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Torchwood is exciting, the way that it had once been in New York when he'd been hunted by Company and by a serial killer posing as a friend in horribly lame band t-shirts. Mohinder's move from Company heel and Noah Bennet's lapdog back to the UK (the only place he'd felt safe to bring Molly where she would be able to understand the language and still be away from the mess in America) to Torchwood agent had happened as they usually did.

Jack courted him. Mohinder refused until refusing became impossible. And that's why he finds himself here, standing in the so called Red Zone, around a theme park with the less than illustrious name of "Figmentation Imagination Exploration World!" scrolled across the metal sign in large, person sized letters over the box office queuing area.

He glances over at the lanky Scotsman he is almost always paired with and the pair of chain cutters he's currently failing with at the gate. A sigh and Mohinder adjusts the earpiece he's wearing. "Captain, still having a bit of trouble with the front gate. We should be inside in about an hour at this rate." He's only half teasing though he can hear Owen's voice saying something irately in the background.

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"We don't have the luxury. I'll get him. You pack up the SUV. Ianto, you're on hub duty. I want you to man the contact monitors. We're not going to wait for Tosh to get back so Molly won't be able to come into contact with anything. If she starts acting strangely, take her some place public and keep an eye on her."

Everyone's getting kisses for luck at this juncture, which is sort of a big deal. Kisses for luck tend to come when Jack pretty much things they're boned. And not in a particularly fun way.

Mohinder has at least calmed down by the time they're ready to go, though he sits silently, head down, and Owen is forced to play doctor on his vitals the entire time. His heart rate and his breathing have slowed. It's...not a good sign.

Then again, neither is Sam Tyler yelling about Jack always needing him at the worst possible time. There may have been some shoving involved, though Sam's half carried to the SUV. His legs haven't gotten the chance to start working yet. "Trousers, Jack! I'm not going to be dragged about Cardiff in a dressing gown!"

"Oh but Sammy, we need cheering up. It's been a terrible week. I could use seeing you look like a berk," Peter pointed out with a playful smile as he caught up with them, holding a spare pair of trousers he'd nabbed from the lockers before coming here. Well, he kind of figured Sam would need them and Jack wasn't the type to think like that.

He tossed them to Sam and offered him a friendly smile before slipping into the front of the SUV. He totally called shotgun on every mission so Sammy got the back with Owen and Mohinder.

He didn't feel like sitting in the back, too much sickness and weirdness.

"Did Jack tell you that we're probably going to die tonight?" Peter asked in a very conversational manner, clearly not seeming all that bothered, even if he was. Peter had a habit of emotionally distancing himself when worried or scared.

"Every time you wake me up, we're probably going to die," Sam grunts and shimmies into his jeans. They don't fit. At all. Gene'd have a field day if he could see him in something so tight! "Fill me in?"

It's Mohinder, of all people, who speaks. His lips are pale and Owen is working on trying to get him some extra oxygen as Jack bounces them along the roads. Night is always the best time for a drive. He can fairly easily get the lights to change for him without causing accidents. Thankfully!

"You're all going to have so much fun," he says and Sam scowls, leaning over Owen to look at Mohinder. "We can play together forever."

"I think I'd like to back into bloody cyro now."

"Can I come with? I loved the 70's. I can't remember them well but I do remember matchbox cars and cheaper candy floss," Peter remarked, knowing he really didn't want to go where Jack was driving them. Maybe he didn't have to. He could find a way out. Run away before it could catch him and pull him in again.

If he kept moving, maybe it wouldn't follow him.

Owen pulled a face and notably pulled back so he was a tiny bit closer to Sam. He hadn't even gone into the haunted theme park, why was he even here? He didn't need to go back into that place. "Can the un-cursed team members stay in the car?"

After all, he and Sam still had a chance to live... right?

"No one is staying in the car," Jack says, gritting his teeth as he looks in the backseat. Can't they work like a team sometimes? He gets that it's difficult, emotions are involved. People have strange relationships here. Maybe he should have a no-sex in the workplace policy-- But then no one would have an outlet. It's not like they can just go and talk to people about their jobs.

Torchwood is thankless.

Torchwood is dangerous.

And all they have is each other.

"Gag Doctor Suresh. No. Sedate him." Jack fills Sam in the rest of the way as they drive. It's over an hour outside of the city. No one needs to listen to him. He seems to be a conduit, more than Peter. But Peter seems to be more physically possessed. Hopefully he won't grab the wheel.

Sam is not pleased. "Well... Shit. What do you want me to-- No. Hunt'll never go for it and you know it."

