The Bad Neighbor 6/6
Dec. 18th, 2011 04:04 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
firesnapPart Five
Rhys didn't know what had made him run. If anyone were to ask him later, if he was still alive later, he'd tell them that it was just instinct. He'd heard Ianto's voice, still ripe with fear and pain, telling him where his wife was, and that she was in danger, and his legs had started moving on their own. It was best, at this point, as Rhys skidded around a corner toward the bouncer of The Mask, to ask for forgiveness later. Jack would probably be preoccupied with Ianto anyway.
Almost falling over himself, Rhys managed to stop when the beefy security at the door held up a hand to stop him. "Sorry, mate," the overgrown ape sniped. "Club's full for the night." Rhys shook his head, straightened his shoulders, and gave the look he shot at his staff when they told him a delivery would be late or a shipment had gone poorly. It was his authoritative ‘I didn't want to do this, but you've made me be the boss' expression.
"No, mate, I don't think you understand," Rhys took a step forward. "I'm not going in there to buy your watery overpriced martinis or try to pick up a girl. I'm going in there because I have to – it's my job." The man didn't look like he believed Rhys… and then his eyes fell on the duffel bag hanging from Rhys's shoulder.
"Oh bloody hell. You're with Torchwood. Is this place about to explode?" The bouncer held up his hands in surrender and took a step back and Rhys took that moment to look down at his bag. It was emblazoned with the Torchwood logo. He really needed to talk to Team Torchwood about why on earth a secret organization put their logo on everything. It seemed a bit counter-intuitive, even if it proved useful right now. "I'm only looking for some extra quid for school. I don't want any trouble," the bouncer continued.
Rhys nodded, feeling more confident than he had in years. "Yeah, well, stay out here and you won't be in any trouble." As Rhys entered, he turned back to the bouncer one last time. "And stop acting so hard. You're not fooling anyone."
The club was dark and full of people, but Rhys wasn't interested in anyone who gathered about the bar. He scanned the mass of bodies and looked for anything that resembled another entrance or a private room. There, in the corner, he spotted what he was after. A doorway with a sheer curtain over it and a perky looking woman with a clipboard standing watch nearby. She was cute, dark haired, big eyed and Rhys was starting to think Jerry had a type. He worked his way through the crowd while trying to come up with a plan. He wasn't going to intimidate himself past a slip of a girl. He wasn't that type of man.
A group of loud, intoxicated young men stood huddled around a table. Rhys grinned and headed over toward them. "Oi, boys," Rhys yelled over the noise. The men turned to look at him with a "fuck off" attitude popular amongst those out on the pull. "That's my girl's flatmate over there." He jerked his head back toward the basement entrance. "She's had a bad break up – been single and lingering at home too much. She's getting off work in an hour and we're hoping she'll have some company tonight and give us a night off. Catch my drift?" One of the men laughed and took a swig of some horribly cheap beer.
"Yeah, I'd give her a go. We'll see." Rhys nodded and pulled out his wallet and slapped a twenty on the table. "Buy her a drink. Give us a break, will you?"
He trotted away with a smile and wave to get lost in the din of people. Finally, one of the men approached that poor young girl and tried to chat her up. Rhys smirked to himself at her eye roll and generally frustrated attitude before using the distraction to grab a half empty drink off the bar and slip, as subtly as he could (which honestly, probably wasn't all that subtle) down to the basement.
There was a flight of stairs leading down, and it was dimly lit with lamps made to look like antique gas lanterns. The walls were painted a garish dark purple that added
to the gloom and pseudo-gothic nature of the place. When Rhys reached the bottom of the stairs, he found himself in front of a partially closed door. The music was still audible down here, but it was now more of a soft vibration and background noise rather than a full audio assault. Rhys crept forward and pressed his back against the wall. There were voices in the other room.
"Fuck fuck fuck ,that hurt," a deep male voice growled. It was Jerry. Rhys took a risk and peeked through the crack of the door. The private room was littered with sofas, a few tables and lit by the same fake candlelight as the rest of the basement. Gwen was sitting next to Jerry on one of the overstuffed chairs, holding a first aid kit, and Jerry swore as he tried to dig out Jack's bullet with a pair of cheap pliers. On the floor by their feet, Rhys could just make out the blonde head of some young girl. She could be the girl Ianto was with earlier. He couldn't tell if she was dead or not.
"Your fucking husband," Jerry snapped at Gwen, grabbing gauze from her. "And your… whatever the hell he is, that not-quite-human. They've just pissed me off now. I'm going to tear the fat one's spine out and use it to choke Jack Harkness. When he comes back, I'll do it again." Rhys peered at Gwen's face. He swore he thought he saw a flicker of something – anger or fear – drift across her features before returning to its current placidly calm state. There was a clatter as Jerry dislodged the bullet and it fell to the floor. "Then I'm going to get back boy toy and cut his throat just so he'll bleed out on that fucker. Might add yours to it too," Jerry added with a dark look at Gwen. "Not worth it. No matter how useful you are or great your tits look."
Rhys growled at that. Taking his wife and her mate prisoner was one thing, killing her boss was another, fucking with Rhys's night was bad, but rude comments about his wife's assets on top of it? Rhys Williams was having none of that.
Unfortunately, he hadn't meant to express his displeasure aloud. Jerry's head snapped up and Rhys struggled to keep from yelling out in surprise again. "Who's out there?" Jerry bellowed. "Come on in. No point dawdling."
Rhys pushed the door open with his foot and he scrambled for a weapon out of the duffel bag still dangling from his shoulder. He gripped the handle of something smooth and Rhys stepped forward into the light.
Jerry just smiled. "I swear, you Welsh. You just deliver yourselves to me. No wonder I can't resist you." Gwen's eyes flickered over to Rhys and his heart tugged. She was still in there.
"Right, well, you've got someone I care about," Rhys babbled. "Besides, you ran inside after you got hit. Not very impressive. Fairly easy to find, even."
"I wasn't running from you. I was inviting you in, little fly." Oh, Rhys hated this man …thing …alien. Any villain that made spider metaphors deserved to be shot just a little.
