.
"I think you'll get over it, sweetheart," I chuckle. "What d'ya need from the market, Martha?"
And that was how Dean and I got caught up in his first London downpour. We had Chinese for lunch with apple pie (guess at who's request) and beer back at Martha and Mickey's. We spent a couple of days taking up space in their flat until Martha was ordered to liaison with Torchwood.
This is gonna be fun. Martha is so going to hand Owen his ass.
"This is gonna be awesome!" I beam in the car. "Are we there yet?"
"Couple more minutes, Nutella," Mickey smiles at me in the mirror.
"Jack told you about the nickname," I frown.
"Yep!"
"Wonderful. Excited to see him again?" I ask.
"Oh, yeah, end of the world survivors club. Maybe we'll all go out for chips an' tea," he suggests sarcastically.
"Share."
"No."
"Please?"
"No."
"Hmm." I give up and nearly escape frantically from the car -and Mickey's driving- to dart over to where I know the invisible lift is as soon as it's parked. "Martha! Ten quid says I can make it down there before you can!"
"You're on!" She tears off towards the tourist's office, Mickey hot on her heels.
"Dean, Dean, Dean, Dean, hurry up!" I start jumping up and down on the tile impatiently. He finally joins me. "Heads-up, platform's about to move."
"What the- son of a bitch!" He wraps a tight hand around my waist (and I may or may not love it) as the invisible lift moves down, thanks to my magical sonic screwdriver.
"Hi!" I wave with my free hand.
"I didn't realize we were having visitors, Jack," Gwen frowns at me.
"Maybe that's because you don't know how to read the memos," I snap right back.
"Be nice, you two, I'm not gonna play mother, nor do I want to," Jack interrupts. "And, Hazel, much as I love to see your ugly mug-"
"Oi!"
"And Dean's beautiful one-"
"Back off, Harkness, I have a girlfriend," Dean replies in stride.
"You're not who I was expecting."
"I know! We came with them. She invited us up for a coupla days," I explain. "Martha owes me ten quid!"
"Jack, your VIP visitors are here," Ianto says over the intercom.
"Suddenly, in an underground mortuary on a wet night in Cardiff, I hear the song of a nightingale," Jack beams, dancing over to the opening cog door.
"Ten quid!" I shout.
"You cheater!" Martha accuses.
"Miss Martha Jones," Jack hugs her.
"Oh, s'good to see you, Jack!"
"Oi, hands off the wife, Captain Cheesecake," Mickey interrupts.
"Beefcake, Mickey Mouse, Captain Beefcake," Jack replies, indignant. "Wait, you got married?" he turns his stare on Martha.
"Without us!" I confirm. "She's Martha Smith-Jones now."
"Do you hate us, Martha? Is that what this is?"
"Okay, first off, I can never get a hold of a version of you that coincides with me," she points at me, "and you," she points at Jack, "were gone on some case or somethin', 'cause you didn't answer your bloody mobile!"
"Wow, okay!" Jack holds his hands up in innocence, backing up slowly.
"May 'ave been buggin' 'er about it, just a bit," I admit, carefully hiding behind Dean. She likes Dean. Dean'll protect me.
"And you've been here how long?" Jack accuses me.
"Um, er, well... Hey, guys! Come meet Martha an' Mickey!"
"You can't hide behind that gorgeous human of yours forever, Hazelnut. And that's another thing we need to talk about! You dating!"
"My goddess, you're the one that said you didn't wanna play mum, Jack!"
"You're right, but I'm your uncle, and-"
"Anyway!" I interrupt loudly. "Ianto Jones, Toshiko Sato, Owen Harper, and Gwen Cooper, meet Mickey Smith, an' Dr Martha Smith-Jones."
"Dr Owen Harper, Hazel. Just a casual visit, or-"
"I'm here to complete your post mortem," Martha announces, cutting Owen off and heading down to the autopsy/med bay.
"Dr Smith-Jones is from UNIT," I clarify, following to the deck-thing/observation deck. "We couldn't very well leave Mickey alone-"
"Oi!"
"An' I knew that if I didn't come visit, then you'd 'ave my head, Jack," I continue. "An' this one follows me around like a lost puppy."
"I do not!" Dean protests with a great big smile on his face as he comes up behind me and wraps his arms around my waist.
"Lies!"
"Which one's UNIT?" Gwen asks.
"United Nations Intelligence Taskforce," I break down.
