Torchwood: Fanfic: Big haul

[m_findlow]

Title: Big haul
Fandom: Torchwood
Characters: Rhys, Gwen, Ianto, Jack
Author: m_findlow
Rating: PG
Length: 2,364 words
Content notes: none
Author notes: Written for m_findlow's prompt "Any, any, full of hot air" at fic_promptly
Summary: Rhys is in for the biggest haulage operation if his career

I know I shouldn’t complain. Like, really shouldn’t. Gwen will have my arse for saying this, but that bloody boss of hers! Honestly, the man is like a walking, talking joke from some panto play. I mean, I know he saves the world and all, but there’s no need to be smug about it, and certainly no need to be banging on my door at 5.30 in the bloody morning, sending Gwen into an absolute panic because she’s meant to have been somewhere an hour ago, but only got to bed an hour before that.

Gwen dashes for the shower, forgetting all about the door and the man about to bash it down with his fist, leaving me to have to get up and answer it. Yes, not bad enough he’s woken both of us, now I’ve got to get out of bed as well. Sticking my head out over the window, I can see it down on the street. Big black car, flashing blue lights, imposing itself on the neighbourhood. The Torchwoodmobile. Don’t tell anyone I called it that. They all love that bloody car.

Halfway down the hall and the banging is still going on.

‘Alright, keep your shirt on!’ I yell, before realising I’m not wearing anything.

Now, don’t look at me and cringe like that. It’s my house, so wandering about in my birthday suit is completely acceptable. The wife even thinks I have a nice arse to look at, though I suspect she won’t say the same about the expanding beer belly that goes with it. From the back, everything looks good. The front, not so much, and side on, well, that’s even worse. It’s all downhill after 25, I tell you. Every beer and packet of pork scratchings adds another pound, and sufficient exercise no longer comprises the walk from the football stadium to the pub.

I return to the bedroom and tug my dressing gown out from under the crumpled mess of duvet and clothing. Normally, I’d say, “my house, my rules”, but turning up at the door stark naked, whilst not embarrassing on its own, is probably something that Jack would actually enjoy, and I’m not about to give him the satisfaction.

The banging is still going on, but now I can hear Gwen banging around our bedroom as well, tumbling over herself to pull on skin tight jeans and boots. Showered and dressed in less than five minutes is a skill that only Gwen can manage. I have enough trouble just getting the water temperate right. Bloody cheap pipes.

Still more banging. What on earth could be that important to require such insistence?

‘If you break that door, you’re bloody paying for it!’

I can already imagine the look on Jack’s face. All that “world is ending and only we can save it” swagger. Maybe a smile, or maybe one of those serious looks that he reserves for when the world really is ending. Either way, it’s the closest I’ll get to a greeting before he shoves himself unceremoniously through the door, big coat flashing past and that hair that never looks out of place. How’s a bloke supposed to compete with that?

I tug the dressing gown tight before opening the door. Pretty sure it’s okay, but no point risking flashing the family jewels. I stand off to the side, in case the fist that’s banging forgets that there’s no longer a door between it and my face, and thrust open the door, ready to give Jack a mouthful.

Only it’s not Jack. Standing there - looking somewhat startled that the door has finally been opened - is Ianto.

Now, there’s something about Ianto that I can never put my finger on - the way he always looks so calm even when everything has gone to shit. It’s like he’s a robot dressed in a very nice suit with a Welsh accent. No one should ever be that calm. Maybe he is a robot. Maybe Jack’s into that sort of thing. Perhaps best not to think about it, though.

Not today though. And maybe that’s the thing that worries me most. Gone is the calm, unflappable exterior, replaced with ashen panic.

‘Rhys. You’re here. Good. That’s good,’ he says, sounding flustered. To be honest, I’m not exactly sure where else he thought I might be at this hour of the morning. Suppose I should be lucky he at last thinks it’s good.

‘She’ll be out in a minute, mate,’ I say, half expecting to be mowed down by Gwen as she dashes past me out the door without so much as a peck on the cheek and a “see you later”.