"Well, I came with bug killer," Rhys grinned, quite proud of his own comeback, and let the duffel bag drop off his shoulder to the ground as he pulled out his own weapon. He held it forward, determined to copy all of the heroic poses he'd seen from Jack, and faltered.
He didn't have a gun. Or a stake. Or a cool alien laser blaster. He had a torch. A battery operated, normal looking torch. Jerry chuckled and struggled to hold in a full blast of mocking laughter while looking full of himself. Rhys closed his eyes and his face flushed in embarrassment even as he braced his feet and prepared himself for a fight.
"You're kidding, right? Harkness must have sent you in as a decoy – or a sacrifice – while he got the other one away. Makes sense too. Take you both out and who will complain if she doesn't come home?"
Now Rhys was regretting taking off on Jack like that.
"Gwen, get rid of him." Jerry plopped down on the couch and pulled the blonde, definitely the one Ianto was with earlier, up into his lap. She was barely awake and didn't struggle as he petted her hair like one would a dog. Gwen, meanwhile, stood up stiffly, her eyes looking glassy.
"Gwen," Rhys began. "Don't do anything daft. Ianto's fine. He broke through. You can too. It's not hard. I've got things." Rhys kicked the bag at his feet, but didn't dare take his eyes off his wife to get a better weapon. What was he going to do anyway? It was Gwen. He loved her. He'd also seen how she'd handled the scum of the Rift that came through on her watch. It didn't create any good odds in Rhys's favor. "We can kill him. I can help you."
Gwen hesitated and looked at Jerry, sadness visibly marking her features, and he nodded and motioned toward Rhys again. "Do it, Gwen."
There was a tightening in Gwen's jaw and she took another step forward. Rhys was frozen. He looked at Gwen, he looked at Jerry's smirking face, and he couldn't move a muscle. When he saw Gwen's hand going for the waistband of her jeans it shocked him into action. As impractical as it was, Rhys knew what Gwen stored in her waistband. He rushed forward and tackled her to the ground, grunting out a quick "sorry, sweetheart" as they impacted. Gwen's gun clattered to the floor and she gasped from the wind being knocked out of her. Rhys tried to scramble away, but Gwen recovered too quickly. One of her legs swung up, the heel digging into Rhys's soft flesh, and she rolled to flip them over. She straddled Rhys and, efficiently and quickly, punched him in the jaw.
Rhys's vision flickered gray for a moment and he looked up, dazed, at Gwen's determined and set features. A part of him wanted to be proud of how hard his wife could punch, but the rest of him was protesting over how much that fucking hurt to give it much thought. Rhys blocked the next strike but still yelped in pain as Gwen's fist smashed against his the bone of his forearm. There would be a bruise there, definitely. As Rhys struggled to recover, Gwen's hands, with their long graceful fingers, wrapped around his throat. He felt her squeeze and gasped as he tried to pry away the vice like grip. Nothing was working. Gwen's fingers were digging too deeply into his flesh to get leverage. His vision swimming, Rhys looked up at Gwen, pleading, and was met with drugged and tear filled eyes. She was still in there. She was still in there and she didn't want to do this. That galvanized Rhys into action. He tried to portray an apology with his expression, hoped she could see it, and brought the torch down on her head. Her hands slackened, and she stared down at Rhys in shock before her eyes rolled up and she slumped forward on top of him.
As quickly he could, Rhys rolled out from underneath Gwen, and he prayed with all his being that she was okay. If she was okay, he also prayed she wouldn't flat out murder him for striking her in the head. Rhys scrambled to his feet, panting, and faced Jerry again.
Jerry clapped. The girl in his lap, her neck now bloodied, stared up at Rhys with an empty expression. He'd murdered that girl while Rhys fought with his wife for his life. The thought made a wave of nausea rise up in Rhys, and he barely pushed it down. Jerry shoved the body off of him and it flopped gracelessly to the floor.
"Impressive," Jerry said as he stood. "Lucky even." He took a step forward and inspected the cuffs of his sleeves, straightening them, before turning his attention back to Rhys. "So your wife won't kill you. That's fine. She would have done it a lot quicker than I will."
Jerry jumped toward Rhys, nails extended like some goth kid version of cat claws, and Rhys tried to move out of the way. Dumb luck was on Rhys's side as he stumbled over his own feet, the extra momentum of his fall allowing him to dodge and roll out of the way of Jerry's attack just in time. Rhys gasped, he'd hit his elbow hard on impact and his arm was now numb, and he flailed as he got up on his knees. He wouldn't be able to do this for long. Jerry had already recovered from his failed attack, and marched over to Rhys with an expression of fiery determination. He grabbed Rhys's shirt and hauled him upright to his feet.
"I am sick," Jerry hissed, "of fucking Wales, secret organizations, nosy neighbors and the damn Welsh." Jerry's hand slid up to grasp Rhys's throat. "Most of all, Rhys Williams, I am sick of you." Right as he began to squeeze, Rhys's panicked mind grasped for anything resembling an escape plan. He raised the torch, still clutched in his hand, to try and beat Jerry away before he snapped Rhys's neck, and accidentally hit the on switch. When the beam of light hit the skin of Jerry's face, Jerry shrieked an unearthly, horrific noise and released Rhys as he scrambled backwards.
As Jerry clutched his face, smoke pouring from the burn now visible there, Rhys stared down at the torch, dumbfounded. Then it hit him. UV Radiation. The torch had a UV bulb of some sort in it. Rhys had never heard of the like. "Bloody hell," Rhys gasped out through the pain and fire in his throat. "Jack really does get all of the best toys."
"Yeah," a voice drawled from the door. "And I don't really appreciate you running off with all of them." Rhys's head snapped toward the voice and saw Jack Harkness, without his coat and splattered in drying blood, gazing at him impassively. The sight was ghoulish.
"Jack! I found Jerry and Gwen," Rhys exclaimed.
"I see that. Why is she unconscious?"
