Double Drabble: Something To Do
Title: Something To Do
Author: badly_knitted
Characters: Owen, Ianto.
Rating: PG
Written For: Challenge 771: Waste at tw100.
Spoilers: Nada.
Summary: Ianto has a job for Owen, but Owen isn’t exactly thrilled.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Torchwood, or the characters.
A/N: Double drabble.
“It’s a waste of time,” Owen grumbled.
Ianto raised an eyebrow. “You’ve got something better to do? You’re dead, in case you’ve forgotten.”
“I hadn’t, and I don’t need to have it pointed out every five minutes. I can’t eat, can’t drink, can’t sleep, can’t shag…” Owen trailed off. “Can’t do any of the things that make life worth living, can’t even die properly.”
“Would you, if you could?”
Owen’s shoulders sagged. “No. What does it say about me that even being the living dead is better than the alternative?”
“It says you’re not ready to give up, and since you don’t need sleep, you might as well do something useful with your time.”
“Like I don’t already have enough paperwork of my own.” Owen gave the stack of file folders a disgusted look.
“I’m not a medic, Owen, I can’t make head or tail of this stuff, but you can, I hope. Everything your predecessors discovered is in these files; who knows when we might need the information? All you need to do is digitise and cross-reference them. You might even discover something interesting. It’s better than moping around bored to tears.”
“Fine. Give ‘em here.”
“Thank you.”
“Whatever.”
The End
Author: badly_knitted
Characters: Owen, Ianto.
Rating: PG
Written For: Challenge 771: Waste at tw100.
Spoilers: Nada.
Summary: Ianto has a job for Owen, but Owen isn’t exactly thrilled.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Torchwood, or the characters.
A/N: Double drabble.
“It’s a waste of time,” Owen grumbled.
Ianto raised an eyebrow. “You’ve got something better to do? You’re dead, in case you’ve forgotten.”
“I hadn’t, and I don’t need to have it pointed out every five minutes. I can’t eat, can’t drink, can’t sleep, can’t shag…” Owen trailed off. “Can’t do any of the things that make life worth living, can’t even die properly.”
“Would you, if you could?”
Owen’s shoulders sagged. “No. What does it say about me that even being the living dead is better than the alternative?”
“It says you’re not ready to give up, and since you don’t need sleep, you might as well do something useful with your time.”
“Like I don’t already have enough paperwork of my own.” Owen gave the stack of file folders a disgusted look.
“I’m not a medic, Owen, I can’t make head or tail of this stuff, but you can, I hope. Everything your predecessors discovered is in these files; who knows when we might need the information? All you need to do is digitise and cross-reference them. You might even discover something interesting. It’s better than moping around bored to tears.”
“Fine. Give ‘em here.”
“Thank you.”
“Whatever.”
The End