Characters: Ianto, Tosh, Jack; Jack/Ianto
Challenge: Undercover, Amnesty.
"Ianto," Jack said as he slid one arm around his shoulders and reached out to catch of Toshiko as she tried to pass. "Tosh!" He pulled them closer together and grinned, moving his head to make sure they both had excellent views of his winning smile. "You two lovebirds want to get married?"
"Lovebirds?" Ianto asked at the same time, unfazed, one eyebrow raised.
"Yes and yes. You two--" As Jack punctuated with a pause, his hand wandered considerably from Ianto's shoulders; Ianto did his best not to react, which meant supressing a smirk-- "Are going to tie the knot and buy yourselves a very posh honeymoon." He turned to Tosh, to wink and nod toward the Welshman. "What a catch, huh?"
"Ridiculous, sir." He didsmirk, tilting his head and looking at Jack with a touch of mischief. "I'm sure Toshiko would much rather marry you."
"And I'm sure Ianto would much rather marry you," Tosh countered, smiling between their identically amused looks. "But what about Gwen? She'd be more suited to undercover work."
"Assuming you're asking us to go undercover and not simply to elope."
"I didn't ask Gwen and I'm not going to." Jack then eyed Ianto, cutting him off: "And before you say it, no, you can't pawn this off on Owen. Or me. You're going to enjoy a relaxing week or so at a resort-- while investigating the rather, ah, interesting reports some of the ex-guests have made to the police."
One week later, Ianto found himself stepping out of a town car and looking up at a restored fantasy castle. Posh honeymoon, Jack had said, and it certainly was. An exclusive resort, billed as an exotic vacation without leaving the country-- and costing nearly as much as airfare to anywhere Ianto could calculate.
He guided Tosh to the registration desk with a hand to the small of her back: intimate, but surprisingly natural.
"Hello," he started pleasantly when the young woman looked up from some manner of paperwork. "My wife and I have reservations." He let his eyes drift to Tosh and linger there, knowing that it would be noticed. Ianto Jones, he thought to himself with satisfaction, is nothing if not thorough.
"Newlyweds?" Ianto thought he detected a badly-suppressed sigh in the word.
"Yes," Tosh answered, eagerly and with a smile. "Is it that obvious?"
The woman only laughed. "Nothing to be ashamed of. Your names, please."
"Hughes. Iefan Hughes. And this is Jenny."
The woman pushed a clipboard their way; the clip was plastic, shaped like a butterfly. "Sign in and I'll get your key."
"I'd better let Jenny," Ianto said, motioning to Tosh and then looking conspiratorially at the woman. "She's a poet. Her signature will be worth something some day."
Tosh elbowed him; she was still smiling, so he figured she was playing along and not implying he'd gone too far. He watched as she withdrew into herself and reached to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "He's impossible."
As soon as the bellhop escorted them to their room and deposited their bags in return for a very generous tip straight from Ianto's wallet, Tosh motioned for silence. She reached into her purse, tore out the lining, and extracted a small, streamlined tube. With a twist to the top, it glowed blue and emitted a strange, not entirely unpleasant sound.
"No listening devices," she announced when the buzzing ended. "Alien or otherwise."
Ianto relaxed and began to free his laptop from its case. "Thank God. It's much easier this way."
"Not that you were having much trouble anyway. You are entirely too good at this, Ianto."
"Iefan," he corrected, settling into an overstuffed armchair with the computer on his lap. "And I don't know about that; I'm just getting into character."
Tosh made a noise that could have been a laugh and could have been a snort of disbelief.
"It's really quite simple," he continued, eyes on the screen. "Smile, look joyously disbelieving. Fiddle with your wedding ring to indicate it's new. In my case, and I suspect yours too, that's barely a fiction; it is new."
"Easy for you, maybe. I don't even write poetry."
"Sorry about that." He looked at her as apologetically as he could manage. "Jack thought it would be a good idea if you were more liberal arts humanist, to balance out my corporate alter-ego. Less threatening that way."
"So he said," Tosh replied as she unpacked her bags, laying a series of technological devices out on the bed. She glanced over after a pause. "I've got the signal scrambler going, if you want to check in."
"Just a moment." He typed a few lines of code and then, once satisfied, activated the alien-tech-influenced webcam.
There was brief burst of static, but it slowly cleared to reveal the face of Jack Harkness sitting at Tosh's workstation in the Hub. "Helloooo. Right on time, my intrepid travellers."
"We're in," Ianto reported, "and we're not being monitored."
"Good to hear. How does it look?"
"Fantastic," Tosh answered with a smile, despite not being able to see or be seen via the camera. "Much fancier than anywhere else I've stayed. It's hard to believe Torchwood's picking up the bill."
"See, Jack!" Ianto recognised Owen, moving in one distant corner of the Hub. Could his voice ever carry, though. "Told you they were taking a bloody vacation out there. Two four star restaurants, pool, day spa, god knows what else. It's disgusting."
Ianto merely directed an eyeroll to Jack and continued. "I've the computer processing the guest list for the past five months, cross-referencing for anomalies. No prints left in their records, so they shouldn't even realise they've been hacked."
"Good work. Tomorrow, get out there and work your Welsh magic. Meet and greet. I want to know everything, down to what kind of olives they put in their martinis. Toss some money around, get yourself noticed-- though something tells me a swimsuit would have the same effect. Talk to anyone whose records set off alarms, plus anyone who might know our good samaritans. They can't be the only ones concerned about the goings-on out there."
"Yes, sir. I'm sure I'll suffer through morning massages and early afternoon happy hour somehow."
"You're a brave man, Ianto Jones."
"Thank you, I'm well-aware. Is there anything else we ought to go over tonight?"
"Pinstripe pajamas," Jack said thoughtfully, looking up and to one side of the camera.
"Pinstripe pajamas. Specifically, yours. I was just amusing myself imagining what sleepwear you intended to model for Tosh. The pinstripes are classy. Very Iefan Hughes."
"You just like saying Iefan." Ianto smiled ever so slightly; when he glanced up and caught Tosh's eye, he quickly ducked his head. Jack's rich laugh was his reward. "And you'll just have to keep wondering. I'm afraid I'll be swearing her to secrecy."
"Pity. Well, it's your wedding night, kids, so I should let you go. Have fun, get some of those little drinks with umbrellas in them, etcetera. Don't do anything I wouldn't do."
"What does that actually rule out?" Gwen's voice, faint, from somewhere off-screen.
"Touché," Jack conceded, capping his pen and setting it casually behind his ear. "Which reminds me. Oh, darling Tosh?"
Tosh manuevered herself so that she was standing to one side of Ianto's chair. Bracing one hand on his shoulder, she stooped so that she could be seen on the other end of the call. "Yes, Jack?"
"Be vigilant." He allowed a dramatic pause and leaned forward until it seemed to Ianto nearly as if Jack's nose were pressed against a sheet of non-existant glass. "Ianto's cutthroat when it comes to stealing blankets."