Just Imagine...

She's Not English, She's Not a Man

"We're all invited to the Annual Earth Defence Against Extraterrestrial Threat Royal Ball!" Jack exclaimed, running out of his office and standing at the top of the stairs with a letter in one hand, grinning like an over enthusiastic toddler on Christmas morning. Ianto was right behind him, rolling his eyes affectionately.
"Okay, seriously, someone needs to come up with a better name for that," Sam muttered from her desk where she was doing a sketch of Myfanwy, who was perched in front of her with an inquisitive expression, "it's such a mouthful and it sounds really stupid."
"Oh, stop complaining, Sam," Gwen said, "it'll be fun!"
"Yeah right," Sam sniffed, "all that happens is a bunch of snobs from all over the world who hunt aliens gather in one room, turn up their noses at each other for five hours, carry around a glass of champagne they'll never take a sip from all night, then go home. I've been to teachers' conferences that were more exciting - and if you've ever been to a teachers' conference, you'll know that's saying a lot."
"Anyway," Jack cut in as Ianto laughed softly, "the invitation says it's on the nineteenth."
"That's no good," Owen called from the Autopsy Bay, "Tosh and I are having dinner that night."
"Well actually that's good because the invitation only admits four people." Jack said with a slightly sheepish expression.
"And I take it there's no chance you're too eager to let the rookies go?" Sam asked dryly.
"Sam, the letter does say they want an expert on interplanetary relationships to speak this year." Ianto supplied unhelpfully.
"So let me get this straight," Sam said, "not only do I have to go, but I also have to give a speech?"
"C'mon, Sam," Gwen murmured, "this is a real honour! Plus it's important for other extraterrestrial defence organizations to understand the difference between aliens who pose a threat and aliens who... come in peace - sorry. And you are an expert on that."
Sam glared at her for a long moment before rolling her eyes up to the ceiling.
"UUUUUGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHH," she groaned, "fine, I'll go."
"Thank you!" Jack exclaimed, ecstatic once again, "Gwen, you and Sam can meet Ianto and me here on the night of the ball and we'll escort you to the Atlantic Banquet Hall."
"I can't wait." Sam sighed, tone dripping with sarcasm.

