It was very late. Torchwood's medic, Miranda Ryan, had just finished her last xenopsy. A Weevil had surfaced behaving erratically during the day. Usually, Torchwood captured any Weevils that surface and, after a short time-out in their cells, released them back into the sewers but they captured any daytime wanderer and humanely euthanised them. They'd learned the hard way how dangerous such Weevils became. The xenopsy was standard, to learn more about the behaviour. After placing the body in the refrigeration unit with an orange tag telling Ianto it was ready for disposal, Miranda returned to the autopsy bay. She'd just placed the instruments to soak and tossed her gloves into the bin when she heard a small noise. She closed her eyes, straining her ears over the normal sounds of the Hub. There it was again. A small click… shuffling feet…

Of course, it's coming from the morgue, she thought with a roll of her eyes. She opened the bottom drawer in the medical cabinet to retrieve her gun. She flicked the safety off and pulled on the slide quietly. She glanced over at her sword resting on the instrument tray and decided against it. The only presence she felt was Ianto, sleeping in the bunker below Jack's office. The chances of another immortal of the Game entering the Hub were slim to none. She toed off her shoes and padded down the stairs on bare feet to the Hub's morgue.

When she rounded the corner, she saw a man in a red jacket leaning over a cryodrawer. He was completely unaware of her. She could just shoot him. It would be an expedient solution. But he had the look of someone who knew precisely what he was looking for and precisely where to find it. It would be better to question such an individual. She pulled back the hammer on her gun, not bothering to conceal the noise. The distinctive sound echoed in the tiled room and had its intended effect, the man straightened up to face her.

Ruggedly handsome was her first impression from the high cheekbones and chiseled features. There was a slight curl to his brown hair. The gun in her hands didn't seem to concern him at all. In fact, his blue eyes danced with mischief, as if he was privy to some secret she wasn't. She lowered the gun a little, trying to appraise him. When he reached for the waistband of his jeans, it brought her back to reality and she raised the gun again.

"Don't. Fucking. Move," she said each word like a jab. "Keep your hands where I can see them. Step away from that cryodrawer, slowly."

The corner of his mouth curled upwards. The mischief deepened and the grin turned licentious. It was almost as if he recognised her. He was wearing a stained white t-shirt underneath a red Napoleonic jacket. That isn't a reproduction. Miranda's eyes flicked to the sword at his hip. A kitana… also not a reproduction. She hadn't felt a presence other than Ianto's but one immortal could mask the presence of another. It was then that she noticed the leather wrist strap. Time agent! She had to warn Jack.

"Well, hello, hello," he said, sweetly.

She moved closer, keeping her gun pointed at him and flicked her eyes to the drawer's label. Gray. He's after Gray. She noted the blue indicator light was still on. The drawer's reversal sequence hadn't been initiated. Gray was still in proper cryostasis. "I said step away. Hands up! Now!"

Hart obeyed, moving a few steps away from the drawer. He raised his hands slightly. "Easy there, Dollface. You don't understand what's going on here. I'm an old friend of your Captain's."

She narrowed her eyes at him. So this is the old Time Agency partner… Impeccable taste as always, Jack… Miranda reached back into her memory for the name but Jack had never told her. She did know the current alias. "I'm well aware of what's going on here, Captain Hart. And don't call me Dollface."

If he was surprised she knew his name, he didn't show it. He gestured down at Gray's drawer and said, "I'm just cleaning up after your Captain."

She cast a quick glance up at the CCTV camera. Its light was off. Of course, Hart's disabled it. Miranda knew all about Jack's brother and his obsessive search. She knew all about Gray's revenge and Hart's involvement in the chain of events that had brought her back to Torchwood. She'd heard their stories. She'd dried Gwen, Ianto and Jack's tears. She'd read the reports. She'd watched the security footage. It was clear what had to be done. It was also clear that Jack would never do it. So, Miranda had done it herself. She'd sabotaged Gray's drawer a day of her return.