"Sorry, Sam. Owen's going to have to put you under again for fifteen minutes. You have that long to convince him."

"You are mad, Harkness. Utterly mad!"

"I'm not the one living in a coma with angels!" Jack snaps. It's unlike him.

Owen leaned over to sedate Mohinder while Jack told the tale, keeping his eyes on the vitals and leaning over to make sure both Sam and Peter were also doing fine. Peter seemed fine, but his heart rate was worrying calm for a man in his situation. And Sam? Well, he knew the man could take a sedation but he was still a little wonky vitals wise. He should really of been resting up.

And yet, Owen had to prepare him yet another sedative.

"Don't piss Sam off, he's still defrosting," Owen chipped in, not wanting to throw anything at a man who could potentially keel over.

That and he still didn't understand the angel thing so hearing about it was always weird. Always.

"It's strange, isn't it? This job was described to me as fighting aliens, no one ever mentioned demons and angels. If they had, I don't know what I'd of said," Peter said in mild interest. Then, entirely unexpectedly, he opened his car door wide and moved to undo his seat belt.

"Demons and angels tend to be aliens too, or interdimensional beings, the same thing," Jack tells Peter as Owen counts Sam down to sleep. He knows it's dangerous for Tyler's heart but they don't have a choice, now do they? Jack doesn't have any other resource to exploit at this point. He doesn't bother with Sam unless it's truly life or death.

Mostly because Hunt is so uncooperative. And no one likes being possessed by grumpy old men from the 70s. Especially Sam.

They're making a turn off of the highway when Peter opens the door and the speed causes the wind to blow some of their equipment out. "Peter! DO NOT!-- Damn it!" Jack puts on the breaks as he hits the shoulder. It's rough for everyone.

Peter didn't quite get what happened, he didn't even recall opening the door. All he knew was that they'd stopped, his chest time of hurt and he was staring at Jack like he was mental. "What? Why the hell did you do that?"

"Can we have the suicidal prick in the back, please?" Owen complained as he dropped back into his seat, checking his two sedated passengers were fine. That seriously hurt and they hardly needed him doing that again.

Peter just didn't get it. He blinked a few times then looked over his shoulder at where Sam was sitting. See, now, he remembered that part. The sedation. So what happened that he didn't see?

"Did I miss something?"

"You're being two gorgeous, sleeping men, Owen. How'd you like to trade seats?" Jack flashes back. "I envy you, I really do." Owen can scowl at the wink all he likes. Jack's happy to lighten the mood with inappropriate comments to their workmates at a time of great need.

To Peter, he's a little more gentle. He leans over the other and pulls the car door shut. And then he feels up his leg for the second pistol he knows Carlisle has strapped to his ankle. "You tried to jump out of the SUV. Do you have anything on you right now that you could use to kill yourself?"

This isn't a depression intervention, Peter.

He's genuinely worried.

Peter knew that Jack wouldn't be asking all of this if that wasn't true so he started to pull out anything he could hurt himself with. Car keys, a utility knife, his second pistol and a small blister pack of pills he could overdose on. "That's all I have, Jack. Unless I kill myself with the buttons on my jacket or choke myself on a lolly."

Funny thought at first. Then he remembered that was possible and swiftly handed over his last lolly with a sad expression on his face. Damn.

"I think I should sit in the back with the two coma patients," Peter conceded, looking into the back seat and swapping a grim look with Owen. They may not hang out like ... ever, but he thought he and Owen had an understand. Mostly over their mutual dislike of things. "Is Sammy going to stay Sammy or will something weird happen?"

Fair question if he had to go sit by him.

"No idea," Jack says. Gene Hunt is a truly amazing thing and can't stand Jack at all for being a 'poofter', despite the fact that Jack's pretty sure that he's shagging Sam when the DCI is asleep. Jack doesn't judge. Nineteen year old ghosts can be pretty awkward at the best of times. He'd been really lovely as a kid too--

But hey, hands off. Even if that would be a notch in his scorecard. Jack can't even begin to understand what Gene is, and that's what makes him so fun.

"That's sort of the fun of it."

Jack helps Owen move Mohinder, the Indian being willowy and significantly easier to move than Sam is, so that Owen can slide out of the car and Peter can take his place.

"Hey, remind me to ask Suresh what shampoo he uses. I'll get some for Ianto."

Peter slid in the back while Owen complained about Jack being an idiot, setting the unconscious man back in his place. "Sometimes, Harkness, I loath you. I really do. Unconscious people, carnival of horror and a suicidal copper trying to kill himself and us all."

Owen was just complaining for the hell of it, that's what he did. And he knew Jack knew that, it's why he always did it.

