Double Drabble: Sticky Situation
Title: Sticky Situation
Author: badly_knitted
Characters: Owen, Jack.
Rating: G
Written For: Challenge 693: Glue at tw100.
Spoilers: Nada.
Summary: Jack has got himself into another predicament.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Torchwood, or the characters.
A/N: Double drabble.
In Owen’s opinion, most people were idiots. It was nothing short of a miracle that the human race had managed to survive as long as it had. Even so, and despite all evidence to the contrary, he’d harboured some small hope regarding his boss. Jack was from three-thousand years in the future; surely by the fifty-first century evolution must have managed to create a better human.
Apparently not. The only thing a further three millennia of evolution seemed to have achieved was to make people even more accomplished idiots than they were before. Common sense, a rare commodity in the present, must not exist at all by Jack’s time.
“Do I even want to know?” Owen asked wearily when Jack wandered into the medical bay seeking help, his right hand pressed to the side of his face.
“I was repairing my belt, the backing was coming unstuck, but I got so bored waiting for the glue to dry that I fell asleep.”
“And now your hand’s glued to your face?”
“Yes,” Jack admitted in a small voice.
“Typical. Sit and I’ll sort you out. Did you at least fix your belt?”
“It’s stuck to my desk.”
“Ianto’s gonna kill you!”
The End
Author: badly_knitted
Characters: Owen, Jack.
Rating: G
Written For: Challenge 693: Glue at tw100.
Spoilers: Nada.
Summary: Jack has got himself into another predicament.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Torchwood, or the characters.
A/N: Double drabble.
In Owen’s opinion, most people were idiots. It was nothing short of a miracle that the human race had managed to survive as long as it had. Even so, and despite all evidence to the contrary, he’d harboured some small hope regarding his boss. Jack was from three-thousand years in the future; surely by the fifty-first century evolution must have managed to create a better human.
Apparently not. The only thing a further three millennia of evolution seemed to have achieved was to make people even more accomplished idiots than they were before. Common sense, a rare commodity in the present, must not exist at all by Jack’s time.
“Do I even want to know?” Owen asked wearily when Jack wandered into the medical bay seeking help, his right hand pressed to the side of his face.
“I was repairing my belt, the backing was coming unstuck, but I got so bored waiting for the glue to dry that I fell asleep.”
“And now your hand’s glued to your face?”
“Yes,” Jack admitted in a small voice.
“Typical. Sit and I’ll sort you out. Did you at least fix your belt?”
“It’s stuck to my desk.”
“Ianto’s gonna kill you!”
The End