Thursday, 7 September 2017

Fans Fiction Mitchell, Part 6 by DJ Forrest


Clark Goodson paced the office as the old Major sat behind the desk, silently deliberating.  A clock somewhere in the dark wood upholstered room ticked heavily.
   “Don’t beat yourself up Sgt. Goodson; your moment of triumph is within your grasp.”  The major croaked from behind the desk. He cleared his throat, age was getting the better of him, time was not on his side.
     He pushed the brown manila folder across the desk towards Goodson. 
   “There has been a spate of weight loss pills on the market recently that have had some unwanted side effects.” 
     Goodson scoffed.  “There are always weight loss pills with side effects, what’s so special about these?”  He viewed the folder from the centre of the room; he was still kicking himself for failing the mission.
   “These pills...” the major continued, “...are alien in origin.  Once taken the weight literally drops off.”
   “These were reported through UNIT, those Adipose, a few years ago.”
   “These are different, those had levels of fat that walked, these are eggs, once taken, manifest in the body and begin to hatch.  A body can incubate up to a hundred small eggs; the outcome is not always good for the humans concerned.”
     Goodson snatched up the folder and read the document.  “How many are we talking about here?”
   “They came into the UK three months ago.  Initially their results weren’t documented, those wishing to lose weight never returned to health clinics, never returned to hospitals or doctor’s surgeries; they were literally never seen of again.”
   “So how do we know these exist?”
     The major pushed a folder of a dead 56-year-old woman across the desk, her belly had been ripped open outwards.
   “The nurse who attended her on a regular basis for fungal nail infection arrived at the house to find Mrs Jenkins, not in a good state of health, she was complaining of stomach cramps and within the 20 minutes, Nurse O’Grady attended to her patient, she reported hearing the sound of tearing and of blood coming from the blouse in Mrs Jenkin’s stomach and then a creature or two popping out through the buttons to say hello.  Naturally the poor woman was beside herself and was reported to have bashed these creatures over the heads several times, ignoring the pleas from the patient.  Of course, there was nothing she could do to stop the arterial bleed.  And when she reported this incident, the woman was already dead, and only the crushed remains of whatever had lived in her body were evident.  I would think, Sgt Goodson, that Torchwood might listen to you with a story like this.”
     Goodson smiled and nodded.  “I think they just might.”
   “And if they don’t. You could always get rid of the opposition.”

It was early morning when Lexy awoke.  She padded through to the kitchen and switched on the light.  She jumped when she saw a man sitting at the table, more so when he groaned.
   “Jesus Jack, you startled me.  What are you doing in the dark?”  She padded barefoot to the kettle and switched it on.  A cup of milky coffee sat with a cold film over the top, there was a patch of stickiness on the tiled floor where the coffee mug had been cleared from last night.
     Jack glanced over at Lexy and smiled awkwardly.  “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”
   “What’s happened, you’re not usually sitting in the dark unless you’re brooding over something?”  She sat down next to him, her hand near his.  “Talk to me Jack.”
     Jack sighed.  “You know...”  He paused.  “When I first saw him in the hospital I couldn’t believe he was the same boy.”
   “Yes.”  She smiled.  “If anything he looks like his father.”  She smiled.  Jack nodded. 
   “Yeah in a lot of ways.”
   “Jack, what’s happened?”  She pressed as the kettle clicked.
     He sighed heavily and studying her hand placed his over it.  “Protection took on a new level for me last night.”
   “Oh Jack you didn’t.” She pulled away.
   “Guilty as charged.  He came in here as I was making coffee.  He made the first move Lexy, before I could think, I was kissing him back.”  He inhaled deeply again and sighed.  “If Porlicanthus was alive today.”
   “He’d rip your throat out.”
   “He did that a few times, usually after...”
     Lexy shook her head and made two coffees.  “I’m going back to London.  I can’t stay here.”
     Jack turned to face her.  “Because I slept with Mitchell?”
   “No, because....”  she sighed and turned to face him.  “I miss my work. Heiney called last night, there’s a new influx of alien refugees coming in and I really need to be there to get them housed before UNIT or other agencies find them.  We’re thin on the ground now, after Wolf.”  She subconsciously placed a hand against her lower abdomen and Jack’s smile fell.
   “Oh Lexy.  How long?”  He reached his hand out to hers, brushing the fabric of her top.
   “At my calculations, I’m about 8 weeks.  It would account for the sickness, and little blue dipsticks rarely lie, Christ it’s going to be awkward in the delivery room.”
     Jack snorted with laughter.  “You’re going to have a puppy.”