He frowned, a little nervous about sharing his exploits. "Oh, I had to hit her. She was choking me."
"Keep the light on him," Jack ordered. Rhys fumbled with his torch and kept the beam of painful light on Jerry – who was now scrambling into a corner and trying to cover himself to hide from the beam. Meanwhile, as calm as a summer day, Jack strolled over to the forgotten duffel bag and slid the strap over his shoulder. He rummaged for a moment before pulling out a gun, similar to the one that probably lay forgotten in the alley, and "a-ha'd!" in triumph.
The safety clicked off and Jack strode --ho, swaggered, Rhys noted ruefully -- toward Jerry. His stately form eventually blocked out Rhys's light as he stood imposingly over the cowering monster. "Now," Jack started. "I believe we were negotiating."
Jerry lowered his hands and narrowed his eyes. "What do you want from me?"
"Nothing, really. I guess that means this isn't much of a negotiation."
"I only wanted to live! That's not a crime."
Jack thumbed the safety off. "It is when you start messing with my family." Without hesitating, Jack pulled the trigger and the special bullet ripped through Jerry's flesh like paper, embedding itself into the alien's heart.
A scream, so loud and angry that it made Rhys drop his torch and cover his ears, tore through the air. Jerry's body appeared to collapse in on itself. The flesh shriveled on the bones, the dark purplish blood bubbled and dried up in front of Rhys's eyes and eventually the whole corpse dissolved into a messy mix of goo and bone powder. Rhys lowered his hands from his ears and marveled at how Indiana Jones everything had just been. He exhaled, red faced and weary, and looked up at Jack.
Jack was still holding onto the gun tightly, staring grimly at the pile of ash and sludge.
"Is it over?" Rhys asked.
"Yeah," Jack answered with a nod. He thumbed the safety back on and slid the gun into the duffel bag. "Let's get your lady and get out of here."
Rhys exhaled and felt the adrenalin grind to halt. Wincing from using sore and overexerted muscles, he staggered over to Gwen. Rhys knelt, and sagged with relief when he saw Gwen's eyes moving beneath the lids. He brushed the fringe out of her face and cradled her into his arms. Rhys groaned again as he slid an arm under Gwen's knees and picked her up. He nearly fell before he managed to get a hold of his footing and, a little unsure of himself, carried Gwen toward the exit. It was painful, it was a burden, but damned if he was about to ask for help. Rhys spared a look at Jerry's last victim, his heart aching for her and her family, and headed toward the exit.
By the time Rhys made it upstairs, sweaty and nearing the final stages of exhaustion, the club was empty. He looked at Jack expectantly and Jack half-grinned. "I waved my plastic badge around and closed it down for the night." The grin fell from Jack's lips. "I was afraid I was going to walk downstairs to a much grimmer scene than Rhys Williams taking down a mythical Obyri with a flashlight. It was… illuminating, to say that least."
"Oh now, that was just awful."
Gwen stirred in Rhys's arms as they walked across the street to the SUV. Her mouth fell open and she flinched at the dull glow from the street lamps. One green eye opened and peered up at Rhys incredulously. "R-Rhys?"
"Hello, dear. Sleep well?"
She tried to move in Rhys's arms and seized up from what, Rhys imagined, was a killer headache. She blinked again. "Did you hit me, Rhys Williams?"
"Only a little," Rhys grimaced.
Jack was doing a horrible job of not showing amusement at Rhys's situation. Rhys glared and heard the automatic locks of the SUV click open. Jack lifted open the rear door of the vehicle and hopped inside. Just a step behind, Rhys sat Gwen gently on the lip of the storage area and leaned against the SUV himself. She curled up, her knees tucked close to her body, and pressed against her husband. She was clinging tightly to Rhys's shirt and neck, but she was mostly awake, if a little cold. Her gaze fell upon Ianto, curled up and pale under Jack's great coat and she gasped. "Ianto?"
Jack reached over and squeezed Gwen's ankle. "I think he's okay," he assured her. "He… got hurt. But he was awake earlier." Jack crawled closer to Ianto and pulled Ianto's head into his lap. "Ianto," he called quietly. "Ianto, need you to wake up now." He gently shook Ianto's shoulder and tapped his cheek until there was a response. Ianto quivered and then he squirmed in Jack's grip as weary blue eyes flickered open briefly. "Hey, come join us for a minute. I've got some medicine for you." Ianto shifted and pulled himself more awake.
"Gwen," he mumbled.
"Right here, sweetheart." Gwen's hand unclenched from Rhys's shirt and snaked out to squeeze Ianto's wrist. She nearly flinched away. "You're cold."
Jack was already going through the duffel bag that currently resting on Ianto's lap. "I've got something for that. For both of you." He pulled out the med kit Rhys had seen him pack earlier – the one filled with two syringes.
Rhys raised an eyebrow at him. "What's that then? Alien's dead. He's not going to bother them anymore."
"He is dead," Jack agreed. "His blood is still in there though. This will clear it up. Get them feeling less fatigued and get some warmth into the bones." Jack rubbed Ianto's arm comfortingly. "Help you replace some of the lost blood too."
It took just a few minutes, but Jack, with a clinical precision Rhys wasn't expecting, got both of them sanitized and injected with whatever weirdly gold serum was in the syringes. Rhys rubbed Gwen's arms briskly, trying to warm her up, and she yawned loudly. Jack looked up at Rhys with a raised eyebrow and carefully set an already sleeping Ianto back onto the SUV cargo compartment floor. Rhys returned his look when Gwen freed herself from his lap and crawled over to curl up next to Ianto. Jack lifted his coat to allow her to slide in close and curl her arms around Ianto's waist, before he wrapped them back up. Gwen blinked drowsily and yawned again.
"Sedative?" she inquired.
"Oh yeah," Jack confirmed. "Get some sleep."