Peter took a seat in between Sam and Mohinder, safely away from both doors. He put his legs up against, kicking the back of both Jack and Owen's seat by accident. "Let's go then, I have things I'd like to do tonight. Not counting dying."

There's was a twitch beside him, slight movement coming from Sammy. He turned his head with a slight frowning, hoping Sam was actually awake this time and not -- well, the other one. They'd soon see.

"He's got a good five minutes, don't wake him up too early," Jack warns, ignoring the way his seat is kicked. He's keeping an eye on the tallest man in the backseat from the mirror as he pulls out onto the road again. They've some distance left to travel, a good twenty minutes or so, and he's really hoping that Sam will come up with some good news -- and some help. Jack doesn't want to risk putting him under again for some extra time.

Time that they just don't have.

Killing Sam Tyler would not be the highlight of his evening. Sam might be find with it, but then again, who knows what really happens when you die. Sam might not get to hang out playing coppers in the 70s if he does.

It's all very touch and go.

It was nearly ten minutes before Sam stirred again, his eyes opening slowly and falling on Peter first, then the backs of Owen and Jack's head. Only, of course, it wasn't Sam. It was someone borrowing his body. Not like he wanted to, but how else could he make contact with the rampant poofter brigade?

"Shit," he muttered, rubbing his eyes, making a low growling noise. "Christ almighty."

Peter pulled himself upright with a curious expression, feet dropping down as he waited to see just what would happen. If anyone didn't know Sam, they'd of been convinced he had a split personality thing going on.

"Sammy?"

"Piss off, you Scottish twat."

"Now what did I say?" Sam returns, the accent a bit different and the voice somehow lighter. "You're not to 'arass 'im. Rough night. An' it's just going to be worse if you make 'im 'ave another episode!" Split personalities indeed! Sam typically just stays quiet and let's Gene do what he wants, but the last time he fell asleep with Gene in his body, he woke up to some very odd, very twisted things he really doesn't want to repeat, thank you.

As Sam -- and Gene -- work Sam's body free of the paralytic and the sedative, Mohinder starts to stir as well. His head shifts onto Peter's shoulder and the Indian curls against him.

"I think I might be sick," he confesses. Just what Peter wanted to sit between, surely!

Forgive Peter, he's having a hell of a night. Hence why he pulls away from Mohinder and partially climbs himself forward so he's leaning in between the two front seats. "Now I want to kill myself and I'm very aware of why. Please tell me it's not long to go because I will find a way. I can't sit in the back of this loony bin much longer."

He didn't do well with dependent people, sick people or people who were in need of help. He did well with people he was attracted to, dead bodies and kids. That was it. That was his special skills. There was a reason he remained DI, he didn't like icky people germs or getting actually emotional.

Tended to make him sad. And when he got sad, bad things happen.

Fortunately for everyone, Gene was quiet for a while, more focused on clearing the body instead of arguing. He just wanted to do his job and go home.

"Five minutes," Jack reports, but it's more like three before he's driving through the parking lot like a mad man towards the gates. There's no sounds, no lights save for the headlamps on the bonnet of the SUV.

Mohinder doesn't actually throw up, but he does immediately get out of the car after it's parked to lean against it. He looks understandably confused for a moment before the poor thing trips over himself as he realizes where he is.

"No! No, Captain you can't-- How did we even--"

Peter didn't care any more, he knew they'd been coming here, even if Jack hadn't said. He'd made peace with it. So he simply took a moment to stretch his legs, enjoy the last moments of his life and not listen to Mohinder. That man made him freak out so he was just going to avoid him and stand by Sam. Or Gene. Or whoever it happened to be. Gam? Sene?

"Why am I here?" Sam asked with a certain level of gruffness that made it clear it was Gene. Sam hadn't really explained it well. You know, what with Gene being in the middle of a sting and gunfire making it hard to hear.

Jack seriously had a lot of explaining to do.

He needed to it clear he wasn't an angel for hire. Hell, he'd make signs. Posters. Giant billboards. Anything that would stop this prat from meddling in what he was trying to do. Some people had jobs.

"Oh, you know," Jack says, ignoring Mohinder too, poor man. He'd invited them all into his home plenty of times, took care of them, Peter especially, and no one wanted to deal with him? He'll remember this! He'll-- Forgive them. The man's an idiot. If he lives, nothing will change. He'll go right on continuing to be an idiot too. "Haunted theme park. Possessed field agents. Owen, you're with me and Peter. Gene and Sam, take Mohinder."