It was never easy knowing when you awoke what day or time of day it really was, and he missed not knowing.  In the safe house, the only daylight came from the small cubby hole in the bathroom that filtered light in from the tiny window, that only opened a fraction, and thankfully enough after a dodgy take away, avoiding nasty lingering odours.  Mitchell missed his grotty bedsit, and he missed viewing the hairy scary ninja spider on his ceiling. He also missed Wolf.  He wished the man had identified himself, it would have made the one sided conversations easier if Wolf had really spoken to him.  He was certain he’d heard voices one time after a beating. He was certain he’d seen a man move about the room, tending to his injuries.
     Mitchell sighed as he laid there on his back in the bed, staring up at the plain white ceiling one hand under the pillow, the other below the duvet, against his belly.  He turned to face the empty space beside him, the dimpled pillow and the scrumpled bedsheet.  It still smelt of the Captain whom he’d bedded last night.  He had the same staying power as Mitchell, he didn’t flake like Reuben, or collapse in a sweating heap like Brody. 
     He still didn’t know who Jack was, didn’t know anything about him other than he’d promised to look after him.  He’d promised a lot last night, promised him a job with good money and prospects. A chance to hone his skills and show the team what he was capable of, but there had been the dark undertone. If he lost control, Jack wouldn’t hesitate in putting a gun to his head and pulling the trigger.  He hadn’t said it in so many words, but the tone of voice and the little portions of silent thought that Jack hadn’t realised Mitchell possessed, had trickled into his psyche.  Jack didn’t know Mitchell at all.
     Mitchell padded barefoot to the bathroom and closed the door, locking it.  He released the lock on the window and peered out inhaling the cool air and feeling it automatically cling to him, beckoning him out into the morning, or afternoon...no it felt like morning, not quite warm, birds weren’t in full song, past dawn, most definitely.  He took a shower but left the shave, he quite liked the stubble, it suited him, he’d decided.  He pulled on his fresh clothes, slipped his feet into his sneakers and ate the last two slices of pizza in the fridge with the milk just on the turn.
     Locating the key in Jack’s coat pocket he unlocked the main door and drank the remaining milk while sitting in the overgrown garden hidden behind a bush, and stared out towards the sea, watching a tanker on the horizon moving slowly away.

‘Teddy’ Edwards loved pies.  Meat pie, egg pie, blueberry pie, apple pie, basically anything with the word pie at the end that was edible, he ate.  And that was the problem.  At 45 stone, Teddy ‘The Pie’ Edwards was in need of a diet, and if he continued the way he was going, he would be dead before his life saving operation to have a new heart valve fitted. But Teddy hated exercise; he did enough living in a house where the bathroom was up a flight of stairs.  He had invested in a stair lift but had broken it the first day of installation.  It still hung limply against the banister rail.  He was waiting for the installers to return to take it away and give him his money back. They said ‘money back guarantee if you’re not completely satisfied’ he’d made absolutely certain he’d covered all bases.  The sales rep who had visited had as much as said that given Teddy’s size and weight, their top of the range stair lift would take his weight.  Hmm, he thought, happy to take his money!
     And then it came, plopping on the ‘Welcome’ mat in the hallway, the jiffy bag with the answer to his prayers. 
   LOSE THE WEIGHT IN FIFTEEN DAYS AND NEVER BE CALLED A LARD ARSE AGAIN!
     He used the litter grabbers to pick the packet off the mat and huffed and puffed into the kitchen, working up a sweat just from the ‘exercise’.  He tore open the packaging, slipped on his glasses that pinched the bridge of his short button nose and quickly glanced at the bumf that came with the item. He lifted out the 11cm tall blue plastic container with the twist lid and peered inside.  The pills were no larger than a cod liver oil capsule. They were bullet shaped and mottled grey and came with no sugar coating like other pills.  He pulled open the fridge door and lifted out the bottle of full fat milk, unscrewed the cap, took two pills considering that given his size, two might work quicker, and washed them down his gullet with the milk.  
   “Well Teddy boy.”  He said putting the milk back and wiping the cow juice from his mouth and chin.  “Let’s see if these live up to expectations!”  He read the bumf in more detail.
   ‘Take one tablet a day and flush the fat away!”
     Teddy frowned, it perhaps wasn’t the best advertisement blurb he’d seen for a while and he didn’t want to spend the next two weeks camping out in the bathroom, he wasn’t completely sure how he’d explain that to the plumber if he blocked the toilet. Contented with the possibility of losing the pounds, he grabbed the potato chips, located the tv remote and sprawled on the four seater sofa and watched whatever passed as amusement on the idiot box in the corner.

Marley sat alone in the Coffee Shop overlooking the Bay. The sea was calm; it had the promise of a good day.  A black and white photograph sat in front of her of a woman in her late sixties, carrying two bags of shopping, weighted out evenly in both hands, an older man with a flat cap smoking a cigarette; his eyes squinting against the waft of the smoke walked beside her, his hands free.  They were walking back from the shops, along a road lined with trees and parked cars, and old council houses tainted black from years of neglect, boarded front windows, she remembered the street well.  As a child she’d played in between the parked cars – there was never traffic during the day, only at night when folks were returning home from work. 
     Marley sighed and placed her cup back on the saucer and lifted the photograph to view closer.  She smiled sadly, it was her mother and father - yet it wasn’t.  She would never see her parents again, and they wouldn’t even know why, yet here were two people with another Marley Hanratty who would enjoy Christmas, and Easter, and Sunday lunch. Who would have laughter and arguments and hugs and kisses, and cuddles.  She felt the tears fall down her face as she saw what she was missing, and the reality of living in a world where she didn’t belong and cried.

