Fic: Cleanup Time
Title: Cleanup Time
Author: badly_knitted
Characters: Owen, Ianto, OCs.
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Nada.
Summary: Owen isn’t enjoying helping Ianto with cleanup, but it’s an enlightening experience.
Word Count: 1174
Written For: Prompt 216 - Meticulous at fandomweekly.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Torchwood, or the characters. They belong to the BBC.
To put it mildly, Owen wasn’t thrilled at having been left behind to assist Ianto with the cleanup while the rest of the team headed back to the Hub, especially since the Teaboy was always so finnicky when it came to details. Jonesy needed to have that stick forcibly removed from his arse; maybe then he’d lighten up a bit. Poking at something on the floor with the toe of his trainer, Owen scowled. Why him? He was a doctor; cleanup had never been in his job description, and now he was expected to play janitor!
A rather nasty little alien critter called a Mushpek had come through the Rift right in the middle of an elderly suburban couple’s living room while they were watching TV. Fortunately, the Torchwood team had arrived at the scene within fifteen minutes, mostly due to Jack breaking every driving law and speed limit in existence, and they’d been able to deal with the Mushpek while it was still disoriented from its abrupt and none to gentle relocation. That was a far better result than anyone had been expecting; Mushpek were extremely aggressive, carnivorous, and preferred eating their prey while it was still alive, so they’d half-expected to walk into a bloodbath.
As it was, the unwilling hosts had survived the encounter more or less intact, but the room now looked as if a tornado had passed through, with furniture overturned, strands of wiry Mushpek hair all over everything, two houseplants demolished, and the hearthrug shredded beyond recognition. Ianto had already scooped the rug’s remains into a black bag and dealt with the plants while the homeowners were being retconned into believing a stray cat had come in through the open window and knocked them off the windowsill. By now Ernest and Moira Cranshaw were tucked up in bed, deep in blissful, sedative-enhanced sleep. That had been the easy part, but now the rest of the room had to be set to rights.
“That armchair belongs over here,” Ianto directed, wielding an alien dust buster to collect more of the shed hair as Owen stood the chair upright. He paused his cleaning with an exasperated huff, glaring at his colleague. “Don’t drag it! You’ll leave marks in the carpet! Lift it!”
“What, I’m a ruddy furniture remover now?”
Ianto put one hand on his hip, that being all he currently had to work with. “You’re the one who told me I wasn’t to use my arm until it’s fully healed.” A poorly sedated Weevil had regained consciousness too soon the day before and tried to use Ianto’s left arm as a chew toy.
“Fine.” Owen lifted the heavy chair. “Here?”
“No, two inches forward, and an inch to the left.” Ianto squinted at the floor. “Then turn it five degrees clockwise… Another half inch towards me…”
“What the fuck does it matter?” Owen snapped, already fed up with Ianto’s micromanaging.
“There are indentations in the carpet where it usually stands.”
“So what?” Owen gasped; he was getting a bit breathless trying to hold the heavy chair up for so long.
“If it’s not put back in exactly the right place, Mr and Mrs Cranshaw might notice. Okay, set it down, carefully. Now, leaving the left front leg where it is, swivel the rest of the chair a couple more degrees clockwise. Without dragging it!”
“Jeez, I always thought you were a bit anal, but this is ridiculous! There’s such a thing as being too precise, y’know.”
“There’s also such a thing as not being precise enough. You think this job is easy? When carrying out a cleanup like this one, inside someone’s home, precision is important. If the furnishings aren’t in their usual spots, the Cranshaws might start wondering why, then they’ll start trying to figure out how things got moved when they’re sure they didn’t move them, and before you know it, they’ll have broken through the retcon and we’ll be right back at square one. You want to have that to deal with?”
Owen pulled a face. “Course not. How’s this?” He shifted the chair slightly, balanced on its left front leg.
“A smidge more.”
“Here?” Owen made a tiny adjustment.
“Yes, that’s good; you can put it down now.”
“Thank God for that. Bloody thing’s heavy. What next?”
Ianto wielded his dust buster, cleaning every strand of alien hair off the chair, even under the seat cushion before smiling at his colleague. “Now we have to deal with the sofa.” It had ended up tipped onto its back as the team had chased the Mushpek around the room.
