Fic: Memories And Useless Facts
Title: Memories And Useless Facts
Author: badly_knitted
Characters: Ianto, Jack, Owen.
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Nada.
Summary: Ianto Jones knows (almost) everything.
Word Count: 1152
Written For: Prompt 147 - Trivia at fandomweekly.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Torchwood, or the characters. They belong to the BBC.
Ianto was well aware that many people thought having a photographic memory would be fun, not to mention useful, and in some ways it was. Unfortunately, while he could remember everything he’d ever read or seen, knew the specifics of every item in Torchwood’s vast archives, including where it was housed, and could find his way unerringly around the Hub’s subterranean passageways, he also couldn’t forget the things he didn’t want to remember.
Retcon could block memories, if it was administered soon enough and in the correct dosage, but most of the time, everything he read, saw, heard, or experienced was always there, tucked away in his brain, waiting to be triggered. Nothing was ever really gone; not even the most unwanted and painful memories.
If he tried, he could recall every moment of his captivity at the hands of the cannibals, could relive the Canary Wharf battle in detail, every sight, smell, and sound, right down to the taste of blood and smoke in the air. He could remember rescuing Lisa, escaping Torchwood Tower with her, caring for her, or rather the Cyberman that had taken her over, body and mind, and watching helplessly as she’d rampaged through the Hub, intent on converting them all.
During his suspension after his disastrous attempt to restore his girlfriend to herself, Ianto had tortured himself by going over those memories time after time, trying to identify the exact moment when Lisa had stopped being Lisa, but he couldn’t. He remembered it all exactly the way it had happened, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t delude himself into recognising something he hadn’t seen back then, or perhaps hadn’t wanted to see. Even a photographic memory had its limits.
Eventually he’d locked those memories away, filed neatly in the deepest, darkest corner of his mind, where he wouldn’t be forever stumbling across them. They joined all the other things no sane person would ever want to think about, all the traumatic, painful, unpleasant, and mortifyingly embarrassing moments of his short life. He couldn’t erase them completely from his mind, but he could at least hide them from himself.
There were good points to his memory as well as the bad, of course. For instance, he could quickly pull up useful information on a wide range of subjects without needing to resort to reference books or the internet, which was especially useful when dealing with aliens or alien tech. Jack might know more about such things than the rest of the team, but if any branch of Torchwood had come across something before, then Ianto knew about it. After all, he’d been the one to organise and catalogue everything in the archives, including everything that had been salvaged from Torchwood One. His brain now served as a sort of mobile database on field missions, archive and archivist in one. It was good to be useful.
He was also handy to have on hand for quiz nights at the pub, and unbeatable at trivial pursuit. Funny how much useless trivia a brain could collect over not much more than a couple of decades. He never knew when some fascinating fact might float to the surface of his mind.
“Did you know,” he said to his teammates one day as they gathered the latest items that the Rift had seen fit to deliver, “that the majority of golf balls have three hundred and thirty-six dimples?” He studied the one he’d just picked up from where it had landed in a flowerbed, turning it over in his hand before dropping it into his bag. “It can be anywhere between three and five hundred, but it’s most often three hundred and thirty-six.”
Owen paused in the act of reaching for a golf ball under a bush. “Why would anyone want to know that?”
Ianto shrugged. “I just thought it was interesting.”
“You would.”
The following week, in the supermarket with Jack, Ianto reached for a bag of oranges.
“Not those!” Jack moved to stop him. “They’re not ripe, half of them still have green patches.”
To Jack’s indignation, Ianto laughed. “Here’s a fun fact for you; oranges are often green when they’re ripe. In the tropics, they stay green all year round because they’re packed with so much chlorophyl. They only turn orange when subjected to colder temperatures; the cold removes the chlorophyl.”
Jack frowned, confused. “Seriously?”
“Yep.”
“But how can an orange still be called an orange if it’s green?”
“What else would you call it? Everyone’s used to them being called oranges.” Ianto put the bag he’d picked up into the trolley. “Just as with people, you shouldn’t judge an orange by its colour.”
