Fandom: Torchwood

Characters: Jack, Yvonne

Author: m_findlow

Rating: PG

Length: 3,459 words

Content notes: none

Author notes: Written for Challenge 289 - Background

Summary: Jack's research into his errand for Yvonne unveils a golden opportunity.

Jack shook his head of rain-soaked hair as he shrugged off his coat, coming to leaving it draped over the railing to dry out. 'How about that weather out there?' he said. 'Fourteenth straight day of torrential rain. Rift related? What do you think?'

He looked around but no one answered. Of course, that was to be expected. There wasn't anyone else here to answer his question. It was rhetorical m, like all the others.

'Talking to yourself again, Jack. First Sign of madness, so they say,' he observed, striding across the hub, past the empty desk of colleagues long gone, and finally settling behind his own. He'd never had a desk before, when the hub had been full of people, but now the office that was once Alex's had now become his. It looked about as different as it could. Where before it had been a spartan arrangement of slim laptops and efficient desk caddies, now it resembled something from Churchill's war room, with its green hooded desk lamp, stained leather blotter and an assortment of things littering it that should have been locked away in the archives, but which had now became decorative elements of a nineteen forties era workspace.

'Paperwork or return phone calls?' He pondered the question for a moment. 'Paperwork. At least it doesn't talk back. Mostly.' He shook his head again but this time it was with disappointment rather than to shed water. 'Now you're answering your own questions, Jack. That must be the second sign of madness.' He laughed in spite of himself. Gods but this place was way too quiet most of the time. He'd made it that way on purpose, of course. After the millennium New Year's Eve incident, he wasn't about to risk anymore lives doing the dangerous kind of work that Torchwood Cardiff had to offer. It didn't matter to him. He couldn't die - which made him perfect for the job - but neither could he leave, not with the Doctor due to arrive at any time in the next hundred years. He had to be ready. The twenty-first century was when everything would change.

It didn't make the job any less lonely. How many times had he had a joke right there on the tip of his tongue, just perfect for the immediate situation, only to have to keep it to himself? It just wasn't as funny without someone to share it, however witty or inappropriate.

And of course, when it was just him that meant he had to do everything around the place. From going out to a rift alert to conducting the alien autopsy to cleaning up after it. Jack was the man in charge of it all. If he ran out of teabags or fresh milk he had only himself to blame. If the hub was a mess - and admittedly, it had seen better days - he'd just have to learn to live and work in his own squalor. So often he'd been lugging something around the hub and found himself yelling out "a little help would be nice!" only to know that know one was coming to take a share of the load. If it got too heavy or too cumbersome, he would just have to drop it, ever if it a made a mess or risked breaking it. Yeah, a spare pair of hands would have been real handy sometimes.

And, just like now, with a whole hub to rattle around in, there wasn't a single other person around to have a conversation with. It was the kind of thing that might drive most people mad, but Jack wasn't most people. Still, three years was a long time to be riding solo.

'What do you think, Jack? Time for a new wingman?' The question felt rhetorical. He was going stir crazy without anyone to keep him company. He loved attention. But who? Where did he even begin? He'd partnered up with people before, but most times it was on the fly, in the heat of the moment, or someone lumped on him. He'd never actually had the luxury of picking someone. Did he want someone who'd be on equal terms with him? A friend? Maybe more than a friend? Or did he want someone who would do all those things he hated doing, someone to take orders and like it?

Then there was the whole matter of it being Torchwood and having to get to grips with dealing with a world of alien strangeness. He'd lived in Cardiff a long time, and he knew for a fact that most locals were oblivious to what when on around them. Even when confronted with it first hand, most of them didn't believe it; not until it had killed them or chewed the head off someone else nearby, and then they freaked out. How was he supposed to find someone and know that they could handle it?