She made sure to add a slight chill to her tone and hollowed her voice so Hart didn't mishear her. She jerked her chin towards the drawer and said, "That? Has already been taken care of."

Curiosity lit in his eyes and he asked, "Who are you?"

"Doctor Miranda Ryan, the medic."

"Tad fuzzy on the whole 'do no harm' bit, eh?" he sneered. He glanced at the drawer. "How?"

Miranda said, icily, "Not your concern, Captain. Upstairs please. Slowly."

Now that she understood Hart's motives for entering the Hub, Miranda considered letting him go but only for a moment. She couldn't let him just waltz out of here. Not only would Jack would be furious if he found out but Hart was simply too dangerous. When he passed her, she pointed the gun at his back, following a short distance behind him. There was a tantalizing scent in the air - sandalwood, leather and cinnamon.

She pressed the comm in her ear, switching it to the channel for Jack's wrist strap. It would cause the strap to beep and hopefully wake either man asleep in the bunker. Ianto was a notoriously light sleeper. When they reached the autopsy bay, Miranda tapped the table and then moved her sword a respectable distance away. "Face me and put your hands on the table where I can see them please, Captain."

While he obeyed her command, she debated whether or not to frisk him for weapons but decided against it. Her comm unit beeped in her ear. Jack's voice came across sleepily. "Will? What's up?"

"Captain John Hart is here. I have him in the autopsy bay."

"I'll be right up." He sounded fully awake now.

The split second of distraction for her response was all it took. Hart propelled himself away from the autopsy table with his hands. He twisted around and grabbed for the gun. He seized her wrist and pinned her to the wall. She hadn't expected him to be able to move so fast. He caught her by surprise but she kept a firm hold on the gun. He banged her wrist against the wall several times in an unsuccessful attempt to disarm her. He switched tactics, keeping her pinned instead. Pressed so firmly into her, Miranda discovered the source of the intoxicating combination of sandalwood, leather and cinnamon. It was Hart. The smell sent blood rushing to her groin and made her dizzy. Fifty fucking first century pheromones… she cursed to herself.

Miranda recovered quickly from the off balance feeling Hart's scent had caused. She was trying to regain her advantage, something which would have been simple for her against the average human being or even a reasonably skilled immortal of the Game but with Hart, Miranda was unable to turn the tables on his grip. An advanced immortal of the Game like Miranda was fast and strong but not inhumanly so. She had all the strength, speed and agility of a top competing Olympic athlete… of the twenty first century. Miranda had been using Jack as a benchmark for the people of his time and she had no trouble defeating the immortal man. The assumption was proving to be an error. Hart was significantly stronger than her.

He shifted his grip on her wrist. His thumb moved up closer to her hand as the rest of his fingers shifted. Miranda knew enough about anatomy and hand to hand combat to know what was about to happen. Hart squeezed just so and the bone shifted, pressing into the nerve running through her arm. The pain was excruciating. She didn't cry out but her eyes watered. She held firm on the gun.

With no outward sign of pain, the curiosity in him deepened. He ceased his attempts to gain control of the weapon and stared at her. Her eyes burned at him with a fire that looked as ancient as it was hot. He would never gain control of the gun and she would never regain control of the situation. Their gazes locked and a silent battle of wills began. The sound of Jack cocking his Webley brought them both back to reality.

"Let her go, John. Now!" he ordered.

Hart lowered his voice so that only Miranda could hear him.

"What do you say, Dollface? Care to dance?" He squeezed the nerve in her wrist again.

The only sign of pain she showed was the smallest furrow to her brow. The honey coloured eyes blackened and crisped with rage. Hart had never encountered anyone like her. Stoic fire…

"I said, let her go," Jack repeated.

Miranda slacked in Hart's grip and he pulled back, thinking she had surrendered. She jerked her foot to the side, hard, unbalancing him. She yanked her arm downwards, finally turning the tables on his grip and flipping him. He face planted on the autopsy bay floor with Miranda seated on his thighs, his arm twisted around his back. "Touch me without my permission again and I will remove your liver with my bare hands."

