At an obscenely early hour, Ianto and Miranda were in the gym sparring. Miranda had ceased calling it training. To this day, she had no idea what had happened. Scarcely a few months after returning from his honeymoon, Ianto's sword skills had improved a thousand fold almost overnight, his style exuding that of the Highlander. Ianto had refused to talk about it, becoming curt and short tempered whenever she'd brought it up. Eventually, Jack had asked her to stop. So, she'd accepted the mystery for what it was and never spoke of it again.
Even with his new miraculous skills, Ianto couldn't defeat Miranda but he could hold his own against her for a good length of time. This morning was a different story. Ianto was spending most of this sparring session flat on his back. It wasn't entirely Ianto's fault. Yes, the young immortal was angry, frustrated and tired but Miranda was putting more force and agility behind her blows. Since Ianto's formal training was over, she usually fought with enough skill to keep him sharp and to push his boundaries a bit. Today, she wasn't holding back. In fact, she should be praising him for holding his ground so well.
Hart had them both on edge and they were taking it out on each other with Miranda being more successful. She'd been up half the night, tossing and turning, unable to get Hart out of her mind. She was trying to work out exactly how to get rid of him or figure out what she could possibly say to Jack to get him to see reason. They shouldn't trust Hart and someone they didn't trust had no place within the team. It wasn't just what she knew about his previous encounters with Torchwood. She also knew a great deal about Hart from Jack and little of it was good. In fact, now that she'd met the man she wondered what Jack had ever seen in him. Then again, their relationship was also from a time when Jack was a different man himself.
As if his ears had been burning, Jack walked through the gym door just as Miranda sent Ianto sprawling to the mats again. She waited until Ianto had caught his breath a little before tapping his leg with her sword. He got to his feet with a grunt and a wince.
Jack leaned against the far wall. If Ianto were still in training, Miranda wouldn't have permitted Jack to observe. Because of Ianto's improved skill and single quickening, Miranda considered Ianto's training over even though she'd scarcely trained the Welshman a year. She normally trained her students for nearly a decade, sometimes more. She allowed Jack to watch on occasion to highlight the fact that Ianto's immortality was different than his. Even though she allowed it, she didn't like it. These sparring sessions never went as smoothly with Jack watching. Miranda suspected the Welshman was unknowingly trying to show off for his lover.
"Again, Ifan," she said.
He gave a wordless nod and moved to stand opposite her. They stood facing each other but this time Miranda waited for Ianto to attack. He swung the sword behind him to gain momentum. Showy… This time fatigue was clear in the two handed swing. She dodged him easily. The next swing from him came laterally but, again, he used both hands. We're done here. He tried again, another two-handed swing from the other direction. She parried the blow easily then leaned in towards the younger immortal, landing a firm right cross to his jaw, sending him sprawling. Ianto was making old errors she hadn't seen him make in weeks; certainly not since his mysterious leap frog in skill.
With Ianto's training so incomplete and with so much for him still to learn, Miranda had feared for his life. For a few weeks, Duncan MacLeod had remained in Cardiff to supplement the Welshman's training. Even though Ianto was a fledgling immortal, he'd succeeded in taking the head of Carl Brogen through underhanded means. Immortals in training were generally given a grace period to learn in relative safety but the immortal community commonly accepted the taking of a head as a sign training was complete. With the death of Carl Brogen, Ianto's head was now fair game. The title of student no longer protected him. When Ianto's skills had improved, it was mysterious, yes, but Miranda had been relieved and Duncan had returned to Paris. Ianto had made a gigantic leap forward. Miranda hated to see this gigantic slide backwards. The carelessness irritated her further.
"You have two hands, you need only swing with one!" she barked.
"It's heavy," he said between gasps.
"Grow stronger!" she barked.
Jack's voice drifted from the doorway, "Ease up on him, Will."
Miranda resisted the urge to crush his windpipe… again. "Ifan, go get cleaned up. Jack, a private word?"
Once Ianto had collected his things and limped towards the locker room, she turned to Jack, her eyes flashing with anger. Ianto's training may be complete but he was still learning the culture of the Game. Ianto would forever be known as her student. Miranda was still solidifying the sacred bond between student and teacher. It was a relationship built over time that created lasting respect and profound kinship. She couldn't let Jack undermine her authority with Ianto. Jack was right in his own way. Ianto was working hard but she still had to stand her ground. This was her territory, not his. She pushed the point of her sword against Jack's chest for emphasis.
"I may not have said so before but I'm saying it now. Upstairs you're the captain, but in here with Ianto, my word is law."
Jack held up his hands in mock surrender. He seemed to understand he shouldn't exercise the more flippant aspects of his personality. When Miranda didn't say anything further, he bristled, puffed out his chin and came to his husband's defence. "He's working hard."
She didn't lower her weapon. There were only two likely effects Hart's appearance would've on Jack and Ianto's relationship. Either way, it would be explosive. This morning she'd learned precisely what sort of explosive. She'd smelled the sex and Jack on Ianto the minute he'd walked through the gym door. Ianto had spent the night marking his territory. She wasn't sure which outcome she would've preferred.