Gwen Cooper sat in Jack’s office.  She sat behind his desk and read the manila folder telling of diet pills with deadly side effects.  Clark Goodson sat on the opposite side, dressed in an impeccable suit, light blue coloured shirt, smart tie, hair slicked to the side, he looked uncomfortably familiar and Gwen was trying not to think about it.  When Goodson had first lingered outside, she’d been curious.  Allowing him into the building, she’d spilt her coffee in the main office as he stepped through the double doors, and for three seconds she stared, her heart in her throat, total disbelief and felt the tears well up in her eyes.
   “You’ll have to wear something else to work.”  She spoke as she continued to read the same paragraph, her mind still working overtime.  She’d glanced up a couple of times hoping her imagination had been playing tricks on her but it wasn’t. 
   “So, you’re going to hire me?”
  “Trial period only.  Have you viewed the creature?”  She asked lifting out the details of a small bloody creature the size of a young ferret with razor sharp teeth and short arms.  It was too mad to be true. 
   “Chelsea...lab technician she has it in Tupperware at the lab.  It’s a bit crushed but should still be able to distinguish what it might be, or could have been.”
   “What happened to the person...Connelly who was meant to be covering this?”
   “No idea.”  Goodson paused.  “I had the folder in my flat, Jase Connelly was a good friend, he and I, well we used to help each other out. It wasn’t unknown to trade details.”  He crossed his left leg over his right and straightened his jacket.  Clark studied Gwen Cooper.  He felt he would have his work cut out trying to convince her that he was a trustworthy employee. 
   “How many reported cases?”  She eventually looked up.  She could still see him, even when he spoke there were traces of a voice from the past.
   “Aside from the five cases reported there.”  He produced another sheaf of paper from the inside of his jacket pocket and passed it across to her.  “I did my own research, there’s a pharmaceutical firm, small but operates out in Caerphilly, they were testing people with various drugs, to see the side effects, I routinely checked off all the names of the candidates from their database, six are missing.”
     Gwen opened the folded A4 sheets and viewed the information.  A list of names and addresses hand written in black biro with a tick to show they’d been located and a large red X to show those still to locate stared back at her.
     She’d remembered the case at the Pharm, and Dr Aaron Copley, the day they’d lost Owen the first time, she lingered a moment too long.  She sniffed, straightened up and focused her attention on Clark. 
   “The final decision rests with Jack, Captain Harkness, but as he’s not here at the moment, I’m in charge.  We work as a team here, if there’s trouble we need to be able to locate you, keep your Bluetooth on at all times.”  She slipped an ear device across the table in a swift movement, locating one in the drawer to her right.  Jack always seemed to be ready for emergencies. 
     Gwen rose from the seat pushing the chair back and walked to the door.  “There are any amount of computers here pick a seat and make it your own.  But lose the suit!”  She smiled lightly, proffering her hand she held it out to him. 
   “Welcome to Torchwood!”
    
Mitchell had shifted in the seat several times on the drive into the car park beneath the new Torchwood building.  He felt a little off colour and his stomach was growling and making all manner of noises. 
   “You sure you’re alright?”  Jack asked for the umpteenth time since they’d left the house.
   “Yeah, probably just something I ate last night!”  He looked at Jack with a smirk.
   “Hey there’s nothing wrong with me.  More likely some of the junk you’ve been eating of late, like cold pizza?!”
   “It was all I could find.  Besides I’ll pick up something later for lunch, might settle it down.”
     Mitchell stared up at the large building to the left of the Torchwood base, the towering Millennium Stadium and at the high-rise buildings all around him. He felt like a Borrower standing in the world of giants!
  “Come on I’ll introduce you to the team.”  Jack laughed.  He swiped his card and entered the building, taking the stairs two at a time.  They’d only reached the seventh floor when Mitchell groaned and broke wind. 
   “That pizza is coming back to haunt you!”  Jack shook his head.
     They eventually reached the 17th Floor.  There was a lingering odour of reptile that they’d still not managed to eradicate.  There had been no more sightings of Elvis or any other crocodile but it didn’t mean that the spirit of the creature wasn’t still lingering.  Mitchell screwed up his nose.  Moving along the corridor through the plush offices still with computer systems at every desk, Mitchell felt the hairs on the back of his arms and neck prickle at the static the computers were giving off, it was an odd feeling.  He looked at Jack, an insane thought filtering through his mind and slipped his hand into Jack’s. 
     With a crack of electricity shooting from Mitchell into Jack’s hand, the ex time agent yelled loudly and pulled his hand free, but already the electricity had fired through his entire system and raised every hair on his body.  Mitchell fell about laughing.
     Jack scowled at Mitchell and rubbed his palm, he could still feel numbness at its centre.  “The hell was that?”
   “Static electricity!  The plastic rug and the electric build up in this room, it was only a matter of time.”
   “And you built it up?”
   “You know when you push a trolley across a plastic lino in a supermarket and you put your hands on the metal trolley, be surprised what a kick you get.”  He looked at Jack, his hair had suffered an explosion of its own and Mitchell couldn’t help but laugh again.  He attempted to flatten it down, but after one static shock, Jack was less inclined to be zapped a second time.
   “I can do it.”  He shook his head but a smile crept along his lips, tilting the corners.  He laughed. 
   “So how many people do you have working for you?”  Mitchell marvelled at the empty offices.
   “Enough!”  Jack replied pushing the double doors that led into what they’d managed to cobble together into a Hub. 
   A section of Level 17 held enough computer systems, rooms leading to various other rooms yet to be given a title, a small cubby kitchen that smelt of take away foods and pot noodles.  Three members of staff were talking about nothing in particular, one on a phone staring at a computer screen, long brown hair and a deep regionalised Scottish accent, and a dark haired Welsh woman talking to a man in a suit who turned to face them as they walked into the room. 
     Jack smiled as he saw Gwen but as Clark turned to face the man in charge, Jack’s smile slid like snow from a mountain. 
   “Ianto?” 
     There was an awkward pause. 
   “No, Jack, this is Clark Goodson.  He’s just started with us, and he’s now going to go home and get changed and come back with coffees and doughnuts!”  She knew immediately she’d said the wrong thing, but food and coffee was something she was used to and Ianto had always brought what they needed. 
     Jack faltered for a second before blanking Clark.  He looked directly at Gwen before moving to his own room, shrugging off his coat.  He called over his shoulder.
   “Gwen.  My office. NOW!”
     Gwen paused a moment and sighed. She looked at Clark and smiled. “It’ll be alright.”  She closed the office door behind her, her silhouetted figure reflected behind the white glass door that she leant upon.
     In the outer office Mitchell remained where he stood. He wasn’t sure about the man in the suit, he also didn’t know who the person was who Jack had emitted in a loud whisper, but knowing how reluctant the Captain was at revealing anything to Mitchell, even about his own father, he doubted he’d ever find out. 
     The woman who had sat at the computer appeared at his side and smiled at him.  She smelt of peaches, fresh and tinged with another scent, another perfume, it was nice and he smiled at her.
   “I’m Marley and you are?”  She held out her hand to him and he shook it.
   “Mitchell. Just Mitchell!”  He smiled back.  “So, is this it, is this Torchwood?”

