Chapter 2: Alles Echläft Einsam Wacht
Owen kneaded his jacket and readjusted its position against the window. He pushed his head into the material and scowled slightly as he tried to get comfortable. “Where the hell are we going again?” He asked without opening his eyes.
The SUV’s tyres crunched along the surface of the treated road as Jack steered them through a landscape bleached by fog.
Gwen sighed, as the doctor shifted his weight against her, suppressing the urge to shove him back toward the car door. “Addoedsbren, at least try and say it, Owen, you might surprise yourself.”
“It’s six o’clock in the fucking morning, Gwen, I really doubt I can generate enough phlegm to pronounce your bloody place names.” He yawned into his hand sniffing is breath as he did. He grimaced.
Gwen thrust her elbow into his side. “Ow!”
Ianto looked over from the front seat of the SUV. “Dodgy Kebab again was it?”
Owen gave a sarcastic laugh and cracked open an eye. “At least I have a bloody social life, tea-boy,” he stated. “You wanna try it some time. Oh, I forgot, to have a social life you first have to be social and um, have a life. Guess that counts you out.” He nestled back into his make-shift pillow. “Anyway how come King Ianto gets to sit in the front?”
Tosh looked up from her laptop. “King Ianto?”
Owen smiled. “Oh, did I drop a syllable.”
Ianto’s eyebrow reacted to the insult. “I won the toss,” he announced over his shoulder.
“Oh, I bet you did,” Owen exclaimed.
“I won too,” Jack added from the driver’s seat.
Owen sat up. “But you always sit in the bloody front, Harkness.”
“It wasn’t to see who sat in the front.” Jack said with a grin.
Tosh looked at Owen. “We lost,” she revealed, pointing to both herself and Gwen.
“Oh, ha, bloody, ha.” He flung his head back into his jacket, shifting his weight slightly to one bum cheek; it was Gwen who reacted first.
“Oh, Owen!” She exclaimed wafting her hand in front of her face.
The doctor gave a satisfied smirk. “Sorry, dodgy Kebab!”
Tosh opened her window. “And you wonder why we flicked a coin,” she gasped.
“Better out than in,” Owen replied.
“For who?” Gwen huffed, crossing her arms.
Owen winked in her direction then settled back into his makeshift pillow. “So, is anyone going to fill me in?” he asked.
Tosh closed the window. “A choir master was stabbed in the local church.” She turned her laptop towards the dozing man.
Owen waved it away. “By aliens,” he stressed lazily.
“No, by a bayonet,” Ianto answered.
Jack sighed. “By men dressed in World War One uniform,” he expanded.
“And this is our business because?”
“There’s a small fissure in the rift that runs along the village. Last night there was, well what I can only describe as a bubble…” Tosh piped up, turning the now flashing screen towards him again.
Owen shielded his eyes. “For God’s sake, Tosh…”
She gave a small shrug. “Sorry, I just thought you’d like to see the data.”
“Do I look like I care?” He turned his attention the rest of the team. “So, let me get this straight, some guys with a military fetish offed some choir geezer in a church and we’re called out to the back of beyond, at the crack of dawn, because Tosh is all moist about some fart in the rift.”
Jack looked into the rear view mirror. “Yep, that about covers it.”
Owen let out an exasperated sigh and closed his eyes.
Jack turned up the volume on the radio, Mistletoe and Wine bounced around the car’s interior.
“Jesus Christ!” Owen exclaimed, trying to block out the sound.
Ianto smiled. “No, Cliff Richard.”
Copyright RMC Nov 2017