Wandering through the hothouse, looking for abandoned mugs, plates, and any rubbish Owen had carelessly left behind, Ianto suddenly stopped and frowned. Turning around, he retraced his steps until he was standing in front of one particular plant trough, mostly hidden behind several others, in which a row of sturdy plants were growing.
They were very attractive plants, clearly healthy, with deep green leaves, each divided into a fan of seven serrated-edged leaflets. They were also very familiar and definitely not alien in origin.
Turning on his heel, Ianto marched out of the hothouse and straight down to the autopsy bay, where Owen was looking at samples from his latest ‘test subject’ through his microscope.
“Owen, you do know that the hothouse is strictly for the cultivation and study of alien plant life, right?”
“Of course I know that, Teaboy,” Owen answered without looking up.
“Then might I ask why you’re growing marijuana in there? Looking to make a little extra cash are you?”
“What makes you think I’m growing marijuana?” Owen glanced at him shiftily.
“Oh please, Owen. You think I don’t know Weed when I see it? The guy across the street when I was a kid grew it in his garage, half the estate knew about it.”
“You ever try it?”
“A few times, when I was in my teens; most of us did. That’s beside the point though. You’re misusing Torchwood equipment for personal gain. You know Jack doesn’t approve of that.”
“Hey! I’m not dealing, it that’s what you think.”
“So it’s for your personal use, is it?”
“Wrong! Just because I like a drink or ten doesn’t mean I do drugs. Just so happens a distillation of the leaves is a very effective alien sedative. It’s the secret ingredient in our new Weevil spray.”