To her annoyance, Hart began chuckling. "Permission isn't always verbal, Dollface."

"Don't…" she said simply, twisting his arm harder and eliciting a shout from him. She thought about breaking his wrist but decided against it. "…call me that."

"I like her, Jack," Hart said, his face pressed into the tiles slightly muffling his voice.

"What do you want?" Jack demanded.

"What? A bloke can't just stop in?"

"He asked you a question," Ianto snapped.

"Eye Candy!" Hart exclaimed.

Miranda was sorry that Hart's face was in the floor. He missed Ianto's spectacular eye roll.

"Answer him," she spat, yanking on his arm causing him to shout again.

"I came to say goodbye. I'm getting off this boring little rock."

"Let him up, Will," Jack said.

Unwilling to let this man think she was an easy target, she didn't move, keeping Hart pinned to the floor. She tugged a little on his arm for a third time. She slid her hand up his back, placing her fingers in just the right places along his neck. She felt the muscles tense as Hart recognised the grip… the grip that could snap his neck of she applied the right amount of pressure.

Jack said sternly, "Will, that's enough."

With a growl, she let go of Hart's arm and got to her feet.

"There, you've said goodbye. Now leave," Jack said as he turned to walk away.

"What? You used to be all about the long goodbye. I was thinking the three of us… well the four of us now…" he said as he got up off the floor and followed Jack out into the main Hub. "Oh, a Rickettsian tissue regenerator."

Ianto and Jack both stopped walking. Fish's worktable was littered with unidentifiable technology. The rift had been quiet lately and the technician had been working through the tech backlog.

"Wait, you know what that is?" Jack asked.

Hart nodded. "Rickettsian tissue regenerator, sixty sixth century technology. Watch…" He pulled a small blade from his belt, rolled up his sleeve and put a long, deep cut into his arm entire forearm, wincing. He picked up the alien device and aimed it at the fresh cut. "See you… oh… it's broken."

All three of them rolled their eyes at him. Jack leaned over, examining the cut closely. "Nice. That needs stitches."

"Just give me a minute…" While bleeding onto the Hub floor and the leg of his trousers, Hart began fiddling with the base of the device.

"Sometimes if they're dropped…" He picked at the bottom and it popped off. He reached two of his fingers into the device before any of them could stop him. Suddenly, it whirred and beeped and the light on the end came on.

"Ah-ha!" he said triumphantly, snapping the bottom back on. He pointed the regenerator at the cut on his arm. He slid his finger along a mark on the edge. Miranda watched in amazement as the cut started to seal itself, leaving a pink scar in its wake. She made a mental note to have Fish put this device on his list of priorities.

"See? Good as new… Oh… huh…" The regenerator stopped, leaving the wound half open. Frowning, he started fiddling with the device again. The movement caused the freshly healed end of the wound to split, bleeding again.

"John, stop. Let Will stitch that," Jack said, nodding towards the autopsy bay.

Miranda resisted the urge to crush Jack's windpipe. "There's a perfectly acceptable A&E-"

"Hang on, just give me a minute…" He held up his hand and then continued to pick at the end of the device, trying to pop the bottom off again.

Jack gave Miranda a stern look. He took on a tone of authority and ordered, "It will only take a few minutes, Will."

He turned and walked away with Ianto behind him. "I'll be in my office. Send him in after you're done."

Miranda took the device from his hands. Hart gave her a pout, like a child who'd lost a favourite toy. She seized Hart under his arm and dragged him into the autopsy bay. She shoved him at the table and started gathering her supplies.

"Sit down," she snapped. When she turned back to Hart, he was sitting on the autopsy table, shirtless and smirking.

"Like what you see?" he asked, leering.

Rolling her eyes, she poured antiseptic over the cut causing Hart to hiss. Without another word, she pushed the syringe into the bottle of anaesthetic.

"Don't bother," he said, dismissively.

She rolled her eyes again. She pulled his arm towards her and injected the medication around the wound. Nastily, she said, "Trust me, I'd rather not."

