m_findlow

Title: Modern art
Fandom: Torchwood
Characters: Owen, Suzie, Jack
Author: m_findlow
Rating: PG
Length: 1,000 words
Content notes: none
Author notes: Written for Bingo Card Prompt 29 - Painting at fffc
Summary: Owen has more than one reason to dislike art.

Owen tilted his head, trying to take it in the picture from a different angle. Maybe it was hung in the wrong direction. When he tried looking at it again, he realised that it wouldn't matter which direction he looked at it, it still made no sense.

‘It's bloody ugly,’ he said.

‘It's modernism,’ Suzie replied. ‘I wouldn't expect a chav like you to understand art.’

‘I have a niece that could do a better job than that,’ he said. A couple of people wandering past heard his comments , scowling at him for his views. Like they knew anymore about art than he did. Snobs.

‘I can't believe people pay big money to have these hung up in their houses.’ So far he hadn't seen anything he'd consider worthy of putting on a wall let alone paying for the pleasure. Six thousand quid?’ he exclaimed, peering close enough to read the miniscule price tag. ‘For that ugly piece of shit?’ He was in the wrong job, clearly. He should be swiping streaks of red and blue poster paint across a canvas and calling it art, then wait for some schmoe to hang it in a private gallery and get people to buy it.

Jack came over and studied the picture Owen had been passing judgment on. ‘I like the emotive energy in it. You can really sense what the artist was trying to express.’

Owen shook his head at the pair of them. ‘You lot are mental.’

Jack grinned and then cleared his throat. ‘Anyway, not what we came here for.’

‘Thank God for small mercies,’ Owen muttered.

‘Nope, we have a date with a painting in the next room.’

Jack led them through the pristine white walls and polished floorboards of one gallery room to the next. This room was signed-posted as “exhibition in progress” to prevent the general public from entering. Even as they shuffled past the signs Owen could tell immediately which artwork they were here for. One of the many cubis- inspired walls was covered in a red velvet cloth and the surrounding area cordoned off with braided rope barriers on brushed steel poles.

‘We here for the unveiling or something?’ Owen asked.

Jack snuck behind the rope and grabbed at the velcro attaching the fabric to the wall. He gave himself a little peek before cringing and tugging away the fabric.

‘Jesus!’ Owen swore as the painting was revealed. It was less the actual depiction of the subject matter than it was the eyes. Blood appeared to be streaming from them, like tears, running all the way down the face and then continuing on past the edge of the canvas, streaking the perfect white wall with jarringly disturbing lines of red. ‘What the hell is that?’

‘Tell me this is some kid's idea of a practical joke,’ Suzie said, lowering herself to her haunches and stretching a gloved hand out to touch the bloody wall.

‘If it was a practical joke, do you really think they'd call in Torchwood to deal with it? Bag that glove where you're done touching it,’ Jack told Suzie.

She flinched her hand away. ‘Why?’ Owen could tell from the panicked expression on her face she was thinking along the lines of HIV or hepatitis.

‘Just don't want these spreading any further. God knows what would happen if they did.’

‘They?’

‘Oh, you think paintings just start bawling out blood or something?’

Suzie leaned back on her heels. ‘Around here? Yeah. I'm getting used to that sort of thing. I mean, I've heard of statues weeping tears but this is a new one on me.’

‘Just a coincidence they picked the eyes,’ Jack replied. ‘They're microscopic little things but they like to consume oil-based products. Turns out a portrait done in oils is a tasty meal for them. Just wouldn't want them thinking they're okay to snack on some Renaissance masterpiece. The sooner we isolate them from spreading anywhere else, the better.’

Owen frowned at the bleak depiction of a woman's bust in a yellow summer scene. ‘What's all the red stuff then?’

Jack gave him a knowing look. ‘You're a doctor. What do you think? Earthworms eat soil, these guys eat paint.’

‘Metabolised excrement?’ His frown deepened. ‘That's disgusting.’

Jack grinned nonchalantly. ‘Yep. They came, they saw, they ate, and then they pooped all over the place. Never said they made good house guests. Soon as I got the call I knew what we were dealing with. Lucky they did call, too. Once they start munching, they start multiplying as well.’

Owen fixed him with an unsurprised look. ‘Poop and sex?’

‘The two great constants of the universe. Suzie?’ Jack said, turning his attention to his second in command. ‘Got your kit ready? A bit of bleach on a cotton swab ought to kill them off without damaging too much of the artwork.’

She nodded. In their line of work, and with the amount of blood they dealt with on a regular basis, bleach had become a standard part of their equipment. ‘I've got bleach, but I left my makeup bag at home this morning,’ she quipped.

‘We should have some cotton buds in the first aid kit in the car,’ Owen replied.

‘Fine. Start with a rag and that wall to clear up runoff. Then we'll tackle the painting.’

Suzie looked up at them. ‘Isn't that a bit harsh? Shouldn't we be looking to preserve them?’

‘Oh, so you accidentally stomp on a few dozen ants going out to collect the post from your mailbox and that's okay, but now you're going all tree hugger on me about a few pesky micro invertebrates?’

Suzie's hands flew up in surrender. ‘I'm just saying! Nobody wants to study a lifeform capable of digesting petrochemical substances?’ She threw her question directly up at Owen as their resident biologist.

He snorted. ‘Way this planet is going, we're perfectly capable of exhausting those resources all on our own. These guys can take a hike.’