No sooner have I said it, and then Ianto has grabbed me by the sleeve, dragging me out into the hallway. Blimey, I’m not even dressed!

‘Where are we going, Ianto?’ I ask, a little scared to know the answer.

‘We need a truck. Biggest you’ve got,’ he says, still dragging me towards the lift. ‘Hurry,’ he adds.

‘Ianto, what’s going on?’ Gwen says from behind me, looking like she’s ready to take on anything. ‘I thought he was fine.’

Ianto looks a little out of sorts, and by a little, I mean a lot.

‘Oh God, so did I. Then he got bigger.’

‘Bigger?’

‘Those straps aren’t going to hold much longer. If he grows again and they give out, oh God, he’ll float off into space!’

‘Alright. Rhys, you take my car and grab the van. Meet us there.’ she says, before taking the stairs, hot on Ianto’s heels.

At some point, this all would have seemed a bit crazy, but you get used to this sort of thing. Then I remember two things: one, I’m still not wearing anything, and two, I have no idea where to meet them. Point one was easily solved. Even Gwen would have been impressed at how quickly I dressed. Point two was a little trickier, until I was in the car, hearing a report on Radio Wales about a downed hot air balloon that was causing chaos on St Mary Street. It doesn’t take Andy McNabb to figure out that this is no coincidence.

Remembering what Ianto said, I grab the keys for the largest van in the lot. Lucky, because it was due on a job later this morning. I’ll worry about that later. Ianto’s not the type to exaggerate. And I never have a problem with debt collections from Torchwood. Good payers. Even pay the dangerous goods levy without complaint. Suppose they ought to, really.

It's not hard to spot the crisis on St Mary Street, though I can see now why Ianto was so insistent. It doesn't even look like Jack. Here I was thinking it would be kind of like one of those big helium filled things they have for the St David's Day parades. Instead it's just a giant ball of blue, with a couple of brown patches here and there.

'Blimey,' I say, stepping out of the cab, seeing the pair of them standing there, looking helpless.

Gwen's already around the back of the van, undoing the bolts and unstrapping the side paneling. Once upon a time, she wouldn't have known how to do that. Guess some of my brilliance really has rubbed off.

Staring at the gigantic roundness that is Jack, is kind of like watching one of those cheap sci-fi movies, where everyone in the movie is looking serious, but you know something terribly comedic is about to happen.

'You wanna watch those parking signs,' I say to Ianto, seeing one precariously close to Jack's side, pressing in. The look of abject horror on Ianto's face at the realisation that his boyfriend might get popped makes me really wish I hadn't said anything. Would he splatter all over the shop windows in an explosion of entrails, or would he simply exist to be, nothing more than a few tattered shreds of stretched skin and clothing?

'Don't just stand there, Rhys!' Gwen yells.

Right. Enough of contemplating the death of Captain Jack. Time to start helping.

You know, getting a giant balloon inside a truck isn't as easy as it looks. Sure, it doesn't weigh anything, but it's bloody awkward all the same. As soon as I say that we have to undo the thick elastic straps that have so far kept him tethered somewhere near the ground, they both get nervous. Ianto looks like he's about to burst into tears. So, not a robot then.

For a balloon, Jack is relatively squishy, so shoving him inside the truck takes a lot of prodding, just not too hard mind. At least he's managed to conform to the shape of the inside of the truck, allowing us to clip the straps down, sealing him in.

'So, where would you like this lot shipped?' I ask. 'We have a discount on long haul on Saturdays.' Neither of them bite at the joke. Well, it was worth a try.

Gwen starts issuing instructions on where to go, directing the truck halfway across town.

'Pull in here,' she says, pointing to the large frontage of a building that has been plastered with signs saying "Staples Superstore - Coming soon". It's been coming soon for years but never actually arrived. Avoiding the awkward question, I ease the truck in through the narrow driveway at the side. Behind the store is the loading bay, big metal roller doors where they'd bring in deliveries. With a push of a button, the door slides up. There's no loading bay inside, just a big, dark tunnel.

'Secret Torchwood building, is it?' I ask.