Rhys had to look away from what came next. He pretended to be distracted by the staff and owners returning to The Mask, as Jack bent down and smoothed Gwen and Ianto's brows and gave them each a kiss. Rhys could let that gesture slide. It hadn't been just Rhys's wife threatened today; it'd been Jack's family as well. And Rhys had learned today one important lesson – do not fuck with Jack Harkness's people. Rhys walked away, giving Jack another moment to assure himself that his team was safe, and slid into the passenger side of the SUV.
When Jack finally joined him, he started the SUV and roared off without a word. They drove in silence for a few minutes before Rhys grew antsy.
"So, no lingering effects? Gwen's not going to go for my neck in the middle of the night, is she?"
"Nope. In fact, they won't even remember,"
Rhys turned to Jack in shock. "Wait, did you give them those memory pills? That's fucking –"
"No," Jack interrupted hastily. "No, I wouldn't do that. Well, except that one time. But I did it to me too. And that time with Gwen, but it was before I hired her –" Jack glanced at Rhys's disturbed expression and stopped his story. "Well, I didn't this time. The shot, when it gets rid of the blood, it'll wipe a lot of their memories of what they did. Most."
"Oh. Will Gwen remember me hitting her?"
"Don't know."
"Fuck."
"Hey," Jack laughed. "You got to be the big hero. I'll make sure to tell her about it when I check in tomorrow. I'll even not murder you for running off and leaving me in an alley."
Rhys breathed a sigh of relief.
"Gwen'll probably do it for me when I tell her. We'll make sure they get some rest and get them a few days off, hopefully."
Jack was still grinning at Rhys's discomfort and, days off or not, Rhys couldn't shake the feeling that Jack Harkness was a bastard.
****
Twenty-four blissfully quiet hours later, Rhys Williams woke up without a hangover, but still feeling fairly sore from a mirage of bruises and abrasions he'd collected during his adventure. He felt pretty good actually, all things considered. He had the day off with his wife and he planned on lounging with her, half-naked and relaxed, in their big bed just to themselves. Rubbing the sleep and gunk off his face, he stretched out one arm lazily to grope the space next to him. Empty. Rhys bolted upright and patted the vacant patch next to him in a panic. "Gwen," he called out hoarsely.
"Hm?" Rhys looked up, and leaning against the doorway was Gwen Cooper. Some color had returned to her features over a day of sleeping. She was wearing a button-up night gown that barely hit her mid-thighs and a pair of socks. Her hair was pulled back into a messy pile behind her head and she was sipping a cup of what smelled like spiced tea. She looked absolutely gorgeous to Rhys. One of the more beautiful times he'd ever seen her.
"I got worried for a moment," he admitted bashfully. Gwen shook her head as if to say ‘oh you' and picked up another mug from their worn dresser. She set the two mugs of tea on Rhys's bedside table, crawled into bed and stretched out on top of him. They kissed, long and lingering, and Gwen tasted of tea and cinnamon toothpaste. Rhys sighed and his hand drifted up to rest on the small of Gwen's back. "Glad you're here," Rhys breathed out.
Gwen kissed the tip of Rhys's nose. "I'm here all day," she grinned and rolled over to her side of the bed. Rhys propped himself up against the headboard. "I'm feeling better," she continued. "Nearly 100%. Don't remember much though," she frowned. "When I spoke to him earlier, Jack told me you were a big hero."
Rhys nodded and took a sip of the tea Gwen had brought him. "Absolutely. Ready to be recruited," he answered sarcastically.
"I bet you'd be better at it than you think." Gwen smiled. "However, we do need to discuss ways to disable your wife without bashing her on the head." Gwen pointed at the dark purple bruise near her forehead and Rhys groaned. No day could ever be entirely perfect.
****
Across town, Jack Harkness was sitting on a very angry young man's legs, grinning like a child and bouncing slightly.
"Get off me, Jack," Ianto gritted out. "I'm fine. I want to make breakfast, take a shower, and move about some."
"Nope," Jack replied, bouncing again. "I told you. Two days of bed rest, sport."
Ianto flinched. "We've had this conversation. Multiple times. I seem to remember us going through a list of unacceptable names. No sport, no pumpkin or whatever else is going through that twisted brain of yours."
"It's just a pet name."
"I'm not a pet," Ianto huffed. "For fuck's sake, after this weekend I'd rather not be seen as a commodity for a while."
"Bet you let your girlfriends give you pet names." Jack reached forward tugged down the blanket to look at the bandages on Ianto's neck, near his collarbone. He was looking better. Still pale, but it could've been so much worse, and Jack had to push aside a wave of anxiety and "the could have been's" going through his mind.
Ianto swatted away Jack's concerned hands, unaware of Jack's more maudlin thoughts. "No, I gave them names. That's how it worked."
"Do you want to give me a name? I think I like darling."
"No, and my feet are falling asleep." Ianto tried to kick his foot to demonstrate and Jack held his ground.
"Promise you'll obey doctor's orders."
"You're not a doctor." When Jack didn't move, Ianto sighed. "Fine. Staying put. See me not moving? Going to continue that."
Jack slid off the bed. "Good. I'll make some breakfast, we'll get you showered and we'll find nice and relaxing things to fill your day."
Ianto rolled his eyes. "Whatever. You can fill me in on what happened – the bits I don't remember."
Jack's eyes light up devilishly. "You were pretty out of it yesterday, but you told me some things before the drug finished with you. Do you remember?"
Ianto shook his head. Jack remembered yesterday fairly well, so at least one of them did. Ianto had been feverish, exhausted and Jack kept wavering on whether or not to bring in outside medical attention. He'd sat next to Ianto's bed, worried and on edge, and listened to half remembered stories about Ianto and Gwen's lost time. It'd made Jack ill, angry, and he'd wanted to find some way to resurrect Jerry to kill the fucker all over again. No one hurt his people, no one, other than, sadly and probably, Jack himself. It stung that Jack couldn't prevent himself from doing harm to them in the future, but he could protect them now. He'd kill for them now. Jack shook his head quickly and put on a believable happy expression.
"Shame," Jack drawled out. "I was hoping you'd have more information on that whole ‘I may or may not have slept with Gwen' confession you made."