“What!?”
“Relax, Owen, I don’t expect you to shift it by yourself, I still have one working arm. You take that end, just make sure to set the legs in their usual spots. I’ll handle this end.”
Between them, they got the sofa back on its feet and manoeuvred it carefully into position.
“There,” Ianto smiled in satisfaction. “That wasn’t so hard, was it? I usually get to do all this by myself. It’s a lot easier with an extra pair of hands.”
Owen tried to imagine having to clean the scene up by himself but couldn’t. For the first time, he felt some grudging sympathy for Ianto. “Sucks to be you.”
“Sometimes,” Ianto agreed, reaching for the dust buster, and sucking up more coarse ginger hairs. At least they showed up clearly on the furnishings. “The worst are the ones where there’s a lot of blood. Those can take hours, with cleaning products, odour neutralisers…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “This one’s relatively straightforward. We were lucky to get here so fast, luckier still that the living room door was closed so the Mushpek was contained. Imagine if the whole house had been in this state.”
Owen shuddered. “What’ll you do about the hearthrug though? Can’t put the old one back.”
“Oh, we got really fortunate there, the Cranshaws only bought it a couple of weeks ago, and it’s a popular pattern, readily available at several local stores. I’ve already sourced a replacement. Tosh said she’d pick it up and bring it over; should be here with it in about half an hour, and with any luck, we’ll be done by then.” Ianto gazed around the room. “Would have been much worse if the TV had been damaged, or if they’d had a bunch on knickknacks on the mantelpiece. People tend to notice if stuff like that goes missing.”
“Yeah, at least the pot plants were easy enough to explain away.”
“The only real problem now is Mrs Cranshaw’s knitting needle,” Ianto mused as he went back to cleaning. “I have no way of knowing if it was already bent before she tried to stab the Mushpek with it. I’ll just have to hope she won’t notice that I swapped the bent one with an identical one from her knitting bag. She’s got a lot of odd needles though.”
Watching his colleague work, Owen realised there was a lot more to cleanup than he’d ever imagined.
The End
Author: badly_knitted
Characters: Owen, Ianto, OCs.
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Nada.
Summary: Owen isn’t enjoying helping Ianto with cleanup, but it’s an enlightening experience.
Word Count: 1174
Written For: Prompt 216 - Meticulous at fandomweekly.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Torchwood, or the characters. They belong to the BBC.
To put it mildly, Owen wasn’t thrilled at having been left behind to assist Ianto with the cleanup while the rest of the team headed back to the Hub, especially since the Teaboy was always so finnicky when it came to details. Jonesy needed to have that stick forcibly removed from his arse; maybe then he’d lighten up a bit. Poking at something on the floor with the toe of his trainer, Owen scowled. Why him? He was a doctor; cleanup had never been in his job description, and now he was expected to play janitor!
A rather nasty little alien critter called a Mushpek had come through the Rift right in the middle of an elderly suburban couple’s living room while they were watching TV. Fortunately, the Torchwood team had arrived at the scene within fifteen minutes, mostly due to Jack breaking every driving law and speed limit in existence, and they’d been able to deal with the Mushpek while it was still disoriented from its abrupt and none to gentle relocation. That was a far better result than anyone had been expecting; Mushpek were extremely aggressive, carnivorous, and preferred eating their prey while it was still alive, so they’d half-expected to walk into a bloodbath.
As it was, the unwilling hosts had survived the encounter more or less intact, but the room now looked as if a tornado had passed through, with furniture overturned, strands of wiry Mushpek hair all over everything, two houseplants demolished, and the hearthrug shredded beyond recognition. Ianto had already scooped the rug’s remains into a black bag and dealt with the plants while the homeowners were being retconned into believing a stray cat had come in through the open window and knocked them off the windowsill. By now Ernest and Moira Cranshaw were tucked up in bed, deep in blissful, sedative-enhanced sleep. That had been the easy part, but now the rest of the room had to be set to rights.
“That armchair belongs over here,” Ianto directed, wielding an alien dust buster to collect more of the shed hair as Owen stood the chair upright. He paused his cleaning with an exasperated huff, glaring at his colleague. “Don’t drag it! You’ll leave marks in the carpet! Lift it!”
