Fic: Taking the Mickey (PG-13, Mickey, Ianto, Jack)
Title: Taking the Mickey
Fandom: Torchwood
Characters: Mickey, Jack, Ianto
Word count: 900
Author's Notes: Haahahahaha. SHOULD BE WRITING HARRY POTTER.
Summary: Mickey blinked at the rapidly growing pile in front of him. "Bloody hell! I thought Torchwood was all about fighting aliens with big guns."
Ianto opened the lid of the cardboard box and pulled out a thin packet of papers, setting them on the conference table in front of Mickey with a smile. "Medical history, contact information, payroll."
Mickey rolled his shoulder. "I'll take cash."
Ianto's mouth twitched. "In unmarked, non-sequential denominations? I'll leave it in a brown Samsonite briefcase under the third bench from the fountain every other Friday."
Mickey shrugged. "I don't have a bank account."
Ianto pulled out another packet, this one thicker. "You do now. And a salaried savings plan. We will match you seventy five percent." He pulled out another packet. "And additional health insurance outside of NHS." He looked at him then, unblinking. "You will need it. Oh!" He pulled out another packet and tossed it on the pile. "Confidentiality Contracts. Clearances and securities." And then another. "Emergency procedures. You'll have to read and initial. Take the test in the back of the book. But you can't keep it. Sorry."
Mickey blinked at the rapidly growing pile in front of him. "Bloody hell! I thought Torchwood was all about fighting aliens with big guns."
Ianto tilted his head, and set another stack of papers down. "Only Jack is allowed to fire the big gun."
"Mickey's earned the rights to the big gun," Jack called from his office. Ianto frowned and stiffened. If he didn't know any better (and he didn't, not really), Mickey would have said that the man was stropped.
"Fine," he said then, reaching back into the box and pulling out another stack of about fifty papers, all paperclipped together. He slapped it on Mickey's growing pile. "Heavy ordinance clearances."
Mickey sighed and fingered a booklet of about a hundred pages that Ianto laid in front of him. "What's this, then?"
"A psychiatric evaluation."
"No."
Ianto smiled, and it was not comforting at all. "Everyone has to do it, Mickey. Standard operating procedure." He tipped his head forward and regarded Mickey through his lashes, and it wasn't flirty or anything, just his version of staring at him over his glasses. Except for not, you know, wearing any. "You'll be handling a great many things that are highly life threatening, world threatening. We like to make sure that you're relatively stable when we-"
Mickey flipped the booklet open to the first page and picked up a pencil. Just as good as any to start. "Yeah, yeah. I know." He looked down. "Question one. 'I sometimes think the world would be a better place if no one was left in it,' yes or no?"
Ianto shrugged noncommittally.
Mickey tapped his pencil on the paper. "That's not a very good question. It's rather subjective, innit? Who would ever say yes?"
Ianto rolled his eyes. "You would be surprised. One of our former co-workers illustrated his."
Mickey grinned. He might have liked that bloke. On the other hand, he was a former co-worker, so he was either dead or gone. Gone in some way. "Who's going to read this?" he asked, narrowing his eyes.
Ianto stopped. "Technically, Torchwood One, but they're not there anymore so…" He looked behind him. "I suppose Jack."
"I'm not reading that." Jack said, sauntering out of his office, his hands shoved in his pockets. His braces hung off his hips. "That has to be a hundred pages."
Mickey's head hit the table. "Why did I agree to this?"
Ianto slid the far set of papers towards him. "The big gun."
Jack grinned and slapped a hand on Mickey's back. "The big gun is totally worth it, Mickey Mouse."
"'I sometimes like to hurt small animals'?" Mickey looked down the page. "'I cry when I masturbate'?"
Jack winked. "Don't we all," he joked and then picked up a stray pencil and smelled it. Ianto snatched it away and stuffed it into his suitcoat pocket, smiling.
Mickey snorted. "Speak for yourself," he muttered.
Ianto crossed his arms and said nothing. Jack eyed Ianto. "So, do you?"
Ianto turned back to the box. "I'm Welsh. We cry at Rugby games."
"That doesn't answer the question."
Ianto looked back at him and smiled. "No, it doesn't."
Mickey stared at the paperwork. "I'll be here all night," he mourned.
Ianto settled the lid on the box and stepped back, hands in pockets. Jack just rocked on the balls of his feet. "Yeah, well, we'll leave you to it."
Ianto followed Jack out the door, turning to mouth, "I'll bring tea later," before shutting it and leaving Mickey in relative silence.
He sighed and set down his pencil, cracking his knuckles. "Bloody Torchwood." Then he stared at question fifteen of two hundred. "'If your hands were possessed by an alien life form, would you cut them off to save your team'?"
***
"So, how long do you give him?" Ianto said, crossing his legs and settling back into the chair across from Jack's desk, where he had a good view of Mickey in the conference room, slaving away over his 'hiring papers'. "You know before Mickey realises that we're taking the mickey." He smiled. "I think somewhere, in my mind, I have always wanted to say that."
Jack held up one hand. "I say he falls asleep over the next five pages, and then we can cover his face with post-it notes." He pulled a small pack of 3x3 yellow slips out of his pocket.
Ianto shook his head. "Whatever did Mickey do to you, Jack?"