“Right. I’ll remember that.” Jack wandered away, looking bemused, and Ianto followed.
“Did you know,” Jack said once they were on their way back to the Hub with the groceries, “that the Grevonions of Orgrev Four have three hearts?”
“No, I wasn’t aware of that, but then I’ve never heard of Grevonions. I know that octopuses and squid have three hearts though. What do Grevonions look like?”
Jack sighed. “A lot like octopuses, actually.”
“Ah. Makes sense.”
Frustrated, Jack thought hard. “Okay, then how about the migrant bees? Have you heard of them?”
“You mean the sapient ones from Melissa Majoria that abandoned earth before it was moved to the Medusa Cascade? The Doctor told me about them while the TARDIS was towing us home again.” Ianto grinned. “I know everything, remember?”
“One of these days, I’m going to amaze you with a bit of trivia you couldn’t possibly even guess at,” Jack insisted. “Ooh, I’ve got one! Do you know what the proper name is for the lint that collects in the bottom of your pockets?”
“Gnurr,” Ianto replied, smirking.
“Dammit! I was sure I’d got you that time!”
“Did you know a sloth can hold its breath for up to forty minutes? That’s about half an hour longer than a dolphin can manage. Quite impressive for something that lives most of its life high in the trees.”
Jack threw a glare Ianto’s way. “What’s that got to do with anything?”
“I thought we were trying to out-trivia each other.”
“I’ve conceded defeat.” Jack pouted at his lover. “I don’t have your brain.” The door to Torchwood’s underground garage opened and Jack drove in, pulling his car into its parking spot. Ianto had decreed some time ago that the SUV wasn’t to be used for grocery shopping, mostly because people tended to worry when it pulled up at the supermarket. As they started to empty the boot though, Jack paused, grinning. “On second thoughts… Did you know Lizzie’s cows sleep on waterbeds?”
Ianto raised an eyebrow. “That’s ridiculous, you’re pulling my leg.”
“No, seriously, it’s true. You can look it up online if you don’t believe me.” Jack smirked triumphantly. “Ha, I win! Looks like you don’t know everything after all.”
The End
Author: badly_knitted
Characters: Ianto, Jack, Owen.
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Nada.
Summary: Ianto Jones knows (almost) everything.
Word Count: 1152
Written For: Prompt 147 - Trivia at fandomweekly.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Torchwood, or the characters. They belong to the BBC.
Ianto was well aware that many people thought having a photographic memory would be fun, not to mention useful, and in some ways it was. Unfortunately, while he could remember everything he’d ever read or seen, knew the specifics of every item in Torchwood’s vast archives, including where it was housed, and could find his way unerringly around the Hub’s subterranean passageways, he also couldn’t forget the things he didn’t want to remember.
Retcon could block memories, if it was administered soon enough and in the correct dosage, but most of the time, everything he read, saw, heard, or experienced was always there, tucked away in his brain, waiting to be triggered. Nothing was ever really gone; not even the most unwanted and painful memories.
If he tried, he could recall every moment of his captivity at the hands of the cannibals, could relive the Canary Wharf battle in detail, every sight, smell, and sound, right down to the taste of blood and smoke in the air. He could remember rescuing Lisa, escaping Torchwood Tower with her, caring for her, or rather the Cyberman that had taken her over, body and mind, and watching helplessly as she’d rampaged through the Hub, intent on converting them all.
During his suspension after his disastrous attempt to restore his girlfriend to herself, Ianto had tortured himself by going over those memories time after time, trying to identify the exact moment when Lisa had stopped being Lisa, but he couldn’t. He remembered it all exactly the way it had happened, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t delude himself into recognising something he hadn’t seen back then, or perhaps hadn’t wanted to see. Even a photographic memory had its limits.
Eventually he’d locked those memories away, filed neatly in the deepest, darkest corner of his mind, where he wouldn’t be forever stumbling across them. They joined all the other things no sane person would ever want to think about, all the traumatic, painful, unpleasant, and mortifyingly embarrassing moments of his short life. He couldn’t erase them completely from his mind, but he could at least hide them from himself.