"Intelligence, military, cute red caps. The acceptable face of intelligence gathering on aliens. We're more ad hoc. But better looking," Jack explains, shooting that last part at Martha.
"An' don't experiment on aliens, an' aren't completely racist."
"I identified a pattern from UNIT's data on sudden deaths. Toxic shock. Nothing to link the victims. Different ages, sexes, ethnic origins, occupations. But there was a statistically significant concentration in South Wales," Martha says, shrugging on a lab coat and a pair of rubber gloves.
"This is gonna be good," I tell Dean, leaning over the railings to watch.
"Come on, Martha, be honest. You just came all this way to see me."
"Still struggling to conquer your shyness, Jack?" she replies, not missing a beat. He laughs.
"So what about this pattern, then, Dr Smith-Jones?" Owen asks, joining her but staying out of her way.
"They were being written off as suicides or accidents. Look," she lifts up the dead man's eyelid to reveal a mark on his eye. "Puncture mark. Hypodermic needle. You'll find his bloodstream was pumped full of ammonium hydroxide."
"Ooh, tha' stuff's nasty," I moan.
"Yeah, Hazel, it is," Martha agrees.
"How bad?" Dean asks.
"Ammonia plus human, s'like bleach being injected straight in your veins," I explain.
"Yeah, bloodstream. That was the thing that I was gonna do next," Owen says.
"Have you checked his medical records?"
"Er, no, I was just about to."
"Well, let's give it a go. You never know, Owen, you might learn something." Mickey, Jack, and I try to stifle laughter. "What are you three, children?" she accuses, turning her scary glare on the three of us, and we immediately quiet.
"Yes," Jack replies instantly with a childish smile on his face. "Captain Beefcake-"
"Cheesecake," Mickey interjects.
"With my two sidekicks," Jack continues, "Mickey Mouse, and Miss Nutella-"
"Don't call me that!"
"At your service." Jack bows comically, and I throw a bottle cap at him. "Ow!" he cries as it hits the top of his head.
"Don't call me Nutella!" I repeat, and he just laughs. "I'm a redhead now!"
"Yeah, a fiery one!"
I growl at him, and Dean laughs at me.
"Children!" Ianto interrupts. "If you are quite done!"
"He started it!" I point at Jack.
"Did not!" Jack argues.
"Did so!"
"Did not!" he sticks his tongue out at me.
"Did so!" I do the same.
"Oi!" Ianto interrupts again. "Behave."
"Sorry, Ianto," I mutter.
"Anyway," Tosh continues with a smile on her face at her workstation. She taps some more buttons and a file appears on the computer screen in the med bay. "One Meredith Roberts, aged forty-seven. I know there's been a major crash on the NHS system, wiped a shedload of files."
"Including all the victims I flagged up from the UNIT data. And now yours," Martha says.
"A computer crash wouldn't delete data so cleanly. This is deliberate. Let me look into it," Tosh says, determined to find the files.
"Go, Toshie!" I cheer.
"Stop that," she blushes.
"So that's the hot house. Tour continues this way, ladies and gents, please. No dawdling," Jack says, leading a tour through the Hub.
"My room is up those spiral stairs," I tell Dean, pointing. "So's Jack's office."
"You have a room here?" he asks.
"Spent a lot of summers here," I smile. "'Course, that was before Gwen bloody Cooper's time. Some even before Jack became leader."
"Why do you dislike Gwen so much?" he laughs softly.
"She's racist, tha's why," I grumble, crossing my arms but allow him to wrap one of his around my shoulders. "'Cause m'an alien, I've no idea what m'talkin' 'bout."
"Oi!" Jack calls, looking straight at Dean and me. He narrows his eyes at my boyfriend before turning to the gossiping Martha and Gwen. "You two talking about me?"
"No, no, we were just discussing alien flora, weren't we?" Gwen covers.
"Oh, yeah," Martha agrees.
"She's no fun," Jack tells Mickey before raising his voice. "Raise your game, girls!"
"So, Hazelnut, do I get to see the inside of your bedroom?" Dean asks, loud enough for Jack and Mickey to hear.
"No!" my two 'uncles' snap, answering for me, making Dean laugh and me smile.
"Tour's this way, kids," Jack prompts. "And not up those stairs."
"Spoilsport," I name-call.
"Rude," he fires back.