Ianto's face turned bright red and he rolled to bury his face in the pillow. Jack Harkness was a bastard.
Rhys didn't know what had made him run. If anyone were to ask him later, if he was still alive later, he'd tell them that it was just instinct. He'd heard Ianto's voice, still ripe with fear and pain, telling him where his wife was, and that she was in danger, and his legs had started moving on their own. It was best, at this point, as Rhys skidded around a corner toward the bouncer of The Mask, to ask for forgiveness later. Jack would probably be preoccupied with Ianto anyway.
Almost falling over himself, Rhys managed to stop when the beefy security at the door held up a hand to stop him. "Sorry, mate," the overgrown ape sniped. "Club's full for the night." Rhys shook his head, straightened his shoulders, and gave the look he shot at his staff when they told him a delivery would be late or a shipment had gone poorly. It was his authoritative ‘I didn't want to do this, but you've made me be the boss' expression.
"No, mate, I don't think you understand," Rhys took a step forward. "I'm not going in there to buy your watery overpriced martinis or try to pick up a girl. I'm going in there because I have to – it's my job." The man didn't look like he believed Rhys… and then his eyes fell on the duffel bag hanging from Rhys's shoulder.
"Oh bloody hell. You're with Torchwood. Is this place about to explode?" The bouncer held up his hands in surrender and took a step back and Rhys took that moment to look down at his bag. It was emblazoned with the Torchwood logo. He really needed to talk to Team Torchwood about why on earth a secret organization put their logo on everything. It seemed a bit counter-intuitive, even if it proved useful right now. "I'm only looking for some extra quid for school. I don't want any trouble," the bouncer continued.
Rhys nodded, feeling more confident than he had in years. "Yeah, well, stay out here and you won't be in any trouble." As Rhys entered, he turned back to the bouncer one last time. "And stop acting so hard. You're not fooling anyone."
The club was dark and full of people, but Rhys wasn't interested in anyone who gathered about the bar. He scanned the mass of bodies and looked for anything that resembled another entrance or a private room. There, in the corner, he spotted what he was after. A doorway with a sheer curtain over it and a perky looking woman with a clipboard standing watch nearby. She was cute, dark haired, big eyed and Rhys was starting to think Jerry had a type. He worked his way through the crowd while trying to come up with a plan. He wasn't going to intimidate himself past a slip of a girl. He wasn't that type of man.
A group of loud, intoxicated young men stood huddled around a table. Rhys grinned and headed over toward them. "Oi, boys," Rhys yelled over the noise. The men turned to look at him with a "fuck off" attitude popular amongst those out on the pull. "That's my girl's flatmate over there." He jerked his head back toward the basement entrance. "She's had a bad break up – been single and lingering at home too much. She's getting off work in an hour and we're hoping she'll have some company tonight and give us a night off. Catch my drift?" One of the men laughed and took a swig of some horribly cheap beer.
"Yeah, I'd give her a go. We'll see." Rhys nodded and pulled out his wallet and slapped a twenty on the table. "Buy her a drink. Give us a break, will you?"
He trotted away with a smile and wave to get lost in the din of people. Finally, one of the men approached that poor young girl and tried to chat her up. Rhys smirked to himself at her eye roll and generally frustrated attitude before using the distraction to grab a half empty drink off the bar and slip, as subtly as he could (which honestly, probably wasn't all that subtle) down to the basement.
There was a flight of stairs leading down, and it was dimly lit with lamps made to look like antique gas lanterns. The walls were painted a garish dark purple that added
to the gloom and pseudo-gothic nature of the place. When Rhys reached the bottom of the stairs, he found himself in front of a partially closed door. The music was still audible down here, but it was now more of a soft vibration and background noise rather than a full audio assault. Rhys crept forward and pressed his back against the wall. There were voices in the other room.
"Fuck fuck fuck ,that hurt," a deep male voice growled. It was Jerry. Rhys took a risk and peeked through the crack of the door. The private room was littered with sofas, a few tables and lit by the same fake candlelight as the rest of the basement. Gwen was sitting next to Jerry on one of the overstuffed chairs, holding a first aid kit, and Jerry swore as he tried to dig out Jack's bullet with a pair of cheap pliers. On the floor by their feet, Rhys could just make out the blonde head of some young girl. She could be the girl Ianto was with earlier. He couldn't tell if she was dead or not.
"Your fucking husband," Jerry snapped at Gwen, grabbing gauze from her. "And your… whatever the hell he is, that not-quite-human. They've just pissed me off now. I'm going to tear the fat one's spine out and use it to choke Jack Harkness. When he comes back, I'll do it again." Rhys peered at Gwen's face. He swore he thought he saw a flicker of something – anger or fear – drift across her features before returning to its current placidly calm state. There was a clatter as Jerry dislodged the bullet and it fell to the floor. "Then I'm going to get back boy toy and cut his throat just so he'll bleed out on that fucker. Might add yours to it too," Jerry added with a dark look at Gwen. "Not worth it. No matter how useful you are or great your tits look."
Rhys growled at that. Taking his wife and her mate prisoner was one thing, killing her boss was another, fucking with Rhys's night was bad, but rude comments about his wife's assets on top of it? Rhys Williams was having none of that.
Unfortunately, he hadn't meant to express his displeasure aloud. Jerry's head snapped up and Rhys struggled to keep from yelling out in surprise again. "Who's out there?" Jerry bellowed. "Come on in. No point dawdling."
Rhys pushed the door open with his foot and he scrambled for a weapon out of the duffel bag still dangling from his shoulder. He gripped the handle of something smooth and Rhys stepped forward into the light.
Jerry just smiled. "I swear, you Welsh. You just deliver yourselves to me. No wonder I can't resist you." Gwen's eyes flickered over to Rhys and his heart tugged. She was still in there.
"Right, well, you've got someone I care about," Rhys babbled. "Besides, you ran inside after you got hit. Not very impressive. Fairly easy to find, even."
"I wasn't running from you. I was inviting you in, little fly." Oh, Rhys hated this man …thing …alien. Any villain that made spider metaphors deserved to be shot just a little.