There were good points to his memory as well as the bad, of course. For instance, he could quickly pull up useful information on a wide range of subjects without needing to resort to reference books or the internet, which was especially useful when dealing with aliens or alien tech. Jack might know more about such things than the rest of the team, but if any branch of Torchwood had come across something before, then Ianto knew about it. After all, he’d been the one to organise and catalogue everything in the archives, including everything that had been salvaged from Torchwood One. His brain now served as a sort of mobile database on field missions, archive and archivist in one. It was good to be useful.
He was also handy to have on hand for quiz nights at the pub, and unbeatable at trivial pursuit. Funny how much useless trivia a brain could collect over not much more than a couple of decades. He never knew when some fascinating fact might float to the surface of his mind.
“Did you know,” he said to his teammates one day as they gathered the latest items that the Rift had seen fit to deliver, “that the majority of golf balls have three hundred and thirty-six dimples?” He studied the one he’d just picked up from where it had landed in a flowerbed, turning it over in his hand before dropping it into his bag. “It can be anywhere between three and five hundred, but it’s most often three hundred and thirty-six.”
Owen paused in the act of reaching for a golf ball under a bush. “Why would anyone want to know that?”
Ianto shrugged. “I just thought it was interesting.”
“You would.”
The following week, in the supermarket with Jack, Ianto reached for a bag of oranges.
“Not those!” Jack moved to stop him. “They’re not ripe, half of them still have green patches.”
To Jack’s indignation, Ianto laughed. “Here’s a fun fact for you; oranges are often green when they’re ripe. In the tropics, they stay green all year round because they’re packed with so much chlorophyl. They only turn orange when subjected to colder temperatures; the cold removes the chlorophyl.”
Jack frowned, confused. “Seriously?”
“Yep.”
“But how can an orange still be called an orange if it’s green?”
“What else would you call it? Everyone’s used to them being called oranges.” Ianto put the bag he’d picked up into the trolley. “Just as with people, you shouldn’t judge an orange by its colour.”
“Right. I’ll remember that.” Jack wandered away, looking bemused, and Ianto followed.
“Did you know,” Jack said once they were on their way back to the Hub with the groceries, “that the Grevonions of Orgrev Four have three hearts?”
“No, I wasn’t aware of that, but then I’ve never heard of Grevonions. I know that octopuses and squid have three hearts though. What do Grevonions look like?”
Jack sighed. “A lot like octopuses, actually.”
“Ah. Makes sense.”
Frustrated, Jack thought hard. “Okay, then how about the migrant bees? Have you heard of them?”
“You mean the sapient ones from Melissa Majoria that abandoned earth before it was moved to the Medusa Cascade? The Doctor told me about them while the TARDIS was towing us home again.” Ianto grinned. “I know everything, remember?”
“One of these days, I’m going to amaze you with a bit of trivia you couldn’t possibly even guess at,” Jack insisted. “Ooh, I’ve got one! Do you know what the proper name is for the lint that collects in the bottom of your pockets?”
“Gnurr,” Ianto replied, smirking.
“Dammit! I was sure I’d got you that time!”
“Did you know a sloth can hold its breath for up to forty minutes? That’s about half an hour longer than a dolphin can manage. Quite impressive for something that lives most of its life high in the trees.”
Jack threw a glare Ianto’s way. “What’s that got to do with anything?”
“I thought we were trying to out-trivia each other.”
“I’ve conceded defeat.” Jack pouted at his lover. “I don’t have your brain.” The door to Torchwood’s underground garage opened and Jack drove in, pulling his car into its parking spot. Ianto had decreed some time ago that the SUV wasn’t to be used for grocery shopping, mostly because people tended to worry when it pulled up at the supermarket. As they started to empty the boot though, Jack paused, grinning. “On second thoughts… Did you know Lizzie’s cows sleep on waterbeds?”
Ianto raised an eyebrow. “That’s ridiculous, you’re pulling my leg.”
“No, seriously, it’s true. You can look it up online if you don’t believe me.” Jack smirked triumphantly. “Ha, I win! Looks like you don’t know everything after all.”
The End