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Can't get you outta my head

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Sometimes Torchwood just got to be too much to bear.

Jack had accidentally activated the device they'd found that morning and since then he'd been singing Shirley Bassey tunes. It had been the first thing he'd heard on the radio when they got back in the SUV and now it seemed to be the only thing he would sing. Or could sing.

He was building up to the crescendo of 'I am what I am' when they reentered the hub, Gwen and Ianto both appearing slightly frazzled after 45 minutes in the car with him, where he'd barely taken a breath between tunes, except to tell them 'I'm fine, really.'.

It turned out he wasn't completely incapable of talking with them, only that he would quickly revert back to singing the entire Bassey back catalogue. Now they were limiting their questions to those requiring four words or less, as they tried to figure out how reverse the device's effects.

Jack had been singing for hours and Gwen and Ianto had finally sent him to his office and closed the door for a bit of peace. They were no closer to solving the problem, and the singing had become terribly distracting, especially when Jack had little else to offer in the way of technical know how.

Ianto face palmed himself in frustration. Gwen sympathised with him.

They were both well accustomed to the outrageous and outlandish antics of their boss, but there was an upper threshold of just how much one could put up with, and Ianto had clearly reached that point.

Admittedly for all his brashness, Gwen had to admit that his singing voice was actually quite good. It was just a shame that his chosen repertoire was not exactly doing it any justice. The next time Jack snubbed her choice of Michael Buble, she might quietly remind him about this.

Gwen put a placating hand on Ianto's shoulder. 'It could be worse.' 

'Goldfinger!' came a loud cry from Jack's office.

'How? How could it possibly be any worse?' Ianto snapped.

'Well, he could be singing the Bee Gees.'

Ianto shuddered then huffed loudly. 'I never thought I'd be so glad for Shirley Bassey,' he conceded.

'Don't worry, we'll figure something out.'

'Do you know what the worst part is?' he asked her. 'I can't tell if he truly can't stop himself or if he's actually enjoying it.'