Jack was now sat behind his desk, his coat hung on an old coat stand they’d acquired from an antique shop in Penarth.  The manila folder was closed and facing him on the desk, his drawer was partly opened and he pulled it out to review the missing contents.  Gwen countered.
   “Ear piece, if he’s going to be working for us he’s going to need one.” 
   “I thought the decision to take on staff was down to me Gwen.”
   “You weren’t here, and you’ve not answered any of my calls since you left for London.  What happened? Was the phone exchange down, did you run out of money, forget to top up a card, where the HELL WERE YOU?”  She stared at him, remaining where she stood, watching him, reading his facial expressions.  Then she softened and moved from the door and sat down facing him.  “Where were you Jack, am I such a bad person that you can’t talk to me?”
   “It was awkward!”
   “What’s awkward about locating your son?”
     Jack shot her a look and she felt she’d won the first round.  “Lexy told me.”  He narrowed his eyes and she just won round two.  “Rhys and I were in the supermarket and she was in front of us, I can’t remember what we talked about but the mention of your name and she felt she had to offload about Mitchell!”
     Jack sank back in his chair and sighed.  He looked away, staring above the door at the dust webs that hung and swayed in the heat of the room.
   “He’s not my son!”
   “But Lexy said...”
     Jack sighed and looked back at Gwen, her big brown eyes imploring him to spill the beans.  “It’s complicated!”
   “Jack, everything we do is complicated, but if you can’t talk to me...”
     He inhaled deeply and leant forward resting his elbows on the desk, his mind shifted to the manila folder, the old calligraphy written title on the front, familiar to him.  Not his writing granted but written in such a way that reminded him of a past, before Gwen, before Alex and after Emily.   He heard Gwen speak then looked at her as her voice rose.
   “Who is he Jack?”  She implored.
   “His father used to work with me, for Torchwood, it was a long time ago, many many years ago, so far away...”  Jack drifted again and Gwen grew tired. 
   “If you don’t want to tell me, fine, but we still have a job and one we need all hands on deck for.”
   “I don’t like him.”  Jack’s eyes narrowed. 
   “He looks like Ianto, I know, but it’s the suit, as the last time he came here...”
   “Wait he’s been here before?”
   “Jack, I’m handling this.  I’m not sure I trust him either but I think if he’s with us, then we can keep an eye on him.”
     Jack’s eyes darkened.  “Who is he?”
     Gwen composed herself, she sat up in the seat and studied Jack’s face, a face she knew so well, by his mannerisms, his reactions, she knew when to speak and when not to, not out of subservience.  She’d learnt it working as a police officer, you could wade in and yell and shout but you’d get nowhere, so you judged when the right time to speak and be heard, rather than yell and be ignored!
   “Clark Goodson.  He used to work in Intelligence.”  She paused.  “Since he’s been out of service he’s worked for surveillance and insurance fraud companies in and around Cardiff and last job was working in the office that was mostly affected by Elvis.  The body we were searching for was the person he was investigating for stealing property from this site and flogging it on auction sites.  Everything checks out. “ She paused.
   “But...you still don’t trust him?”
   “It’s that thing about having your friends close and your enemy’s closer!  I don’t trust him no, but I haven’t been able to trust anybody since...”  She trailed off.  She wanted to believe deep down that she could trust the milkman not to be working for some secret agency still out monitoring Torchwood, but she couldn’t.  And Barry Betts the postie now didn’t deliver to her door after being pinned to the inner door with a Gloch 17 forced against his head and the voice of an angry Welsh woman threatening to give him several air holes in his skull, while Anwen clapped as Postman Pat delivered to Mrs Goggins on the television without any threat of death at all!
     Jack sighed again.  He placed his palm on the folder and nudged it towards her.  “So what’s this, work or a decoy?”
   “Diet pills.” 
     His brow arched and Gwen shook her head.   “Not like those, and not like the Adipose, these are different again.  They’re eggs.  Seemingly when you take a pill you’ve swallowed minute eggs which hatch inside of your body and eat their way out of you.”
   “So, an incubation host.”  He flipped open the cover and read the details.  “How many are we looking at?”
   “According to Goodson, they came in about three months ago and he has one of the specimens in a lab in Swansea, it was sent for analysis and so far, is still in Tupperware!”
     Jack visibly shuddered and Gwen frowned.
   “Jack?”
   “I’m alright.  Just one of the last times...it doesn’t matter.  Right, I guess we go to Swansea and see what we’re up against.  Do we have any of these pills to test?”
   “So far no, I was in the process of dealing with this when you came in.  So, tell me about Mitchell?”
   “Not now.”  Jack rose to his feet, lifted his coat from the hook and shrugged it on.  “Right now, we have a creature to view.”  He paused at the door and turned to smile at her, the boyish grin of old.  “We will talk but later, OK?”
   “When you didn’t call I thought...”
   “I know.”  Jack met her gaze and smiled. 
     Jack stepped into the main office, Marley and Mitchell were sat at her computer desk, a mug of coffee each although Mitchell wasn’t touching his.  He looked pale and sweaty and Jack paused before he left with Gwen. 
    “Gwen and I are heading out to Swansea.  Marley, when Goodson returns I want his full employment records and details sent to the F.M.E.O. file, and I want you to set up a file for Mitchell.  Have a card issued with his data and one for Goodson.”  He looked at Mitchell.
   “Get some painkillers for that stomach ache then I want you to locate all the details you can on these people.”  He gave him the sheet of paper for the names ticked and crossed by Goodson.  “I want to know who these people were and who they worked for, if there’s a link to them, and who it is, who supplied them with the pills.  I want it on my desk before I return.”
   “And when are you back?”  Mitchell asked.
   “Good question.  See you later!” 