Jack shrugged. "I drew little eyeballs on them."
"Sold."
END
Fandom: Torchwood
Characters: Mickey, Jack, Ianto
Word count: 900
Author's Notes: Haahahahaha. SHOULD BE WRITING HARRY POTTER.
Summary: Mickey blinked at the rapidly growing pile in front of him. "Bloody hell! I thought Torchwood was all about fighting aliens with big guns."
Ianto opened the lid of the cardboard box and pulled out a thin packet of papers, setting them on the conference table in front of Mickey with a smile. "Medical history, contact information, payroll."
Mickey rolled his shoulder. "I'll take cash."
Ianto's mouth twitched. "In unmarked, non-sequential denominations? I'll leave it in a brown Samsonite briefcase under the third bench from the fountain every other Friday."
Mickey shrugged. "I don't have a bank account."
Ianto pulled out another packet, this one thicker. "You do now. And a salaried savings plan. We will match you seventy five percent." He pulled out another packet. "And additional health insurance outside of NHS." He looked at him then, unblinking. "You will need it. Oh!" He pulled out another packet and tossed it on the pile. "Confidentiality Contracts. Clearances and securities." And then another. "Emergency procedures. You'll have to read and initial. Take the test in the back of the book. But you can't keep it. Sorry."
Mickey blinked at the rapidly growing pile in front of him. "Bloody hell! I thought Torchwood was all about fighting aliens with big guns."
Ianto tilted his head, and set another stack of papers down. "Only Jack is allowed to fire the big gun."
"Mickey's earned the rights to the big gun," Jack called from his office. Ianto frowned and stiffened. If he didn't know any better (and he didn't, not really), Mickey would have said that the man was stropped.
"Fine," he said then, reaching back into the box and pulling out another stack of about fifty papers, all paperclipped together. He slapped it on Mickey's growing pile. "Heavy ordinance clearances."
Mickey sighed and fingered a booklet of about a hundred pages that Ianto laid in front of him. "What's this, then?"
"A psychiatric evaluation."
"No."
Ianto smiled, and it was not comforting at all. "Everyone has to do it, Mickey. Standard operating procedure." He tipped his head forward and regarded Mickey through his lashes, and it wasn't flirty or anything, just his version of staring at him over his glasses. Except for not, you know, wearing any. "You'll be handling a great many things that are highly life threatening, world threatening. We like to make sure that you're relatively stable when we-"
Mickey flipped the booklet open to the first page and picked up a pencil. Just as good as any to start. "Yeah, yeah. I know." He looked down. "Question one. 'I sometimes think the world would be a better place if no one was left in it,' yes or no?"
Ianto shrugged noncommittally.
Mickey tapped his pencil on the paper. "That's not a very good question. It's rather subjective, innit? Who would ever say yes?"
Ianto rolled his eyes. "You would be surprised. One of our former co-workers illustrated his."
Mickey grinned. He might have liked that bloke. On the other hand, he was a former co-worker, so he was either dead or gone. Gone in some way. "Who's going to read this?" he asked, narrowing his eyes.
Ianto stopped. "Technically, Torchwood One, but they're not there anymore so…" He looked behind him. "I suppose Jack."
"I'm not reading that." Jack said, sauntering out of his office, his hands shoved in his pockets. His braces hung off his hips. "That has to be a hundred pages."
Mickey's head hit the table. "Why did I agree to this?"
Ianto slid the far set of papers towards him. "The big gun."
Jack grinned and slapped a hand on Mickey's back. "The big gun is totally worth it, Mickey Mouse."
"'I sometimes like to hurt small animals'?" Mickey looked down the page. "'I cry when I masturbate'?"
Jack winked. "Don't we all," he joked and then picked up a stray pencil and smelled it. Ianto snatched it away and stuffed it into his suitcoat pocket, smiling.
Mickey snorted. "Speak for yourself," he muttered.
Ianto crossed his arms and said nothing. Jack eyed Ianto. "So, do you?"
Ianto turned back to the box. "I'm Welsh. We cry at Rugby games."
"That doesn't answer the question."
Ianto looked back at him and smiled. "No, it doesn't."
Mickey stared at the paperwork. "I'll be here all night," he mourned.
Ianto settled the lid on the box and stepped back, hands in pockets. Jack just rocked on the balls of his feet. "Yeah, well, we'll leave you to it."
Ianto followed Jack out the door, turning to mouth, "I'll bring tea later," before shutting it and leaving Mickey in relative silence.
He sighed and set down his pencil, cracking his knuckles. "Bloody Torchwood." Then he stared at question fifteen of two hundred. "'If your hands were possessed by an alien life form, would you cut them off to save your team'?"
***
"So, how long do you give him?" Ianto said, crossing his legs and settling back into the chair across from Jack's desk, where he had a good view of Mickey in the conference room, slaving away over his 'hiring papers'. "You know before Mickey realises that we're taking the mickey." He smiled. "I think somewhere, in my mind, I have always wanted to say that."
Jack held up one hand. "I say he falls asleep over the next five pages, and then we can cover his face with post-it notes." He pulled a small pack of 3x3 yellow slips out of his pocket.
Ianto shook his head. "Whatever did Mickey do to you, Jack?"
Jack shrugged. "I drew little eyeballs on them."
"Sold."
END