“What, I’m a ruddy furniture remover now?”
Ianto put one hand on his hip, that being all he currently had to work with. “You’re the one who told me I wasn’t to use my arm until it’s fully healed.” A poorly sedated Weevil had regained consciousness too soon the day before and tried to use Ianto’s left arm as a chew toy.
“Fine.” Owen lifted the heavy chair. “Here?”
“No, two inches forward, and an inch to the left.” Ianto squinted at the floor. “Then turn it five degrees clockwise… Another half inch towards me…”
“What the fuck does it matter?” Owen snapped, already fed up with Ianto’s micromanaging.
“There are indentations in the carpet where it usually stands.”
“So what?” Owen gasped; he was getting a bit breathless trying to hold the heavy chair up for so long.
“If it’s not put back in exactly the right place, Mr and Mrs Cranshaw might notice. Okay, set it down, carefully. Now, leaving the left front leg where it is, swivel the rest of the chair a couple more degrees clockwise. Without dragging it!”
“Jeez, I always thought you were a bit anal, but this is ridiculous! There’s such a thing as being too precise, y’know.”
“There’s also such a thing as not being precise enough. You think this job is easy? When carrying out a cleanup like this one, inside someone’s home, precision is important. If the furnishings aren’t in their usual spots, the Cranshaws might start wondering why, then they’ll start trying to figure out how things got moved when they’re sure they didn’t move them, and before you know it, they’ll have broken through the retcon and we’ll be right back at square one. You want to have that to deal with?”
Owen pulled a face. “Course not. How’s this?” He shifted the chair slightly, balanced on its left front leg.
“A smidge more.”
“Here?” Owen made a tiny adjustment.
“Yes, that’s good; you can put it down now.”
“Thank God for that. Bloody thing’s heavy. What next?”
Ianto wielded his dust buster, cleaning every strand of alien hair off the chair, even under the seat cushion before smiling at his colleague. “Now we have to deal with the sofa.” It had ended up tipped onto its back as the team had chased the Mushpek around the room.
“What!?”
“Relax, Owen, I don’t expect you to shift it by yourself, I still have one working arm. You take that end, just make sure to set the legs in their usual spots. I’ll handle this end.”
Between them, they got the sofa back on its feet and manoeuvred it carefully into position.
“There,” Ianto smiled in satisfaction. “That wasn’t so hard, was it? I usually get to do all this by myself. It’s a lot easier with an extra pair of hands.”
Owen tried to imagine having to clean the scene up by himself but couldn’t. For the first time, he felt some grudging sympathy for Ianto. “Sucks to be you.”
“Sometimes,” Ianto agreed, reaching for the dust buster, and sucking up more coarse ginger hairs. At least they showed up clearly on the furnishings. “The worst are the ones where there’s a lot of blood. Those can take hours, with cleaning products, odour neutralisers…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “This one’s relatively straightforward. We were lucky to get here so fast, luckier still that the living room door was closed so the Mushpek was contained. Imagine if the whole house had been in this state.”
Owen shuddered. “What’ll you do about the hearthrug though? Can’t put the old one back.”
“Oh, we got really fortunate there, the Cranshaws only bought it a couple of weeks ago, and it’s a popular pattern, readily available at several local stores. I’ve already sourced a replacement. Tosh said she’d pick it up and bring it over; should be here with it in about half an hour, and with any luck, we’ll be done by then.” Ianto gazed around the room. “Would have been much worse if the TV had been damaged, or if they’d had a bunch on knickknacks on the mantelpiece. People tend to notice if stuff like that goes missing.”
“Yeah, at least the pot plants were easy enough to explain away.”
“The only real problem now is Mrs Cranshaw’s knitting needle,” Ianto mused as he went back to cleaning. “I have no way of knowing if it was already bent before she tried to stab the Mushpek with it. I’ll just have to hope she won’t notice that I swapped the bent one with an identical one from her knitting bag. She’s got a lot of odd needles though.”
Watching his colleague work, Owen realised there was a lot more to cleanup than he’d ever imagined.
The End