The journey was quiet bar the sat nav feeding directions for the next alternative route into Swansea avoiding the road works that never ceased to crop up along the M4.  This time it seemed to force the vehicle users into single lane traffic for several miles.  Abandoned diggers, dumpers and rollers were parked along the hard shoulder without sight nor sound of any workers, and it wasn’t a Bank Holiday.  Jack wasn’t overly worried, he focused on the road ahead, but his mind kept slipping as to how to work Mitchell into the conversation, and how he was going to skirt some of the issues.  Telling Gwen that Mitchell might one day become like his Uncle, Wolf was a little too much information.  She’d smiled when she’d asked about him, that same familiar excited smile when she knew he was hiding information from her.  Such as the time Toshiko had taken young Tommy Brockless out on the town.  Or when she was excited about her wedding to Rhys and she couldn’t stop talking about all the wedding plans she had.  He found himself smiling. 
     Gwen wondered if she’d made the right decision taking on Goodson.  It wasn’t as if she doubted her judgement, she’d made some good calls in her time, but the fact Jack didn’t approve of him just made working with the new operative a little awkward.  If he screwed up, would Jack hold it against her?  Would he ever tell her that he was disappointed in her choices?  Admittedly when Clark Goodson had stepped through the double office doors and walked up to her, she swore her eyes were playing tricks on her.  She’d gasped, she’d remembered that, her hand went to her mouth and she felt a build up of emotion that almost spilled over, and the last thing she wanted was to show a complete stranger her vulnerable side.
     Jack took a left turning and drove them away from the motorway, she glanced at the sat nav that was now having a near melt down.  It wasn’t unusual for Jack to take a different route but she was certain she’d not heard the sat nav say, take the next left. 
   “Where are we going?”  She asked searching for detour signs, any signs.
   “Coffee!”

It wasn’t much to look at any more, the Gegin Fawr, had once been a busy little cafe that saw much of the passing trade before the motorway. Now it only saw the dribs and drabs from the village, unless by chance road works opened up a gap.  Captain Jack Harkness sat his Styrofoam mug on the dash of the 4 x 4 vehicle they had acquired and stared out across rolling fields, the driver’s door open to the sound of the motorway slowly moving thanks to the single lane traffic. 
     Gwen cradled the cup on her lap, her fingers running along the corrugated grooves.  A partially eaten Danish sat on the dashboard beside a packet of soft mints she’d grown fond of recently – she blamed Marley!
   “Lady Barlow, Lexy, works for Torchwood, but she’s freelance.  I knew her years ago.”  Jack began.  He continued to stare out of the windscreen, his mind drifting back.  Gwen listened without interruption.  “She works in London, along the Summergate Road, there’s a small clinic there that caters for the less fortunate and often the ‘alien’ of the community.”  He turned to face Gwen, holding the cup lightly, still too hot to drink.  “She’s a doctor, a good one.”  He paused, before continuing.
   “Mitchell’s father, Porlicanthus, wasn’t what you’d call human, not completely.  He was from the Ciu Sioux tribe, a...er...lycanthrope...”  He paused for effect, while Gwen’s mind worked out what he was telling her.  He saw the penny drop and her eyes widened.
   “A werewolf?”  She almost spilled her coffee.  “Are you saying...”  She set the coffee on the dash and turned to fully face Jack.  “...that Mitchell is a werewolf?”
   “Perhaps, although we’ll not know until the third alignment of the planets, which will happen in about 8 months time, which is when Mitchell turns 25!”
   “And, so...oh god, we’ve left him with Marley!”
   “At the moment Mitchell is safe, unless he loses his temper, but..”  He saw Gwen’s concern heighten.  “...but he only loses it with me.  He doesn’t know much about his family, he grew up in care.  I put him in care when he was about three years old.”
   “Why?”  She narrowed her eyes at Jack.
   “Porlicanthus was looking after him after he was...separated from his mother.  We had to do that, together they would have been catastrophic.  He grew up with...”
   “Wait...just a minute, if Mitchell wasn’t separated from his mother...what would happen?”
   “Mitchell comes from two different races of people, two very powerful people, but the one who I hope to God is still locked up, if she were to ever get out would destroy mankind forever.  I’m serious Gwen, we had to get Mitchell away from her, or he would have destroyed us all!”

