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No one was really surprised when John Hart rolled back into town again and this time Jack let him stay. He meshed surprisingly well, winning Tosh over with tales of future tech and matching Owen’s banter easily. But even Jack couldn’t get him to wear a more modern coat or surrender his weapons. Despite almost setting in Cardiff, John seemed committed to his rogue sword-for-hire vibe. They had all debated the practicality of carrying a bloody katana at one point or another. Then John had literally beheaded a Weevil that had Ianto pinned. No one complained about the sword anymore.
Weapons fell through the Rift all the time. They were as common as anything else. Luckily, they were usually broken. They didn’t need a functioning plasma cannon, no matter how John argued otherwise. But sometimes, what fell through was undamaged. It had been a cold evening when John traipsed into the Hub, snow in his hair, grinning like a madman, with a giant claymore in his arms. The sword was half a millennium old but looked like it had been forged yesterday. John presented it to Jack, who’d rolled his eyes, then told John to find him a good scabbard.
Jack had taken to his claymore, although wearing the scabbard and his coat at the same time had proven to be a challenge. But Ianto was stubborn. There would be no more swords. Yes, he liked the appeal. Yes, Jack had looked very hot slicing through those alien vines in a single stroke. But Ianto managed to stay strong for months. Then John had found him a rapier, almost as long as Jack’s sword but thinner and lighter. Ianto had taken the sword, then promised to run John through with it if he made a joke about length and heft.
Gwen had asked for a sword hours after being cornered with an empty gun and barely escaping. John had been happy to oblige. He brought her a gladius, a Roman-style shortsword with a double-sided blade and a solid hilt. Gwen had been thrilled, carrying it at her side proudly. When Rhys saw it, he’d been confused, and then he’d been mad. One night, when Gwen and the rest of the original quintet were out on a mission, Rhys had snuck into the Hub to confront John. Gwen had returned to a fight between them, Rhys sparring with his new spatha.
Owen had not asked for a sword. Nope, no way. He wouldn’t ask that bastard for something if his life depended on it. And it had. Owen wasn’t going to give in to the sword fever that had swept up everyone but Tosh. So when he came into work one day to find a cutlass resting on the slab, he’d been furious. But John had claimed innocence for once. And when Owen had checked the CCTV, he’d actually been telling the truth. The cutlass had been left there by Tosh. Owen didn’t thank her. But he did carry the cutlass.
One day, Tosh walked into work and realized that she was the only one without a sword. John had only been there for maybe half a year, but his presence had seeped into everything around him, most noticeably with the swords. She’d made her way to her desk and was surprised to see John standing there, a smaller version of his sword in his hands. Turns out, he’d had the daishō, the big-little matched set, all along. He’d just never carried the wakizashi, preferring the single sword, but twin pistols. He’d passed it along to her with a genuine grin.