"Well, I came with bug killer," Rhys grinned, quite proud of his own comeback, and let the duffel bag drop off his shoulder to the ground as he pulled out his own weapon. He held it forward, determined to copy all of the heroic poses he'd seen from Jack, and faltered.
He didn't have a gun. Or a stake. Or a cool alien laser blaster. He had a torch. A battery operated, normal looking torch. Jerry chuckled and struggled to hold in a full blast of mocking laughter while looking full of himself. Rhys closed his eyes and his face flushed in embarrassment even as he braced his feet and prepared himself for a fight.
"You're kidding, right? Harkness must have sent you in as a decoy – or a sacrifice – while he got the other one away. Makes sense too. Take you both out and who will complain if she doesn't come home?"
Now Rhys was regretting taking off on Jack like that.
"Gwen, get rid of him." Jerry plopped down on the couch and pulled the blonde, definitely the one Ianto was with earlier, up into his lap. She was barely awake and didn't struggle as he petted her hair like one would a dog. Gwen, meanwhile, stood up stiffly, her eyes looking glassy.
"Gwen," Rhys began. "Don't do anything daft. Ianto's fine. He broke through. You can too. It's not hard. I've got things." Rhys kicked the bag at his feet, but didn't dare take his eyes off his wife to get a better weapon. What was he going to do anyway? It was Gwen. He loved her. He'd also seen how she'd handled the scum of the Rift that came through on her watch. It didn't create any good odds in Rhys's favor. "We can kill him. I can help you."
Gwen hesitated and looked at Jerry, sadness visibly marking her features, and he nodded and motioned toward Rhys again. "Do it, Gwen."
There was a tightening in Gwen's jaw and she took another step forward. Rhys was frozen. He looked at Gwen, he looked at Jerry's smirking face, and he couldn't move a muscle. When he saw Gwen's hand going for the waistband of her jeans it shocked him into action. As impractical as it was, Rhys knew what Gwen stored in her waistband. He rushed forward and tackled her to the ground, grunting out a quick "sorry, sweetheart" as they impacted. Gwen's gun clattered to the floor and she gasped from the wind being knocked out of her. Rhys tried to scramble away, but Gwen recovered too quickly. One of her legs swung up, the heel digging into Rhys's soft flesh, and she rolled to flip them over. She straddled Rhys and, efficiently and quickly, punched him in the jaw.
Rhys's vision flickered gray for a moment and he looked up, dazed, at Gwen's determined and set features. A part of him wanted to be proud of how hard his wife could punch, but the rest of him was protesting over how much that fucking hurt to give it much thought. Rhys blocked the next strike but still yelped in pain as Gwen's fist smashed against his the bone of his forearm. There would be a bruise there, definitely. As Rhys struggled to recover, Gwen's hands, with their long graceful fingers, wrapped around his throat. He felt her squeeze and gasped as he tried to pry away the vice like grip. Nothing was working. Gwen's fingers were digging too deeply into his flesh to get leverage. His vision swimming, Rhys looked up at Gwen, pleading, and was met with drugged and tear filled eyes. She was still in there. She was still in there and she didn't want to do this. That galvanized Rhys into action. He tried to portray an apology with his expression, hoped she could see it, and brought the torch down on her head. Her hands slackened, and she stared down at Rhys in shock before her eyes rolled up and she slumped forward on top of him.
As quickly he could, Rhys rolled out from underneath Gwen, and he prayed with all his being that she was okay. If she was okay, he also prayed she wouldn't flat out murder him for striking her in the head. Rhys scrambled to his feet, panting, and faced Jerry again.
Jerry clapped. The girl in his lap, her neck now bloodied, stared up at Rhys with an empty expression. He'd murdered that girl while Rhys fought with his wife for his life. The thought made a wave of nausea rise up in Rhys, and he barely pushed it down. Jerry shoved the body off of him and it flopped gracelessly to the floor.
"Impressive," Jerry said as he stood. "Lucky even." He took a step forward and inspected the cuffs of his sleeves, straightening them, before turning his attention back to Rhys. "So your wife won't kill you. That's fine. She would have done it a lot quicker than I will."
Jerry jumped toward Rhys, nails extended like some goth kid version of cat claws, and Rhys tried to move out of the way. Dumb luck was on Rhys's side as he stumbled over his own feet, the extra momentum of his fall allowing him to dodge and roll out of the way of Jerry's attack just in time. Rhys gasped, he'd hit his elbow hard on impact and his arm was now numb, and he flailed as he got up on his knees. He wouldn't be able to do this for long. Jerry had already recovered from his failed attack, and marched over to Rhys with an expression of fiery determination. He grabbed Rhys's shirt and hauled him upright to his feet.
"I am sick," Jerry hissed, "of fucking Wales, secret organizations, nosy neighbors and the damn Welsh." Jerry's hand slid up to grasp Rhys's throat. "Most of all, Rhys Williams, I am sick of you." Right as he began to squeeze, Rhys's panicked mind grasped for anything resembling an escape plan. He raised the torch, still clutched in his hand, to try and beat Jerry away before he snapped Rhys's neck, and accidentally hit the on switch. When the beam of light hit the skin of Jerry's face, Jerry shrieked an unearthly, horrific noise and released Rhys as he scrambled backwards.
As Jerry clutched his face, smoke pouring from the burn now visible there, Rhys stared down at the torch, dumbfounded. Then it hit him. UV Radiation. The torch had a UV bulb of some sort in it. Rhys had never heard of the like. "Bloody hell," Rhys gasped out through the pain and fire in his throat. "Jack really does get all of the best toys."
"Yeah," a voice drawled from the door. "And I don't really appreciate you running off with all of them." Rhys's head snapped toward the voice and saw Jack Harkness, without his coat and splattered in drying blood, gazing at him impassively. The sight was ghoulish.
"Jack! I found Jerry and Gwen," Rhys exclaimed.
"I see that. Why is she unconscious?"
He frowned, a little nervous about sharing his exploits. "Oh, I had to hit her. She was choking me."