Mitchell stared at the computer screen.  Locating the people on the list had been fairly easy, child’s play, locating their National Insurance data and personal data through the Torchwood software, bypassing all Laws of Data Protection, every avenue open to him, he now stared at the computer at his own information.  He’d been logged at various sites over the years, from the children’s home run by old Greer.  He mused at the surname they’d given him, and already knowing that Jack wasn’t his father, he had to wonder the reason for the identity change.  What was his real surname?  He read through his medical details sent over from Lexy.  In his entire life, several injuries that had been fairly major hadn’t required medical attention such as a hospital stay over until the last, when Brody had tried to kill him.  He’d been reported as falling from a tree, hit by a car and knifed, but judging by all the injuries he’d sustained, he’d not received medical attention such as hospital care, and within a few days his injuries had healed up.  That bothered him.  It had only been after the dealings with Brody that he’d grown increasingly sick, too sick to eat that he’d been ill and close to death.  But he thought back to that moment, when he’d been beaten, when they’d brought him to Cardiff, when he’d had surgery, he was up within the week – who did he know that would be up and running about after such an ordeal?
     Marley pushed her chair back and sighed.  He glanced over. 
   “I’m going for something to eat, you’re very welcome to join me.”  She was sweet, her Scottish accent soft on the ear, electrifying on his mind.  He found that sometimes when she spoke he lost all sense of anything.
   “Mitchell...”  She called snapping him out of his daze.  “I’m going for food is there anything you want?”
   “Um no, I think I’m ok.”
   “I tell you what, I’ll pick up something anyway, who knows when they’ll be back.  If Clark comes in there’s some paperwork he needs to fill in, data about employment that kind of thing.”  She draped her brown leather coat over her arm, lifted her recently acquired shoulder bag over her shoulder and left the building.  He watched her leave by the CCTV monitoring from her computer screen.  As the glass door clicked shut after she left, Mitchell got to work. 
     The security in the whole building was a sham.  Understandably Torchwood, after he’d been given the spiel by Marley was still finding its feet and this whole building required a decent surveillance system, but for Floor 17 and the outer doors it was air tight, she’d told him.
     Locating her password and entering the mainframe of the Torchwood layout, he was amazed to find so many breaks in security that it was amazing that anything truly worked efficiently.  Given that he now had the building secure, it was time to play.

Swansea University laboratory was adjacent to the hospital and was located at the left of the hospital car park, through the double glass sliding doors and into an elevator going down to the ground floor.  From there it was three doors along past reception run by a tired woman in a pinafore frock who couldn’t wait for the weekend to arrive.  She asked them to sign a visitors book and gave them both Visitor ID’s and a small map, scribbled on the back of a memo about cut backs on coffee breaks, for the lab in question.  They discovered the lab to be where the music was at its loudest.  They found a single lab technician, wearing lab coat, and black converse, playing loud music while still wearing headphones. 
     Jack winced at the sound, it wasn’t that he disliked music but he wasn’t entirely certain ‘Dirtbag Gruesome’ was his kind of thing.  The lab technician was deep into the music and while waiting for a certain scan to complete belted out the bridge to a minute of air guitar – with feeling.  As she turned to finish off the song with ‘You can’t screw with me mother fucker!’ she realised two people in civilian clothing were watching her gyrate half way across the floor in some serious guitar playing solo.  She stopped singing, momentarily paused, pushed her hand into her lab coat bringing out a remote switch and muted the sound on the cd player and got to her feet. 
   “I wasn’t aware I had visitors today?”  She pulled the earphones off, they hung limply like hoodie ties, swaying in the middle of her chest caught on a metal pin badge of ‘The Clash’. 
   “Sorry, we did call ahead.”  Jack lied throwing a matinee smile towards the young rock chick with the black hair and black make up.  “Captain Jack Harkness, I believe...”  He observed her name tag.  “that you’re familiar with Clark Goodson?” 
     Chelsea looked back at Jack naturally shaking his hand but curious as to why Clark had sent a man dressed in World War II costume and a woman in skinny jeans and black leather jacket. 
   “He never mentioned you.  What was it about?”
   “You have a creature in Tupperware, sent to you for analysis.”
   “Oh that.”  Chelsea walked to the unit near the cd player, clicking it off and opened the fridge, squatting down in her tight black leggings, viewed the selection of Tupperware on offer.  She lifted out one, put it back lifted out another, put that back, third time lucky she lifted the 9in x 7in plastic container that was 3in deep and placed it on the counter. 
   “There’s not much of it really.  Hang on.”  She walked to a drawer containing files and pulled out the middle of three and let her fingers do the walking.  A quarter of the way in she lifted out the folder containing the details of the find.
   “Don’t you keep anything on computer?”  Gwen mused.
   “Oh these old things, that one over there with the sticker, crashes every time I need to run a deep tissue analysis, and that one by the bin, I don’t know how many times I’ve called for maintenance.  Sometimes it’s easier adding everything to the paper files.  I have an iPad, granted it’s not ideal, but it’s efficient.
     Jack prised open the lid and pulled back almost immediately screwing up his nose at the rank odour.  Inside the tub lay a half crushed 8” long bloody brown shaft of bone and tissue which on first impression looked like an erect penis with short useless arms like a raptor and razor sharp teeth on a head that once bore eyes and a savage mouth.
   “Yeah it pongs a bit.”  Chelsea concurred.
   “What were the findings?”  Jack asked, putting the lid back on.
   “Fish.”
   “Excuse me?”  Gwen frowned.  “Fish?”
   “Yeah, here.”  She opened the folder and traced her finger down the findings and tapped her finger against the first set of tables with a code of numbers.  “I took samples and ran them through a series of rigorous tests and the findings came back as fish source.  So I ran the scan against the type 1 and type 2 codes that it flashed up, which brings it up as having traces of Amazonia.”
     Jack’s face darkened.  Chelsea continued.
   “I thought it was kind of weird given the location, and the fact that the last time I saw something like that I was watching John Hurt’s stomach rip open and a monkey wrench creature screaming.”
     Gwen raised a brow.  Chelsea explained.
   “Don’t tell me you’ve never seen the film Aliens?  According to Clark that’s what this creature did, which made me laugh because, there’s no such things as aliens right?”  She said it so matter-of-factly that Jack snorted. 
   “What else did you find out?”
   “That’s the crazy thing about this, there’s a code of DNA that I don’t recognise.  Aside from the fish coding there’s this...”  She pushed the sheet towards Jack and an array of 5 coded digits stared back up at him.  Gwen craned her neck to see but they might as well have been the digits for a barcode for Crinkle Cut chips as they didn’t register as anything she’d heard of before.
   “Thank you, Chelsea we’ll take these and any other details you may have for this.”
   “Er excuse me but this is my work, you can’t just take this without due authority.”
   “We’re Torchwood, I think that takes care of the authority and paperwork side.”  Jack lifted the folder as Chelsea slapped her hand over it and glared back at him.
   “I said NO.  I need to see what the results of the third test are.”
     Jack paused.  “What third test?”