The Atlantic Banquet Hall wasn't exactly a banquet hall. And it certainly wasn't man-made. It was actually part of a huge spaceship that had fallen to Earth and sank to the bottom of the sea just off the coast of Florida. Its whereabouts were only known by members of worldwide extraterrestrial defence organizations, including institutes such as Torchwood, UNIT, the SOSI, and the like. There had been rumours that it was linked to the Bermuda Triangle myth, but those were yet to be proven. It could only be reached by a sort of teleportation chamber, one of which was located at the Torchwood Saint Lucia base.
"Did you know we're the only extraterrestrial defence organization that wears alien clothing?" Jack commented when Sam and Gwen arrived at the hub, both in extravagant outfits salvaged from the archives.
Sam's was from the planet Dœn, bright yellow with baggy pant legs and a sort of waistcoat that exposed her abs and the middle of her back while covering her sides. There were rings and half-sleeves on her arms connected to a sort of cape that flowed from one wrist to the other. Around her neck was a strand of large yellow stones resembling pearls connected to what resembled a necktie, though it was much shorter and ended just below her ribs. Her hair was done up in a messy bun with the pale yellow feather of some large, fluffy bird-like creature sticking out so it arched over her head.
Gwen's outfit, on the other hand, was much simpler and came from a moon called Crystopia. It was a simple square of glittering pale pink fabric tied around her waist, with a matching piece that was much smaller tied around her breasts. She had added small, dark pink, crystalline earrings to go with the look.
Jack himself was wearing clothing from Melusia - a teal jumpsuit with a navy waistband underneath a floor length coat made of shimmery, translucent, periwinkle blue fabric that only had one sleeve, with a gold headband decorated with mint-colored gemstones to match.
  Ianto's clothing came from Qhorphris and consisted of a cherry red shirt with short sleeves that exposed his midriff, a shimmery pink cape-like garment that wrapped around his neck and ended in two tapered points tipped with polished violet stones, and scarlet pants that ended below his knees.
"Yeah yeah yeah," Sam muttered, snapping Jack out of it (and making him realize he'd been staring at Ianto for a little too long), "are we going or what?"
Jack led her, Ianto, and Gwen down to the teleportation chamber and they all stepped inside. There was a momentary flash of blinding blue light. Sam winced and fell to her knees.
"Could you maybe give me a little warning first next time?" She wheezed, clutching her stomach.
"Sorry." Jack said guiltily. Sometimes he forgot the others' bodies weren't accustomed to being transported through time and space on a regular basis.
"You okay, Sam?" Ianto asked her, laying a hand on her shoulder.
"Yeah," Sam coughed, slowly standing back up, "I think so."
"I wonder if Martha's here?" Gwen asked excitedly, quickly hurrying out of the chamber. The others followed.
"Doubt it," Ianto said, "I've heard she's been very busy the past little while."
"All of UNIT has," Jack added, "so much so they could only send two representatives tonight."
"Great." Sam muttered flatly, unenthused, crossing her arms over her chest.
They entered the banquet hall at that moment. The room was astounding, with high ceilings and over two dozen chandeliers made of glowing blue crystals. The mauve colored walls were taken up mostly by huge windows that provided a view of the ocean floor outside. And it was packed with people, sitting on soft cushions around small tables on either side of the room or dancing on a maroon plush carpet in the centre. Soft classical music was emanating from somewhere Gwen couldn't see. Jack smiled at Ianto and offered him his hand.
"Care for a dance, my love?" He asked in a drawling voice.
Ianto smiled with an affectionate roll of his eyes.
"Of course." He said.
"Wanna go mingle, Sam?" Gwen asked her friend as the two men slipped into the crowd of spinning couples.
"Nah," Sam responded, "I think I'll go graze by the buffet table. Call me if you need me."
With that, she left Gwen standing alone at the edge of the crowd. Sighing, Gwen pushed her way through the tangle of bodies. Maybe Ianto was wrong and Martha was here. She managed to get ahold of a glass of champagne and carried it around with her while she searched for a familiar face. She recognized most of the people here but not by more than their face and first name. The majority were acquaintances whom she'd only met once or twice and hadn't even really spoken to.
"Well, who do we have here?"
Gwen turned to see a man and a woman in nearly identical grey suits standing behind her, eyeing her with contempt. It was the woman who had spoken. Gwen was sure she'd never seen either of them before.
"You must be one of them tossers from Torchwood." The man sneered. He was young, probably in his late twenties or early thirties, with brown hair and cold blue eyes. The woman was much older, likely in her forties or fifties, with greying hair and brown eyes.
"Indeed," she muttered, "you lot are always late."
Gwen stiffened defensively.
"And you are?" She asked tensely.
"Gertrude Wilford and Winston Green," the woman said as if it were some sort of royal title, "UNIT."
"Gwen Cooper," Gwen said slowly, "Torchwood."
"We knew that," Winston muttered, "and we knew there was an English girl."
"Actually, sweetie, I'm Welsh." Gwen said coldly.
"Same difference."
"Actually, no."
"Whatever."
"You listen here-"
"Oh, what're you gonna do to me?"
"Keep talking and you'll find out, mate."
"Yeah right, like you'd be strong enough to-"
"S'cuse me, is there a problem here?"
Gwen looked up as Sam put a hand on her shoulder.
"And who the hell are you?" Winston demanded.
"Sam Ryder," Sam said tensely, "Torchwood."
"You're Sam Ryder?" Gertrude asked, surprised.
"What of it?" Sam hissed. She instinctively pulled Gwen closer to her.
"Well, nothing," Gertrude murmured, "we just assumed, based on your record, that you were a man."
"You read her files?" Gwen demanded.
"And they never stated my pronouns once?" Sam added skeptically, "or that I'm genderqueer?"
"Oh," Gertrude said icily, "you're one of those."
Sam tensed.
"One of what?" She growled.
"Those people who think they can make up fake genders and call themselves whatever they want," Gertrude snipped, "you're obviously a woman, why deny it?"
"EXCUSE ME?" Sam roared.
"No need to get excited." Winston cut in.
"I wonder how Torchwood could possibly function," Gertrude said to him, "not a single intelligent thought- OH!"
Gwen suddenly splashed her champagne in Gertrude's face, cutting her off mid-sentence.
"Bitch." She hissed.
"Let's get outta here," Sam muttered, turning Gwen away, "leave these fuckos to their own private dickhead club for the incurably asinine and pompous."
Gwen laughed as they walked away together through the crowd.
"The nerve of some people." Sam muttered when they were out of earshot.
"You okay?" Gwen asked. Sam smiled at her.
"As long as you are." She murmured.