"An' ginger," I agree with a smile on my face, following the group back to the desks in the middle of the Hub's main floor.
"I bet your dad just hates that you got to be ginger before him, doesn't he?"
"Most definitely," I laugh.
"You've got some well weird kit. What's this?" Martha asks, fiddling in a box of alien tech.
"Be careful. It's an alien artefact," Jack warns.
"Yeah, there's a lot of argument about this," Owen says, taking the object from her. "But, for my money, it's got to be a surgical instrument."
"Really?" Martha asks.
"He's just guessing. Typical medic," Jack throws in. "Any guesses, Hazelini? Dean? Mickey Mouse?"
"Not a clue!" I say. "I wouldn't mess with it, though."
"A weapon, maybe?" Dean suggests.
"Typical hunter," I scoff playfully.
"Says you! You didn't even have a guess!"
"I agree with Hazel," Mickey says. "I wouldn't mess with it."
"Well, it's a good thing some of us," glare at Jack and me, "are professionals," Owen says.
"Kiss my ass, Owen Harper, I am too a professional," I fire at him.
"The only man that's gonna be kissing your ass is me, and I'll enjoy every second of it," Dean flirts.
"No flirting!" Jack orders with a glare in my boyfriend's direction. "And no ass-kissing!"
"That goes for you, too, Jack," I point out.
"Children!" Owen interrupts. "I was gonna demonstrate, but you're too bloody loud!" He takes a breath, glares, and turns his gaze back to the device in his hand. "Okay, right, well, I call it a singularity scalpel. See, what it does is it concentrates energy on a tiny fixed point-"
"In space, not in time," I say cheekily, pulling Dean back to stand near Jack and Martha.
"Hush. Now, as I was saying, it concentrates on a tiny fixed point, without damaging anything on the way. It's brilliant."
"It's amazing," Martha agrees.
"Yeah, do you remember the last time you did that, Owen, and-"
"Yes," he cuts Gwen off, who is wisely hiding on the other side of Owen and the 'singularity scalpel'. "Right, now, all we're going to do is," he grabs a paper cup that he sets on top of the small white table and a piece of paper that he crumples while he talks, "we're going to vaporise this paper," he stuffs it in the cup, "without even scorching the cup."
"This is going to end in tears," Jack says, pulling us farther back still. Owen starts fiddling with the knobs on the device, focusing on the cup and the paper inside. All of a sudden, Ianto starts coming up the stairs with a tray in his hand. The singularity scalpel fires, nearly hitting him. He screams, falling on the floor, tray lost. Ianto kneels up to glare at Owen.
"Oh, I haven't quite got the calibration right yet.," Owen admits. Jack's too busy admiring the pout on Ianto's face to ask if he's okay, so I do. He turns his glare on me, then back at Owen, wiping dust off his trousers before speaking.
"I came up here to say there's been another attack, not to get nearly killed," he frowns.
"You should put Owen on decaf for a week," I suggest.
"Oh, it'll be longer than that," Ianto threatens. "He'll be lucky if he gets decaf."
"Sorry, you said something about an attack, gorgeous Welshman?" Jack prompts.
"Jack," he admonishes. "Yes. Assault with a hypodermic. Only this time, the victim survived. Woman, aged twenty-seven, she's in the hospital. Medical records wiped, just like the others."
"C'mon, everyone!" Jack calls, spontaneously kissing Ianto's cheek as he runs to the garage.
"Jack, not everyone will fit into the SUV!" I call, stopping him in his tracks. He has a really stupid smile on his face.
"Didn't you hear? Ianto let me get another one!"
"SUV sex?" Dean suggests. I push him out of the SUV and towards the hospital where the rest of the team is. "Well, they don't need us in there!"
"Shut up, m'sleepin'," I say, curling up in the back seat.
"Want company?" he offers, peeking his head back in.
"God, yes," I agree, and he crawls back in the SUV, takes his spot in the very back seat next to me, and I cuddle up next to him. Our three days of domesticity at Mickey and Martha's were officially over, and I just hope that he take to this case as well as he does his supernatural ones. Because one thing for sure, this isn't going to be a simple case. He throws his arm around me and I snuggle into his chest.
Which is how the team finds us about an hour later: eyes closed, his arm around me, my face in his neck (glasses in my hand), and his head on mine.
"Jack Harkness, if you so much as breathe and wake them up-" Tosh's threat trails off as sleep takes me over.
TBC
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