Mitchell smiled to himself.  In the space of three hours he’d successfully mastered the Torchwood software, had implemented three separate security systems to fully route through the entire building, testing fire alarms, swipe cards and altered all the internal and external swipe card systems.  He’d secured the roof after making his way up and onto the asphalt and been able to, if he’d wanted, dismantle any part of the communications ports.  It had felt good to be in control. 
     But there was still one thing left to cover – the stairwells.  Armed with enough cable which he’d located in one of the engineering rooms downstairs, he began to set the CCTV monitors at the right angles carrying with him a portable monitor to check each one against the other.  He also rigged up heat sensors and motion sensors for when the team were either all in or all out.  Who or whatever was in the building that shouldn’t have been there, he would know about.  He was almost done tweaking the CCTV, but there was always one that had been placed in the wrong position, always one that teetered on the edge of the stone stairs.
     Mitchell wasn’t scared of heights, he’d mastered higher than this, he’d scaled buildings, shimmied down drainpipes, heights were no bother at all!  
     He first became aware of the problem as he angled the camera and reached down to collect the monitor from the next stool he’d used as a table.  His stool wobbled, something cracked and doing everything possible to counteract the freefall he missed the first three steps but landed and bounced and scraped, cracked and bashed bones and skull and lay still on the landing before the next flight of stairs.
    
Despite the cool breeze the day was dry and while she wandered along the high street drinking her take out coffee and eating a sandwich, Marley window shopped.  It was one of her favourite pastimes, the other was rummaging in charity shops. It was where she’d located the shoulder bag, an imitation designer bag, big enough to hide the Glock 17, a set of ammo and her phone. 
     She was settling into the job which pleased Gwen.  Back in Glasgow her job had been fairly mundane, filing and a bit of field work and the occasional patch up when a field operative had bitten off more than he could chew.  The chance of locating the crocs and uncovering the work at the Estate had been something of an adventure for her, but dealing with crocs in the work place, dealing with death on a grand scale, dealing with the fact she was miles from home and no way of ever getting back, it was a lot to deal with.  So long as she was busy, Marley could tackle anything, and right now, tomorrow’s work clothes and a decent pair of shoes was her way of dealing with stuff.
     She’d been trawling through thrift stores for a few hours before she realised she’d left Mitchell alone and Jack and Gwen might be back.  Carrying the clothes, a nice plain cotton pastel yellow top, pair of jeans and leather ankle boots all for under a tenner she quickly bought a tray of cakes and sandwiches and made her way back to the Hub. 
     Clark was already waiting.  He’d rung the bell, a metal buzzer sunk into the brickwork.  No answer came back.  He’d waited a while, pulled out his phone and called in.  Still no answer.
     Marley, slightly out of breath frowned.
   “Is no-one letting you in?”
     Clark shook his head.  “Been here half an hour, thought perhaps it was part of my initiation test but the side door was closed too.”
     Marley handed the tray of food to Clark as she rummaged in her bag for her card and swiped it.  An angry buzzer declined her card.
   “What the hell?”  She tried again and again but every time it refused her access.
   “Who’s in there?”  Clark said handing back the tray of cakes and taking her card, wiping it against his trousers before trying again, receiving the same result.
   “Mitchell!”