Why? Because Mohinder's got it the worst. And because Mohinder might be the key here. Besides, he can't let Peter go with the other man. He's too selfish. And Jack has favorites he probably shouldn't.

Sam controls his head to look out through the back window and frowns. "How'd you like me to deal with 'im, Jack? The man's a mess."

"Get him to the funhouse. We're going to the Ferris Wheel."

Before Jack could run off being all captain commando, Sam reached out without warning, grabbing Jack's arm. Well, not actually Sam. If Gene wanted to, he could very easily take control. He just preferred not to use this manicured, overwashed, Man U supporting poofs body. Gene just really needed to get a handle on this before it went nuts.

"Harkness, shut up. Stop rushing, being a spazzy little dick and shut it. Got it? Good. Okay, let's just all try to make sense. Cause news flash, you great big ponce, I can't handle hauntings like this. I do certain spirits, not all of them."

Peter paused, dropping his head into his hands. This was Jack's great plan. An angel who could do fuck all? That was just perfection. "Seriously?"

"I can try but there's a 75% chance you're fucked. Sorry mate but these are pissed off spirits. Kind of need a good demon for that cause they're going to hell. Not heaven," He wasn't saying it was impossible, he'd try, but he wasn't making a promise here.

Odds are, the Scot and the foreigner were fucked.

"I'm not going to accept that," Jack tells Gene-Sam, not pulling his arm away just yet. He has no intention of hurting Sam and it's not like Gene actually has to help them out if he doesn't want to. "If you want to stay in the car, you can."

His lips press together in a thin line. He's not going to let his team go down like this. Not when he can offer himself. Not when there's bound to be someone inside that he can talk to.

"These are my men, Gene. Wouldn't you do anything for yours? This demon, or alien or being...they're kidnapping parents and children." Jack smirks. "I happen to be one. And I don't know how long these two are going to last so yeah, I'm in a hurry."

Listening to Gene and Jack talk just makes Mohinder even more queasy and Peter's complete disregard for it all has his dander up and his heart aching.

"I'll go," the Indian speaks up, trying to still his own pulse. "Just...let's get it done with."

Edited ( ) 2013-11-05 16:17 (UTC)

"Course I'll bloody help, I'm just warning that odds are, I can't help. And that's cause no one gave me any bloody warning. Next time you consider throwing these men you care so much about into this kind of shit, let me know first. Then I an tell you how fucked you'll be," Gene pointed out, not needing to be talked down to like he didn't get the stakes. Of course he did.

The big difference was that he wouldn't send his men into this mess. He'd go in himself. Because his team mates mattered to him, they were disposable. Not like they seemed to be to Jack.

"I'm all up for going," Peter added as well, his eyes clearly gazing at something behind the gates. And, without prompting, he started to move towards it with an amused smile. "They discounted the candy floss."

Owen just had to stare. Then sigh loudly. "We need more reliable staff."

For a moment, no one moves, not even Mohinder who looks like he might have a mild heart attack at any moment now as he stands not quite so bravely by the SUV. "We never did test that candy Mohinder brought out," Jack mutters and takes off after Peter as he points to the rest of them. "You three...four...you stay here."

Jack's not going to get into why he hadn't gone in there first. And he'd rather have a back up team anyhow.

Trotting after Peter, Jack falls into step beside him. "Did you bring money, Pete?" Yes, he's playing along.

"Yes, of course. I always bring money to the fair," Peter remarked with a chipper expression, pulling out several old fashioned coins from his pocket that didn't circulate now and Peter surely couldn't have. Especially since he'd emptied his pocket back in the car.

He pulled the gate open with ease and moved into the park. In his mind, everything was bright and shining, the music was playing nicely and mascots were dancing around like normal ones did. The only strange thing about it all was the people. The people who just stared at him. Or at least he thought they were, he couldn't tell passed the gas masks.

He rushed over to the candy floss and held out his coins to the non-existent person behind the counter. It all looked entirely strange to anyone who wasn't Peter.

"Candy floss, please!"

Jack doesn't actually see anyone. He doesn't see the lights, he almost trips over a planter in the dark. He doesn't see the dancing. Or the coins in Peter's hand. He doesn't see anyone or anything at all and immediately slips ones of the contacts into his eyes as Peter pays nobody and receives a rotting bag of sweets.

"Owen, have Mohinder watch the monitor. I don't see anything," he half whispers before he asks Peter for a bit of his candy.

Outside, Mohinder is plunked down in the SUV in front of the monitor and turns almost ashy. What he describes is what Peter is seeing, though he is frightened by the people, not amused by them.

"Captain...the man behind the counter doesn't have a face."