"Keep the light on him," Jack ordered. Rhys fumbled with his torch and kept the beam of painful light on Jerry – who was now scrambling into a corner and trying to cover himself to hide from the beam. Meanwhile, as calm as a summer day, Jack strolled over to the forgotten duffel bag and slid the strap over his shoulder. He rummaged for a moment before pulling out a gun, similar to the one that probably lay forgotten in the alley, and "a-ha'd!" in triumph.
The safety clicked off and Jack strode --ho, swaggered, Rhys noted ruefully -- toward Jerry. His stately form eventually blocked out Rhys's light as he stood imposingly over the cowering monster. "Now," Jack started. "I believe we were negotiating."
Jerry lowered his hands and narrowed his eyes. "What do you want from me?"
"Nothing, really. I guess that means this isn't much of a negotiation."
"I only wanted to live! That's not a crime."
Jack thumbed the safety off. "It is when you start messing with my family." Without hesitating, Jack pulled the trigger and the special bullet ripped through Jerry's flesh like paper, embedding itself into the alien's heart.
A scream, so loud and angry that it made Rhys drop his torch and cover his ears, tore through the air. Jerry's body appeared to collapse in on itself. The flesh shriveled on the bones, the dark purplish blood bubbled and dried up in front of Rhys's eyes and eventually the whole corpse dissolved into a messy mix of goo and bone powder. Rhys lowered his hands from his ears and marveled at how Indiana Jones everything had just been. He exhaled, red faced and weary, and looked up at Jack.
Jack was still holding onto the gun tightly, staring grimly at the pile of ash and sludge.
"Is it over?" Rhys asked.
"Yeah," Jack answered with a nod. He thumbed the safety back on and slid the gun into the duffel bag. "Let's get your lady and get out of here."
Rhys exhaled and felt the adrenalin grind to halt. Wincing from using sore and overexerted muscles, he staggered over to Gwen. Rhys knelt, and sagged with relief when he saw Gwen's eyes moving beneath the lids. He brushed the fringe out of her face and cradled her into his arms. Rhys groaned again as he slid an arm under Gwen's knees and picked her up. He nearly fell before he managed to get a hold of his footing and, a little unsure of himself, carried Gwen toward the exit. It was painful, it was a burden, but damned if he was about to ask for help. Rhys spared a look at Jerry's last victim, his heart aching for her and her family, and headed toward the exit.
By the time Rhys made it upstairs, sweaty and nearing the final stages of exhaustion, the club was empty. He looked at Jack expectantly and Jack half-grinned. "I waved my plastic badge around and closed it down for the night." The grin fell from Jack's lips. "I was afraid I was going to walk downstairs to a much grimmer scene than Rhys Williams taking down a mythical Obyri with a flashlight. It was… illuminating, to say that least."
"Oh now, that was just awful."
Gwen stirred in Rhys's arms as they walked across the street to the SUV. Her mouth fell open and she flinched at the dull glow from the street lamps. One green eye opened and peered up at Rhys incredulously. "R-Rhys?"
"Hello, dear. Sleep well?"
She tried to move in Rhys's arms and seized up from what, Rhys imagined, was a killer headache. She blinked again. "Did you hit me, Rhys Williams?"
"Only a little," Rhys grimaced.
Jack was doing a horrible job of not showing amusement at Rhys's situation. Rhys glared and heard the automatic locks of the SUV click open. Jack lifted open the rear door of the vehicle and hopped inside. Just a step behind, Rhys sat Gwen gently on the lip of the storage area and leaned against the SUV himself. She curled up, her knees tucked close to her body, and pressed against her husband. She was clinging tightly to Rhys's shirt and neck, but she was mostly awake, if a little cold. Her gaze fell upon Ianto, curled up and pale under Jack's great coat and she gasped. "Ianto?"
Jack reached over and squeezed Gwen's ankle. "I think he's okay," he assured her. "He… got hurt. But he was awake earlier." Jack crawled closer to Ianto and pulled Ianto's head into his lap. "Ianto," he called quietly. "Ianto, need you to wake up now." He gently shook Ianto's shoulder and tapped his cheek until there was a response. Ianto quivered and then he squirmed in Jack's grip as weary blue eyes flickered open briefly. "Hey, come join us for a minute. I've got some medicine for you." Ianto shifted and pulled himself more awake.
"Gwen," he mumbled.
"Right here, sweetheart." Gwen's hand unclenched from Rhys's shirt and snaked out to squeeze Ianto's wrist. She nearly flinched away. "You're cold."
Jack was already going through the duffel bag that currently resting on Ianto's lap. "I've got something for that. For both of you." He pulled out the med kit Rhys had seen him pack earlier – the one filled with two syringes.
Rhys raised an eyebrow at him. "What's that then? Alien's dead. He's not going to bother them anymore."
"He is dead," Jack agreed. "His blood is still in there though. This will clear it up. Get them feeling less fatigued and get some warmth into the bones." Jack rubbed Ianto's arm comfortingly. "Help you replace some of the lost blood too."
It took just a few minutes, but Jack, with a clinical precision Rhys wasn't expecting, got both of them sanitized and injected with whatever weirdly gold serum was in the syringes. Rhys rubbed Gwen's arms briskly, trying to warm her up, and she yawned loudly. Jack looked up at Rhys with a raised eyebrow and carefully set an already sleeping Ianto back onto the SUV cargo compartment floor. Rhys returned his look when Gwen freed herself from his lap and crawled over to curl up next to Ianto. Jack lifted his coat to allow her to slide in close and curl her arms around Ianto's waist, before he wrapped them back up. Gwen blinked drowsily and yawned again.
"Sedative?" she inquired.
"Oh yeah," Jack confirmed. "Get some sleep."
Rhys had to look away from what came next. He pretended to be distracted by the staff and owners returning to The Mask, as Jack bent down and smoothed Gwen and Ianto's brows and gave them each a kiss. Rhys could let that gesture slide. It hadn't been just Rhys's wife threatened today; it'd been Jack's family as well. And Rhys had learned today one important lesson – do not fuck with Jack Harkness's people. Rhys walked away, giving Jack another moment to assure himself that his team was safe, and slid into the passenger side of the SUV.