Turns out the building is just a shell. Nothing more than a way to hide a really big secret entrance.

'You could drive a tank in here,' I mutter.

They look at each other oddly, as if I've just said something really obvious that I shouldn't know about.

Inside the underground lair is massive, and I mean, really, properly massive. You could host the England Wales International, the Grand Slam, and the FA Cup Final in here and still have room to spare. Torchwood's big, but I didn't think it was this big.

'Come on,' Gwen says, 'let's get him out of there.'

Now, I don't know if you know this about haulage, but it's always a lot easier getting stuff into a truck than it is getting stuff out, especially when your cargo is a giant inflated person.

'Put your back into it, Ianto,' I groan, my hands disappearing into the mass that is Jack, hoping to God the bit I'm pressing on is north of his waistline. Finally with a loud thunk, Jack pops out of the side of the truck, slowly floating upwards toward the roof.

They stand there and stare up at the giant blue blob. Part of me wants to say, "right, well that's me done. See you at tea time, yeah?" but I don't. Their leader is a massive balloon, and as much of a pain in the arse as he can be, I do feel a little sorry for him. Probably not even his fault, just one of those weird rifty things that happen.

'What do you think, Ianto,' Gwen says, 'shrink ray?'

His gaze remains skyward. 'Not sure. If he gets bigger, we might have to, but I don't like the idea of shrinking him unless we have no choice.'

'You think he'll just deflate on his own?'

'Well, he just inflated on his own. I couldn't find anything that he touched or was exposed to.'

They stood there and debated various ideas, shooting down each one in turn. I didn't seem to matter that Jack couldn't really die, as their discussions became more and more heated about the best way to go about fixing Jack. That's when the idea hit me.

'You wanna cool him down,' I say.

They stop and stare at me as if I've got three heads. For a moment I forgot I wasn't in on the team, and that making a suggestion was both unexpected and not necessary. I'd provided the wheels, and that was all they'd needed from me.

'Why?' Ianto asked, his face searching mine as if I held the secret to the universe.

'Well, it's just like tyres, isn't it? When it's cold, we have to pump up them up more, because the air inside them condenses with the temperature.'

Gwen just shrugs. 'Worth a try.'

I really wasn't dressed for this, but Ianto has loaned me a spare coat, gloves and a hat. The mittens are two sizes two small, and the beanie has embarrassing reindeer designs knitted into it, but despite my atrocious attire, I'm feeling rather pleased with myself.

It's absolutely freezing in here, worse than that time we went on a school trip to Norway and the bus broke down in the middle of nowhere in a snowstorm, but it does appear to be working. Where once there was nothing but a mass of blue, there's now odd little bits poking out the sides, which I think are meant to be arms and legs. Gwen's gone to fetch another round of teas, whilst we sit there and wait.

'So,' I say, 'no idea what happened, then?'

'Nope,' Ianto replies, much calmer now that things look like they might yet go back to normal.

'Just another day at the office, is it?'

'Yep.'

A man of few words, Ianto is. Suddenly, boring as it is sometimes, I decide I really much prefer my job.

Eventually, after having braved frostbite and hypothermia, Jack seems to be back to normal, laughing it off as "just one of those things". If it were me, I'd be deathly terrified of it happening again, but he just pops up the collar on his coat, smiles, claps everyone on the shoulder, and says thank you. He even sounds reasonably genuine about it.

'Gwen tells me you were the brains behind this operation,' he says, once the other two are out of earshot, packing away the giant snow generators and dry ice machines.

I shrug. 'Nothing to it really. Always knew you were full of hot air.'

Comments

[bk_forever]

I do love Rhys!

But poor inflated Jack! What a scary situation, no wonder Ianto was freaking out! I'm glad they were able to contain him somewhere he couldn't get blown away and then help him get back to normal. Bravo Rhys for being clever. Always knew he had the makings of a good Torchwood agent.

[m-findlow.livejournal.com]

Rhys is great, and a lot of fun to write. He makes a great narrator. Sometimes it's the simple solutions that work best.