Without waiting for the medication to take effect, she put on a pair of gloves. She opened the packet of suture and began to stitch. "You didn't have to make such a large cut for a simple demonstration."

He shrugged one shoulder. "Didn't think I'd have it long, did I?"

He could feel every stitch. He couldn't believe that he'd bothered to come back here. There was no way this woman would ever care about him. She despised him! In fact, he was finding her quite unnerving too as each push of the needle pinched. The silence between them was intensely awkward. It might have something to do with Hart nearly breaking her wrist. Or it might have something to do with Miranda threatening his life. Either way, you could have curdled milk with the mood in the room. She was interesting, bordering on intriguing. He liked her pluck but she was impossible and fucking maddening.

Miranda put the last stitch into his arm and without warning, she backed away and buried a needle in his thigh, depressing the plunger. Hart yelled as the contents of the syringe burned and stung.

"YEOW!" he shouted, rubbing the spot furiously. Hart wanted to throttle that smug look off her face.

There was an impatient throat clear from the stairs and Ianto said, "Jack's in his office."

Hart winked at Miranda and said, "Captain Jack a-calls…." then bounded up the stairs and out of sight.

Ianto, not bothering to keep his voice down, shouted, "You need to talk to Jack, Mandy! Hart's dangerous! He poisoned Gwen! He pushed Jack off a building! He blew up half of Cardiff! Tosh and Owen are dead because of him!"

"I've read the reports," she said, calmly. Though Ianto was prone to emotionalism when it came to his husband, she had to agree with him. She'd recognised the look on Jack's face when that piece of tech had captured Hart's interest. He'd had the same exact look when he'd offered a job to Fish. Adding another technician to their team had been a top priority for her and Jack since Fish had reduced his field time.

Ianto continued, "I get that we need a tech for the alien artefacts and Fish is overwhelmed but… him?!"

Before Miranda could answer, Jack's voice bellowed, "Ianto! IANTO!" The immortal man appeared behind his husband. "John's in my office. Show him down to one of the guest rooms."

Miranda saw the slight slump to Ianto's shoulders at the request. The Welshman's mouth pressed into a thin line. She wondered if Jack would be sleeping on her sofa tonight. Woefully obtuse… "I've got it Jack."

Jack held up his hand and started counting off points on his fingers. "Don't believe anything he says. Always keep him in front of you and under no circumstances let him kiss you."

At that moment, Hart came around the corner. "Has he got to the no kissing rule yet?"

Miranda gave Ianto a little pat on the shoulder as she passed him. She pointed around towards the north staircase. "Keep in front, that way, the north stairs."

"Ooo, bossy, I like that. Whatever you say, Dollface."

"Don't call me Dollface."

Miranda led Hart down the stairs. At the end of the corridor she turned right, as if heading to her own rooms but she walked past them to the stairway at the end of the hall. They descended down a level towards what the team affectionately called 'the staterooms.' Occasionally, Torchwood played host and some of the old storage rooms had been converted into half a dozen spartan guest quarters. More often, the team used the rooms for a quick kip. Ianto kept them dusted and the sheets fresh, changing them monthly. She picked the one closest to the stairway. She ushered him in.

They were all the same, each resembling a typical hotel room. There was a small double bed in the middle of the room. Off to one side was a small table with a single wooden chair that could serve as an eating area or desk. The other side had a small round side table and upholstered chair for a small reading area. There was a simple wardrobe and dresser. Both were empty. A small bookcase had some very dated, yellowing novels various Torchwood operatives had added over the decades.

She opened the door and then shoved Hart inside. "Sleep well, Captain."

"I'd sleep better with some company, Dollface," he said, giving her a leer. She might be unnerving but he could… thrust… that aside for a little while.

The utter gall… she thought with a roll of her eyes. She muttered under her breath in an ancient language.

"Oooh," he said, smirking. "Rather spread your thighs for gravedigger, eh?"

Without giving Hart the satisfaction of an answer, Miranda turned and walked away. She and Jack were having a serious chat tomorrow.