Apart from not freaking out, they should probably have some other skills as well, but what kind? How picky should he be, or should he just wait for serendipity to decide for him? The more he thought about it, the more he knew he didn't want to do this on his own anymore. It was too big a job, even when there'd beem a whole team of them here, and he hated the lack of interaction. Was it any wonder he practically lived here, sleeping down in the bunker underneath the office he always occupying now. All he did was work and sleep, occasionally stopping to eat, and even more occasionally picking up some handsome thing to sleep with, though always at theirs, or a hotel, or the back of the car, or a quiet alleyway. Anywhere except the hub. If they saw all this they'd probably run a million miles. 'Hmm, scratch the maybe something more,' he said. 'Relationships and Torchwood are never a good idea.' He could vouch for that first hand.

He didn't get to ponder the question further because his phone was ringing; buzzing and crawling its way across the surface of his desk until it butted up against a stack of files and could go no further. He watched the caller ID and contemplated letting it ring out before finally going and picking it up.

'Captain Jack Harkness speaking,' he announced, making sure he squeezed his full title in, even if it was self appointed, knowing precisely who was on the other end of the line.

'Captain Jack Harkness,' replied the cultured tone. 'Remind me again what exactly you are Captain of?'

'Those files are classified. If I told you I'd have to kill you.'

Yvonne gave an amused little chuckle. 'I'm sure. And how are things at Torchwood Cardiff. All running smoothly, I trust? Your reports are somewhat... vague on the matter.'

'Just a whole lotta weevils and tin cans falling through the rift. Didn't want to bore you with the minutiae.'

'How thoughtful.' Her tone suggested he was being anything but thoughtful. They both knew full well Jack wasn't exactly a full disclosure guy. It was a little game they played - how much can I hide from you before you get annoyed. A game which went both ways with varying levels of success.

'I assume you called for a reason,' Jack said, his body tensing as the real political power play was about to begin.

'I have a job for you, Captain.' Jack could tell immediately that he didn't want it by the way she used his title. If you looked up the word insincere in the dictionary, Jack was pretty sure there'd be a picture of Yvonne Hartman to accompany it.

Jack narrowed his eyes. What kind of job?

'Retrieval. I've just been informed that the Ministryof Defense had a little bit of an incident. Got caught in possession of some blueprints for alien technology that they shouldn't and have prototype of the device.'

'What kind of device?'

'A sonic modulator. I'm reliably informed by my experts here that it is quite a nasty little device.'

Jakc snorted. 'No kidding. Great way to permanently destroy your ear drums and snap half the neurons in your brain.'

'Indeed. Now,' she said, turning to business, 'given the very troubling nature of this device, I'd prefer if it were dealt with by a pair of experienced hands. Your orders are to retrieve it and the plans from UNIT's facility a few miles north of the Lodmoor Research Facility. Convenient that they should have a maximum security facility within driving distance. Might make them keep a more careful eye on the Ministry in future.'

Jack leaned back and rested a boot up against the edge of his desk. 'And why am I being asked to go? Isn't London a whole lot closer than Cardiff? Or are you a little short staffed these days?'

'My people all have their own duties,' Yvonne replied smoothly.

'And I don't? It's a rift that never stops spitting out dangerous aliens and artifacts.'

'Tin cans, so you tell me, unless your reports are incomplete,' she countered. 'To be frank, Captain, if it comes down to us taking it by force and having them bring out their guns, I'd much rather it was you they were pointing their weapons at. Unlike my peole, you're a little bit more expendable.'

'Thanks,' Jack said, his tone clearly unimpressed. He was perfectly fed up with being Torchwood's cannon fodder.

'Like I said, an experienced hand is needed. I don't care for politics with UNIT. If you have to take it by force, then that's what I want you to do.'

'I gather asking them nicely didn't work out so well for you.'

'They've agreed to relinquish it, for now. What happens when Torchwood actually turn up on their doorstep is another matter. Someone who doesn't take no for an answer might be needed.'

Jack ground his teeth. He didn't like being anyone's gopher, especially not Yvonne's. There was some other agenda at play here but he didn't know what it was. Yet. 'I'll think about it.'