"He needs to concentrate. He can't do that if he's up all night buggering you," she snapped. "As of now, you're banned from these sparring sessions. If you ever undermined my authority in front of Ifan again, I will open your belly and use your entrails as Christmas decorations."
"Don't you think you're over-"
"No, Jack, I don't think I'm over reacting!" She backed away a little, lowering her sword. She didn't want to bring up his interference in Carl Brogen's death. She didn't want to bring up how Ianto had falsely earned a reputation for himself nor how she'd already intercepted a few challenges and expected more. "The world is shrinking. The Game is more dangerous than ever. I'm trying to keep him alive."
She didn't give Jack a chance to answer, she walked out of the gym towards the locker room. She needed to clear her head. She needed to have a more serious discussion with Jack later and that discussion would be harder if she said something now she'd have to apologise for. After stripping, she found Ianto standing under the hot spray, letting the water ease his aching muscles. The palms of both his hands were planted against the tiled wall, his head bowed. The hot spray was sending the water cascading down his back and across his shoulders. The bruises Miranda had given him were already yellowing and fading. They would be gone by the time he was dressed. He was staring at the ones on his arms.
It may have been a long time ago but Miranda remembered the fascination she'd had with her healing abilities at first. That fascination didn't fade for many, many years. It was probably still a miracle to him, watching small nicks and cuts seal themselves and bruises fade before his eyes. Miranda watched as he flexed his hands against the tile, the muscles of his now bulkier forearms shifting under tight skin. His shoulders were broader, his arms and legs thicker. The training regime was driving away his baby fat and replacing it with lean cords of muscle. Miranda allowed herself to admire his body from afar for a few moments. He didn't look up at the sound of her bare feet against tile floor nor the scrape of steel against the tile as she leaned her sword against the wall. She turned on the shower next to him.
Miranda cleared her throat before she said, "I'm sorry about before. I've been pushing you too hard."
"I know how serious all this is, Mandy," he said softly. He was still so ashamed about what had happened with Carl Brogen. When Jack had thrown him his sword, he'd acted on instinct alone. He'd wanted to live. He'd done what he'd needed to do to survive. Now, Miranda was bearing the brunt of that. Jack may not be aware that Miranda had intercepted challenges on Ianto's behalf but, then again, Jack didn't have a Watcher whispering in his ear. Ianto's Watcher, Shawn Graham, kept him well appraised of every single challenge Miranda deflected.
"There was never a doubt," she said, "but you deserve a break. No more training sessions for the next week."
He nodded. He'd done everything he could to get ahead of Miranda, to accept the challenges she was intercepting before she had a chance, but her sources of information were too good. Instead, he threw himself into his training, trying to convince her that he stand alone. Though his mind was skilled, his body wasn't. Ianto had been working hard to bring his body to the point it had been at when the pocket universe had collapsed. It was frustrating for him that many moves and countermoves he'd mastered weren't possible now. He was pushing his body to its limits and burning himself out.
Miranda noted that the last time she'd given him a few days off, he'd argued. He must be exhausted. I should've seen it. She rinsed the last of the soap from her body and shut off the water.
"And Ifan…" she waited for him to turn to her before continuing. "Good work. I'm very proud of you."
She shook more water out of her hair when she got back to the locker room. She laid her sword on the wooden bench and reached for a towel.
"Mm, mm, mmm…" came Hart's leer from the doorway.
Miranda rolled her eyes but made no move to cover herself. It seemed pointless as Hart had already gotten an eyeful.
"Opps. Sorry, Dollface. Is this the ladies?" he asked, stepping into the room.
"There is no such distinction at Torchwood, Captain… and stop calling me that," she said, running the towel over her hair. "Was there something you wanted?"
"Oh, so much…" he let his eyes wander lustfully over her nude body.
"What are you doing down here, Hart?" Ianto asked as he came out of the shower area. He hastily wrapped the towel in his hand around his waist.
"Eye Candy! Have you been working out?"
Ianto rolled his eyes. He pointedly glared at the door. "Do you mind?"
"Not at all, in fact, I'm looking forward to it." His lustful attentions were now firmly focused on the young Welshman.
"I'm not staying here for him to leer at me," Ianto muttered under his breath so only she could hear him. He collected his things and left the room, checking Hart with his shoulder as he left, knocking the Captain off balance.
"Ah, twenty first century modesty… how quaint…" Hart snickered at Ianto's retreating back and then turned his eyes back to Miranda. "You seem to have no such reserve."
"And, all evidence to the contrary, Captain, you appear to be an adult. I'm quite certain I'm not the first naked woman you've ever seen." She collected her sword and soiled clothes. As she left, she gave Hart the same shoulder check that Ianto did, hers knocking the Captain off balance as well. "I'll see you up in the autopsy bay in twenty minutes for a complete physical."
She'd go through the motions but it was time for that chat with Jack.