When Jack finally joined him, he started the SUV and roared off without a word. They drove in silence for a few minutes before Rhys grew antsy.
"So, no lingering effects? Gwen's not going to go for my neck in the middle of the night, is she?"
"Nope. In fact, they won't even remember,"
Rhys turned to Jack in shock. "Wait, did you give them those memory pills? That's fucking –"
"No," Jack interrupted hastily. "No, I wouldn't do that. Well, except that one time. But I did it to me too. And that time with Gwen, but it was before I hired her –" Jack glanced at Rhys's disturbed expression and stopped his story. "Well, I didn't this time. The shot, when it gets rid of the blood, it'll wipe a lot of their memories of what they did. Most."
"Oh. Will Gwen remember me hitting her?"
"Don't know."
"Fuck."
"Hey," Jack laughed. "You got to be the big hero. I'll make sure to tell her about it when I check in tomorrow. I'll even not murder you for running off and leaving me in an alley."
Rhys breathed a sigh of relief.
"Gwen'll probably do it for me when I tell her. We'll make sure they get some rest and get them a few days off, hopefully."
Jack was still grinning at Rhys's discomfort and, days off or not, Rhys couldn't shake the feeling that Jack Harkness was a bastard.
****
Twenty-four blissfully quiet hours later, Rhys Williams woke up without a hangover, but still feeling fairly sore from a mirage of bruises and abrasions he'd collected during his adventure. He felt pretty good actually, all things considered. He had the day off with his wife and he planned on lounging with her, half-naked and relaxed, in their big bed just to themselves. Rubbing the sleep and gunk off his face, he stretched out one arm lazily to grope the space next to him. Empty. Rhys bolted upright and patted the vacant patch next to him in a panic. "Gwen," he called out hoarsely.
"Hm?" Rhys looked up, and leaning against the doorway was Gwen Cooper. Some color had returned to her features over a day of sleeping. She was wearing a button-up night gown that barely hit her mid-thighs and a pair of socks. Her hair was pulled back into a messy pile behind her head and she was sipping a cup of what smelled like spiced tea. She looked absolutely gorgeous to Rhys. One of the more beautiful times he'd ever seen her.
"I got worried for a moment," he admitted bashfully. Gwen shook her head as if to say ‘oh you' and picked up another mug from their worn dresser. She set the two mugs of tea on Rhys's bedside table, crawled into bed and stretched out on top of him. They kissed, long and lingering, and Gwen tasted of tea and cinnamon toothpaste. Rhys sighed and his hand drifted up to rest on the small of Gwen's back. "Glad you're here," Rhys breathed out.
Gwen kissed the tip of Rhys's nose. "I'm here all day," she grinned and rolled over to her side of the bed. Rhys propped himself up against the headboard. "I'm feeling better," she continued. "Nearly 100%. Don't remember much though," she frowned. "When I spoke to him earlier, Jack told me you were a big hero."
Rhys nodded and took a sip of the tea Gwen had brought him. "Absolutely. Ready to be recruited," he answered sarcastically.
"I bet you'd be better at it than you think." Gwen smiled. "However, we do need to discuss ways to disable your wife without bashing her on the head." Gwen pointed at the dark purple bruise near her forehead and Rhys groaned. No day could ever be entirely perfect.
****
Across town, Jack Harkness was sitting on a very angry young man's legs, grinning like a child and bouncing slightly.
"Get off me, Jack," Ianto gritted out. "I'm fine. I want to make breakfast, take a shower, and move about some."
"Nope," Jack replied, bouncing again. "I told you. Two days of bed rest, sport."
Ianto flinched. "We've had this conversation. Multiple times. I seem to remember us going through a list of unacceptable names. No sport, no pumpkin or whatever else is going through that twisted brain of yours."
"It's just a pet name."
"I'm not a pet," Ianto huffed. "For fuck's sake, after this weekend I'd rather not be seen as a commodity for a while."
"Bet you let your girlfriends give you pet names." Jack reached forward tugged down the blanket to look at the bandages on Ianto's neck, near his collarbone. He was looking better. Still pale, but it could've been so much worse, and Jack had to push aside a wave of anxiety and "the could have been's" going through his mind.
Ianto swatted away Jack's concerned hands, unaware of Jack's more maudlin thoughts. "No, I gave them names. That's how it worked."
"Do you want to give me a name? I think I like darling."
"No, and my feet are falling asleep." Ianto tried to kick his foot to demonstrate and Jack held his ground.
"Promise you'll obey doctor's orders."
"You're not a doctor." When Jack didn't move, Ianto sighed. "Fine. Staying put. See me not moving? Going to continue that."
Jack slid off the bed. "Good. I'll make some breakfast, we'll get you showered and we'll find nice and relaxing things to fill your day."
Ianto rolled his eyes. "Whatever. You can fill me in on what happened – the bits I don't remember."
Jack's eyes light up devilishly. "You were pretty out of it yesterday, but you told me some things before the drug finished with you. Do you remember?"
Ianto shook his head. Jack remembered yesterday fairly well, so at least one of them did. Ianto had been feverish, exhausted and Jack kept wavering on whether or not to bring in outside medical attention. He'd sat next to Ianto's bed, worried and on edge, and listened to half remembered stories about Ianto and Gwen's lost time. It'd made Jack ill, angry, and he'd wanted to find some way to resurrect Jerry to kill the fucker all over again. No one hurt his people, no one, other than, sadly and probably, Jack himself. It stung that Jack couldn't prevent himself from doing harm to them in the future, but he could protect them now. He'd kill for them now. Jack shook his head quickly and put on a believable happy expression.
"Shame," Jack drawled out. "I was hoping you'd have more information on that whole ‘I may or may not have slept with Gwen' confession you made."
Ianto's face turned bright red and he rolled to bury his face in the pillow. Jack Harkness was a bastard.
