Double Drabble: Desperation
Title: Desperation
Author: badly_knitted
Characters: Ianto, Lisa.
Rating: PG
Written For: Challenge 758: Think at tw100.
Spoilers: Set just after the Battle of Canary Wharf.
Summary: Ianto is angry with Jack.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Torchwood, or the characters.
A/N: Double drabble.
Closing his eyes, Ianto pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to will his pounding headache away. He needed to think, but his brain was refusing to work, and he wondered if maybe he had a concussion.
He didn’t remember being hit over the head though. He remembered smoke, and screaming, and blood, the heavy metallic tread of Cybermen, and the grating, robotic voices of Daleks intoning the same word, over and over: Exterminate!
Everything that had happened was a disjointed blur, from the moment the insubstantial and benevolent ‘ghosts’ had turned out to be something solid and totally lethal. Trying to piece together his fragmented recollections of recent events into a coherent whole was like trying to catch snowflakes; every time he thought he had one, it just melted away into nothingness.
Maybe he was focussing on the wrong thing. He didn’t need to remember what had already happened; he should be planning what to do next. He looked at Lisa, wishing she could help him the way she had earlier, but she was unconscious now. The pain of being moved had been too much for her.
There had to be somewhere safe he could take her, but where?
The End
Author: badly_knitted
Characters: Ianto, Lisa.
Rating: PG
Written For: Challenge 758: Think at tw100.
Spoilers: Set just after the Battle of Canary Wharf.
Summary: Ianto is angry with Jack.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Torchwood, or the characters.
A/N: Double drabble.
Closing his eyes, Ianto pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to will his pounding headache away. He needed to think, but his brain was refusing to work, and he wondered if maybe he had a concussion.
He didn’t remember being hit over the head though. He remembered smoke, and screaming, and blood, the heavy metallic tread of Cybermen, and the grating, robotic voices of Daleks intoning the same word, over and over: Exterminate!
Everything that had happened was a disjointed blur, from the moment the insubstantial and benevolent ‘ghosts’ had turned out to be something solid and totally lethal. Trying to piece together his fragmented recollections of recent events into a coherent whole was like trying to catch snowflakes; every time he thought he had one, it just melted away into nothingness.
Maybe he was focussing on the wrong thing. He didn’t need to remember what had already happened; he should be planning what to do next. He looked at Lisa, wishing she could help him the way she had earlier, but she was unconscious now. The pain of being moved had been too much for her.
There had to be somewhere safe he could take her, but where?
The End