The Tupperware sat between Jack and Gwen in the 4 x 4 vehicle, along with the data and the results of the third test.  Gwen had marvelled at the results, and the slide show that were also part of the third test that also sat inside the folder between them.  Also sitting beside the Tupperware and the folder was a blue plastic bottle containing diet pills.  It had been retrieved from the house of the late Mrs Jenkins.  Chelsea had run the third test on the pills and the startling results and although she’d not carried through the full extent of what these pills became, the crushed creature was enough to ascertain that whatever was incubating in the bodies of humans up and down the country wasn’t good!
     It was a quiet drive back as the sun set behind them and dragged the darkening night sky as if attached to the tow hook all the way to Cardiff.  Street lights greeted them as they drove into the city and two fed up Torchwood staff met the light beams of the vehicle as they sat on the front steps, half of the sandwiches and doughnuts already eaten and two Styrofoam mugs empty beside them. 
      Jack parked up in his usual spot and jumped out, leaving Gwen to carry their find before locking the vehicle.  He came over to greet them, the cold air snatching his breath as he spoke.
   “What are you two doing out here, where’s Mitchell?”  He said, curiously.
   “Probably in the building warm as toast.  We’ve been trying to get in since lunch time and...”  she trailed off.
   “Have you tried calling him?”  Gwen pulled her card from her back pocket and swiped it.  The card reader refused her access.  “What the hell?”  Marley smiled inwardly.  Gwen swiped it again.  Jack used his and still the building refused them entry.
     Jack ran around to the side entrance and keyed in his code, again it was denied.  He pulled out his phone and contacted the office.  He turned to face the others.
   “No answer.”  Flipping the strap on his vortex manipulator he pressed two buttons and the wrist strap over rode the security code, the door clicked and opened and Jack smiled. Before he opened the door fully, he unholstered the Glock 17, not as comfortable as his old Webley but still as effective. Gwen and Marley followed suit.  Clark removed an old Colt .45 and checking they weren’t being watched, entered the building and closed the door tight behind him. 
     Jack was already working his way up the stairs.  He instructed Clark and Marley to take the rooms while he and Gwen took the fire exits.  They split up.

On the 16th floor Jack’s blood ran cold, a patch of fresh blood lay on the landing before the next flight, and up every step droplets of blood and a hand print. 
   “Do you think it’s Mitchell?”  Gwen said sensing only too well that if he’d been the only person in the building, but then given that the young man was likely a werewolf, would this be food he’d just located?
     Jack continued up the stairs.  The hand rail was sticky and red and several times it had been gripped tightly.  He didn’t want to think what might have happened.  Instead, he ran up the last remaining stairs to Level 17 following the trail of blood in droplets all the way to the Office.  Another bloody handprint met him at the double doors.  
     Maintaining battle stance, he edged into the room, scanning his gun this way and that as he looked along every computer desk and monitor, under every table and chair, inside any unlocked cupboard, Gwen followed suit on the opposite side.
     Every computer flickered on as they passed it, the swirls of the alien software greeted them.  It was like a sea of computer screens all moving in sync.
     Jack entered the main office and saw the light of the fridge, curious he peeked in.  More blood, this time mingling with water, the tea towel drawer lay open and the first aid kit was missing from the corner by the kettle.  Jack pointed for Gwen to check along the corridor leading to the roof while he checked in the rooms alongside the kitchen. 
     Inside his own office, lying semi naked on the leather couch was Mitchell.  His eyes were closed but he was alive, if only by the fact his chest rose slowly.  The open First Aid kit lay on the floor, its contents emptied around it, a bloody needle with adrenalin shot lay used on the floor.  Mitchell’s clothes were dumped beside it. 
     Jack holstered his gun and edged closer to Mitchell.  The young man’s head had taken a beating but an ice pack lay beside him melting into the tea towel.  As Jack tilted his head to the side of Mitchell’s body he saw for himself the extent of the bruises and obvious breaks along his right side.  He smiled lightly commending the boy for treating himself, but he was not forgiven for keeping them outside.
   “Hey...wake up!”  Jack brought a chair over and sat beside him, feeling for a pulse, found one racing.  He checked his pupils, and winced.   “Oh god...Mitchell wake up. Come on, wake up.”
     Gwen glanced in hearing Jack speak and saw Mitchell.  “What’s happened?”
   “I don’t know but either someone got in or...check the CCTV, perhaps that’ll shed some light.  I think he’s concussed, his right pupil is dilated.”
   “He’s got the ice pack that should help bring down the swelling.”  Gwen put the Glock on the desk and brought up the CCTV over the past 10 hours and skimming through endless hours of Mitchell in and around the building, located him at the specific point and winced. “Ouch!  Jack, found it.  He was on the stairwell, but I tell you, despite what happened, he’s been very busy.  Come and see for yourself, I’ll call Marley, tell her to come up.”

     It was a few hours more before Mitchell awoke breathing in the scent of the Captain’s coat as he lay on the sofa.  Jack was sat at the desk reviewing the data taken from the lab and the details Mitchell had collated for him earlier.  There seemed a link although it was pretty thin, as were most related diet links.  He’d dealt with diet pills before, pharmacies using whatever means possible to hoodwink people into paying vast amounts of money for schemes that rarely worked.  But this went beyond losing weight, this put the human race at risk and it wasn’t something he could ignore and leave for some other poor schmuck.  He smiled softly at Mitchell as the young man stirred and opened his eyes.  Tomorrow they would locate the first man on the list with the red X beside his name.
     Except Teddy ‘The Pie’ Edwards wouldn’t be available for comment because Teddy was already dead.  Teddy had fallen asleep in front of the telly, as he did most nights, only tonight he wouldn’t be waking up to take any more pills, as whatever had hatched out of his belly was now loose in his house.




    
   



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