'Good. I'll email you the details. They're expecting you to arrive at ten sharp tomorrow.'

'I haven't said yes, yet.'

He could practically hear Yvonne smirking in her plush London office. 'Neither have you said no. I'll expect you to drop by with the artifacts say, two pm? No need to book an appointment with my executive assistant.' With that she hung up, not allowing Jack to have the last word.

Jack threw his phone back on the desk in disgust. Yvonne's company was not the kind he'd been looking for. He also didn't need any more things added to his to do list. He didn't want alien tech in the wrong hands, though. If Yvonne didn't want UNIT having it, then it had to be important.

He turned towards his computer, beginning to click at the keys with practised ease. 'Now, let's see what we can find about about this thing,' he muttered to himself. 'Might be I don't want Torchwood One having it either.'

Hacking into UNIT's systems was relatively easy. He already had some basic credentials to get past their initial firewalls into supposedly open source resources which included any files where Torchwood had uploaded their own research into projects being conducted by UNIT, or any reference material they'd chosen to share. Breaking through the remaining security protocols was a snap. They weren't expecting to be hacked from the inside, after all. If someone was this far in already they could surely only be a trusted user. Jack snorted at the thought. Who in their right mind would trust anyone from Torchwood? He didn't even trust them, and he was one of them - more or less.

'Oh,' he said finally uncovering the cached files. 'Ministry of Defense archives. Interesting.' He clicked a little further into the files, pulling up the old blueprints that had been filed away in their archives, presumably never to see the light of day, and most certainly never to be shared with their betters at UNIT and Torchwood. He wondered what else they might have tucked away that would be of interest. Wouldn't that just be the egg on their faces when the Defense Minister had to front up to the Home Office and explain why UNIT were comandeering their files after a rather unfortunate leakage of their most classified data.

Jack scutinised the stolen blueprints. Unlike everyone else, he actually knew what the design of a sonic modulator was meant to do, and he knew just barely enough to be able to tell that the plans in their current state were unfinished. A prototype. Version one point zero. Never going to work. The files were noted as such by the Ministryof Defense. Clearly they'd had their boffins take a crack at making it and failed dismally. And a good thing too. This was one nasty piece of technology in the wrong hands. Perhaps the plans had been made intentionally flawed by the designer, or perhaps they just weren't quite there yet at figuring out how to make one work.

'You're wasting your time, Yvonne,' Jack loudly declared. For once he might not mind letting her have them. They were useless. All they'd do would be to spin their wheels trying to make it work.

Jack flipped past the blueprints file and clicked into a second more recent file. 'Oh, now that is very interesting indeed,' he said leaning closer to the screen to read the details. He hadn't bothered to ask the how and why Yvonne had uncovered this little discovery, but now here it was. MoD had been brought undone by one of their own, stealing the plans from inside their own facility. His curiosity grew as he continued to read what should have been a bland and unexciting relay of events. His eyebrows flew up into his hairline as he read the military brief in the capture of the MoD employee. 'They made a working version?' He shook his head, having studied the plans himself. 'Impossible,' he muttered. He knew enough to know that the blueprints were incomplete, but not enough to figure out the intricacies of how to make them workable. To do that you'd have to be...

He opened up a second window, typing in the name of the woman they'd arrested. She must have been someone high up to be able to get access to the plans, to know they were even there in the first place, and brilliant beyond belief to make them work. It was the only way to explain how a terrorist cell would know to target her. What came up in Torchwood's own systems when he ran her background check surprised him even more. She was nobody. Just a tiny cog in the administration of a huge department. How did someone with that much scientific intellect end up in such a dead end job? If she could make a sonic modulator work, she could have been the head of the research and development. She could have been running the most advanced tech company in the world.

'Let's find out where the hell you came from,' Jack murmured, clicking through the personnel files and digging a little deeper. 'Born 1975 in London, moved to Japan when you were two, moved back to the UK at nine. Hmm... Oh, both parents in the RAF. Must've been a military posting, yet didn't go into the military yourself. Both now retired from the service. So, the MoD part I get, but the technological genius part?' A few more clicks and he had his answer. 'Ah, grandfather worked at Bletchley Park. Got your mind for numbers and mechanics from him, I'll bet. Probably made you do math puzzles for fun, or maybe sweets and pocket money.'

