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Quentin's Very Bad Day

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Summary: It was just supposed to be a simple Council trip to Cardiff. FFA pairing Quentin Travers/Jack Harkness. Non-Romantic.

Categories Author Rating Chapters Words Recs Reviews Hits Published Updated Complete
Dr. Who/Torchwood > Other BtVS/Ats CharactersSinangeledFR1311,1520268329 Oct 1129 Oct 11Yes
Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Torchwood or BTVS, or for that matter, any other television show. Joss Wheadon created Buffy, and Russel T Davis created Torchwood. All I can create are messes. *nods*

FFA Pairing: Quentin Travers/Jack Harkness. I chose to make it non-romantic because even Jack has standards.


June 1989- Cardiff, Wales

Quentin was sitting in a Council car, being driven to an auction in Cardiff. The weather was slightly gloomy, but that didn’t bother the Deputy Head of The Watcher’s Council. He was far more focused on the report that sat in his hands, wilted and lifeless.

“How much longer will it be until we arrive?” he asked his driver.

“Eh, about ten minutes, Sir,” the young man replied.

Quentin gave a nod, and went back to his report.

There had always been an unusual amount of suspicious deaths in Cardiff, but the Council had been unable to link nearly any of them to the supernatural. They had sent a Slayer there five years previously to access the situation, and draw out any monsters if necessary. She had found nothing and her Watcher, Pryce, had reported that there was unusually low vampiric activity in the big city.

They still hadn’t been able to determine the cause of the disturbances until one of their operatives had called them with news about an ancient artifact that seemed to cause people who came in contact with it to turn into some kind of monster. Fortunately, the Council was going to purchase it and it would be out of the hands of those who didn’t know better.

The car pulled up under the awning of a slightly imposing building, which had the faintest air of decay about it. Quentin sniffed.

He entered the building while his driver parked the car, and made his way to the small room where the auction was being held. A small number of supposedly ancient artifacts were being put up for sale, but the Council only had their eye on one of them, a strange device without any discernable purpose.

He entered the room where a junior member of the Council waited for him. The young, rabbity-looking man appeared very nervous. Quentin frowned.

“Is everything all right?” he asked the boy. What was his name again?

“I don’t know!” the young man exclaimed in a whisper, eyes wide and darting around the room.

“There was this man in a funny coat and a woman and another man…and they all went in the back room where the artifacts are being stored and, well, I don’t know! They had some kind of badges and the people in charge here just sort of stepped aside and let them as if they couldn’t stop them!”

The young man was still agitated, what was his name? Trimble? Trouble? Tibble?

Quentin couldn’t for the life of him recall.

“It shouldn’t be an issue,” Quentin told the other man with confidence, “The Council has contacts in every major branch of the police in the United Kingdom. Even if they take the artifact, we’ll get it back.”

“I wouldn’t be too sure about that,” said a honeyed voice from behind them.

The two men turned around. Behind them stood an extraordinarily handsome man wearing an ostentatious, vintage military coat. He raised an eyebrow and gave the two men a smile that somehow seemed…indecent.

The easy smile was contradicted by the cool expression of dislike in his pretty blue eyes, one which spoke of some personal animosity, strangely enough.

“You won’t be getting your artifact,” he said, “In fact, you won’t get much at all here. We’re Torchwood. We’re outside the Government and beyond the police. Sort of like how you see yourselves, only we aren’t a bunch of power-hungry idiots messing with forces that we don’t understand.”

“You! Of all the impertinent….Do you have any idea who you’re talking to?!” Quentin blustered.

“Travers and Timmons, Deputy-Head of an organization called ‘The Council’ and his lackey,” said the man, shaking his head. He leaned in closer.

“I just thought I’d save you the trouble of tracking down the bomb you were looking to get your hands on. We have it, and you aren’t getting it. Now, go away please?”

Travers looked at him with contempt.

“Whoever you are-” he began.

“Captain Jack Harkness,” the man said, flashing even, perfect teeth.

“Mr. Harkness-”

“Captain Harkness,” the man winked.

“There is nowhere you can hide. There is nowhere you can run. We will find you, and we will find your people. And we will get what we came for.”

Harkness gave him that lazy smile again, the one that was at odds with the absolute coldness of his eyes.

“Just try, Travers. I wish, that when it all blows up in your face, and I do mean that literally, I wish that you would be able to remember all the mistakes you made this weekend, one of the worst of which was to threaten my team. The second was not to abandon that absolutely hideous waistcoat of yours. You can’t pull it off.”

And then he strolled out before Quentin could reply.

“Timmons!” he snapped.

“Y-yes?” the young man jumped. Quentin watched Harkness move down the street.

“Follow that man.”

Timmons just stared at him. What was the point of being a superior if the underlings didn’t follow one’s orders?

“I just run the office sir, I can’t actually do anything,” Timmons told Quentin.

This day had not shaped up like Quentin had intended it to.

Later that night in the back seat in his car as it was driven back to London, he reflected that it was the fact that was the lack of observance of the rules of common etiquette that really bothered him about that Harkness. When everyone followed the rules everything fell into place. When they didn’t, well, that was what the Council was for at any rate, to make sure that the Slayer never behaved like that behemoth Harkness. Goodness, he was tired. Usually the tea he drank didn’t cause him to nod off, it was all rather strange…..

1 Day Later – Cardiff, Wales

“He’s waking up,” said the young man who sat at the monitor in front of a very advanced computer.

Jack Harkness gave a nod behind him and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Good, and?” he said.

“He appears disorientated,” said the man in front of the computer, “Dizzy, usual side effects.”

Jack watched Quentin Travers stumble around his room and look at his clock in disbelief. After a few minutes he nodded.

“Keep an eye on him just to be safe for the next few days, will you David?”

The man nodded. Jack walked out of the room.

A few minutes later David watched bemusedly as the man Jack had Retconned stumbled around his room before bumping into his dresser. On it was a toy figurine, one that looked like the sort that came in children’s cereal boxes. David frowned and used the alien technology to zoom in on the tiny toy.

It was a weevil.

The End

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