Spook_me 2020 - Haunted - Chapter 8

[m_findlow]

Title: Haunted
Fandom: Torchwood
Characters: Jack, Gwen, Ianto, OCs
Author: m_findlow
Rating: M
Length: 50,847 words
Content notes: none
Author notes: Written for spook_me 2020 Prompt - Ghost
Summary: The team investigate rumours of a haunted house in rural Wales.

Jack's two teammates were chilled to the bone when they climbed back up the hill and in through the kitchen door. Their faces were pale and a little flushed from the cold air that nipped at their cheekbones, and their hands were covered in dirt.

‘Do I have to dress you kids in your coats and scarves before letting you outside to play from now on?’ They ignored his clumsy attempts to mask the fact that once again, they'd done most, if not all, of the leg work. Jack had set up his laptop in the sitting room on the table, and it was happily feeding in data from all of their equipment, even if none of it was showing signs of any alien activity yet. They were good, his team, well versed in what should go where. A quick reconnaissance of the house told him everything was exactly where he would have put it.

‘Go wash up,’ he said, like he was talking to a pair of children and not his two very capable field agents. They trudged past him, across the foyer and up the stairs to the bathroom.

By the time they were done, scrubbing the dirt out from under their fingernails and wiping the dust from their faces, Jack had the table set and ready for them. It was lucky because they looked ravenous and he realised all of them had skipped lunch, his own stomach growling as he set the last bowl on the table.

‘You're not pulling out the fine China and crystal in the main dining room for us?’ Gwen asked, a teasing smile pulling at the edge of her mouth.

‘A big candlelit affair seemed overkill.’

‘I don't recall seeing a lamb roast and potatoes in those shopping bags,’ Ianto said, trying to get a rise out of Jack. ‘Is this the entrée?’

‘I made soup. It's entrée and main.’

‘It came out of a can and you warmed it up. Does that even count as making dinner?’

Jack pulled a chair out, emphasising that they should sit and stop talking. ‘I made dinner. Stop complaining. There's bread and butter.’

Ianto pulled out his own chair before Jack could be chivalrous and do it for him. ‘If you'd bought cheese I could have made toasties.’

‘I brought coffee. You can fuss over that to your heart’s content.’ Why couldn't Ianto just let him cook for once? Okay, so maybe this wasn't cooking exactly. He did owe the young man his century old, world famous lasagne recipe, picked up from his time sharing an apartment block in New York with a whole mob of Italian migrants back in the 1920’s. Those Nonnas really knew how to cook, and couldn't resist taking Jack under their wing, spoiling him like any other young man. The difference was that he was no mama’s boy.

Gwen slid down into the chair and began scooping. At least someone appreciated his efforts. What were they expecting out here in the middle of nowhere? It wasn't like they were staying more than a day or two. He'd bought basic provisions: bread, milk, peanut butter for having on toast for breakfast, tins of soup. What more did they want? Bacon and eggs? Spag bol? Salmon en papillote?

He began on his own bowl of soup once he saw Ianto pulling apart the crusty bread roll, chewing it slowly in little nibbles. He resisted the urge to reach across and pat Ianto on the head, saying “good boy”. He wasn't a fussy eater, he was just Ianto.

Jack bit deep into his own buttered roll, chewing far louder. ‘So, how was it? Did you find anything useful outside?’

Gwen set her spoon down. ‘Just the usual. Quaint country house stuck in the middle of nowhere. Trees, small creek, own personal graveyard... you know…’

‘Nice if what you like is a creepy sense of dread,’ Ianto added.

Jack shook his head. ‘Don't you start. Like I said, there's nothing here but some alien tech causing people to think the place is haunted. It isn't actually.’

‘Tell that to the creepy sense of dread.’

Jack resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Ianto read way too many of those James Herbert books. ‘The hub would be creepy if it was empty, you know, and that doesn't bother you. In fact, those archives are downright spooky.’

He bristed. ‘There's nothing wrong with my archives. The darkness helps preserve everything.’

‘We can go through the list of deceased outside,’ Gwen said, changing the subject. ‘Ianto and I got pictures of all the headstones.’ She always managed to pick a moment right when he and Ianto were about to get into it. Nothing relationship ending, just their usual banter. Spoilsport. It was almost like she didn't enjoy watching, which of course was an outrageous lie.

‘Sure,’ Jack said, not wanting to rain on her parade. Once a police officer, always a police officer. She didn't like to leave any stone unturned. Jack on the other hand didn't think there was anything a bunch of ancient rotting corpses was going to tell them. They were all long dead. ‘I don't know how good the records are but you can try.’

‘I wasn't exactly asking for permission.’

Jack chuckled. ‘Okay, no need to get bossy. Ianto, I think she likes pushing us around. What do you think?’

He dabbed delicately with his bread at the small pool of soup left in the bottom of his bowl. That it had disappeared so quickly surprised Jack. ‘I think the pot should say hello to the kettle. The only one who never gets to be bossy around here is me.’

‘You say that now, but I dare you to repeat it when you next barge into my office with a two foot tall stack of files to sign off.’

‘Well, if you didn't keep putting off doing them, the pile wouldn't get so big.’

‘Sounds bossy to me. Besides, there's always more fun things to do than paperwork.’

‘Yeah. Like bossing me into the storage closet and-’

‘Please stop!’ Gwen begged. She was trying desperately hard not to blush at the obvious mental images rolling around inside her head. They were good images in Jack's opinion. He should know. He'd been there. What was the point of being the boss if he didn't occasionally exercise his right to take charge? And he really did love it when Ianto called him Sir.

‘See?’ Ianto grumbled. ‘Bossy. Both of you.’

Jack's smile dipped all the way down into his bowl of soup. Maybe later if things were quiet he might find a way to repay Ianto's servitude with a little role reversal. If he was going to let anyone dominate him, he knew Ianto would be the perfect taskmaster. He'd happily take whatever punishment was deemed appropriate.

Next chapter...