Jack chewed his thumbnail as he read over the more trivial details, trying to put together a profile. 'No boyfriend or significant other of note, one leased apartment, no roommates. Credit card statements show... Huh, no social life, unless you count visiting the local bookshop and the occasional rented DVD.' Jack could picture her perfectly even without the rather unflattering photo on her new UNIT prison dossier. 'Orange is so nobody's colour,' Jack said. 'Loner. Lives to work. Wouldn't say boo to a goose. All that military upbringing, that penchant for rule following, yet you still risked everything, knowing exactly what you were handing over to these guys. That either made you incredibly stupid, or incredibly desperate. What would your mother say? She probably would have died before letting them have it. Toshiko Sato. Desperate wallflower genius.' Jack actually felt sorry for her.

Not that any of it mattered now. UNIT had taken it upon themselves to exact justice for her actions. They were big on incarceration for treason. They couldn't be bothered with letting the normal criminal justice system run its course. That could take months, or years. UNIT wanted immediate recourse, even if it wasn't technically their remit to begin with. That was the trouble with being military minded. MoD often swayed under their influence, recognizing UNIT as the more militarily superior force. If anything, they were probably glad to have the problem taken off their hands, limiting just how much more egg on their faces might need to be removed. The sooner they could dispense with the guilty party, the better.

It was a pity, Jack thought. All that brilliant mind gone completely to waste, rotting away in a UNIT prison facility for the rest of her days. That was the price you paid for putting your family ahead of the safety of the entire planet, not that Jack could any longer her relate to that particular conundrum. And he knew what these kinds of terrorist cells were like. Once they had you in their grip they didn't let go. Probably a good thing that UNIT had caught her when they did, before she'd had a chance to steal any more classified material, building weapons that had never been anything more than curiosity and an academic concept. In their hands, people like her were dangerous.

The idea struck Jack suddenly and without warning. Dangerous in the wrong hands, but in the right hands? Someone who could take the most complex information and understand it intimately, even if no one on Earth had ever seen it before. This was advanced alien technology and she had pieced it together with no more than basic Earth materials, compensating automatically for errors and materials she didn't have. The simple genius of it was beautiful. The things she might be able to do with some of the alien tech he had around here... Someone who could understand it, fix it, or nut out what it did in the first place. Someone who knew how to infiltrate computer systems, bypass security protocols or completely rewrite them. The person he'd been looking for was staring him right in the face. He didn't need a gun wielding, weevil chasing, super soldier. He could mange that himself. He needed someone who could break down the things that came through the rift, analyse them, classify them, and document everything in meticulous detail. Someone who wouldn't question the origin of something just because it didn't equate with the current level of Earth technology. Someone who could keep a secret because there was no one else to share it with. Someone who could be shaped and molded, and who wouldn't go crawling to London to break faith with him. Someone who was his, totally and completely - and who better than someone who would owe him their freedom, or at least a semblance of it? Whatever her faults, he knew he had to have her. He picked up his phone and dialed.

'Yvonne, it's Jack Harkness. I've just been taking a look at those UNIT files and you're right. We can't leave the plans for that kind of tech in their hands. Leave it with me.'

He could almost hear Yvonne beaming on the other end of the phone. 'I knew you'd see it my way.'

Jack smiled at his own reflection in the windows that looked out onto the rest of the hub. She saw things how she wanted them. There was always the chance that an accident could happen to the working prototype, rendering it ineffective. Perhaps it might accidentally have burnt out after it had been used. Jack was an expert in breaking things and making it look like an accident. They were welcome to the blueprints. All Jack really wanted was its maker, and Yvonne didn't have to know about that at all. It seemed a fair reward for having to be her errand boy for the day.