Double Drabble: Misplaced
Title: Misplaced
Author: badly_knitted
Characters: Ianto, Owen.
Rating: PG-13
Written For: Challenge 763: Genius at tw100.
Spoilers: Nada.
Summary: Owen has lost something.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Torchwood, or the characters.
A/N: Double drabble.
Judging by the banging and crashing coming from the autopsy bay, Owen was looking for something, and if the swearing was anything to go by, whatever it was, he wasn’t finding it.
It wasn’t really any of Ianto’s business; Owen was responsible for his own equipment and supplies. Nevertheless, as Torchwood’s General Support Officer, tasked with keeping the organisation running smoothly, he was perfectly willing to help out if that should be required.
“Problems, Owen?” he asked mildly, leaning on the railing, and looking down into the medic’s domain.
Owen straightened up from one of his cupboards, the contents of which were now scattered across the tiled floor. “What does it look like?”
“Well, I suppose you could be doing inventory.”
“Ha bloody ha! If I was doin’ inventory, I wouldn’t have emptied the cupboard, would I?”
“I really have no idea how you usually go about it. You made it clear to me long ago that you didn’t want me moving your things around, so I haven’t.”
“Then what bloody genius has hidden my surgical gloves?”
“Ah, that would be you, last week when you decided you were tired of digging in the bottom cupboard for them.”
“Oh yeah.”
The End
Author: badly_knitted
Characters: Ianto, Owen.
Rating: PG-13
Written For: Challenge 763: Genius at tw100.
Spoilers: Nada.
Summary: Owen has lost something.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Torchwood, or the characters.
A/N: Double drabble.
Judging by the banging and crashing coming from the autopsy bay, Owen was looking for something, and if the swearing was anything to go by, whatever it was, he wasn’t finding it.
It wasn’t really any of Ianto’s business; Owen was responsible for his own equipment and supplies. Nevertheless, as Torchwood’s General Support Officer, tasked with keeping the organisation running smoothly, he was perfectly willing to help out if that should be required.
“Problems, Owen?” he asked mildly, leaning on the railing, and looking down into the medic’s domain.
Owen straightened up from one of his cupboards, the contents of which were now scattered across the tiled floor. “What does it look like?”
“Well, I suppose you could be doing inventory.”
“Ha bloody ha! If I was doin’ inventory, I wouldn’t have emptied the cupboard, would I?”
“I really have no idea how you usually go about it. You made it clear to me long ago that you didn’t want me moving your things around, so I haven’t.”
“Then what bloody genius has hidden my surgical gloves?”
“Ah, that would be you, last week when you decided you were tired of digging in the bottom cupboard for them.”
“Oh yeah.”
The End