Ficlet: Battered
Title: Battered
Author: badly_knitted
Characters: Ianto, Jack.
Rating: G
Spoilers: Nada
Summary: After a difficult day, Jack offers to cook dinner while Ianto rests.
Word Count: 500
Content Notes: None necessary.
Written For: Prompt 8: Bash at anythingdrabble.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Torchwood, or the characters.
It had been a rough day even by Torchwood standards, with the team repelling an invasion attempt by some very nasty aliens resembling bipedal armadillos with bad attitudes. The entire team were nursing minor injuries by the time the would-be invaders had been sent packing.
Pulling into the driveway of Ianto’s small house, Jack helped his lover out of the car and supported him as he limped wearily up the path to the front door and inside.
“I just hope they don’t return to take another bash at invading,” Ianto sighed as Jack lowered him to the sofa and lifted his sprained ankle gently onto the footstool. “Not sure we’d survive a second attempt.”
“They won’t dare come back,” Jack assured him. “They thought earth would be an easy target, but now they know better. Why don’t you take it easy while I fix us something to eat? Pie and mash sound good?”
“Perfect.” Ianto smiled up at Jack. “Turn the telly on?”
Jack did as requested, passed Ianto the remote, and vanished into the kitchen. Over the sound of the TV, Ianto could hear Jack bustling about, opening and closing cupboards, turning on the cooker, clattering saucepans, rummaging in the freezer…
He must have dozed off for a bit, because he was abruptly woken by a loud banging coming from the kitchen.
“Jack?”
There was no reply, but the banging continued. Ianto slid his bad foot off the stool and levered himself up off the sofa, feeling abused muscles protesting throughout his body. Holding on to whatever was available, he hobbled across the living room and into the kitchen, wondering if he should draw his gun.
Standing at the kitchen counter, Jack was bashing something with Ianto’s wooden rolling pin.
“What on earth are you doing?”
Jack spun around, startled, rolling pin in one hand and a plastic bag in the other. “Ianto! I didn’t hear you come in!”
“That’s hardly surprising, considering the racket you were making.”
“Oh. Sorry, I just thought we could have some mixed veg with our dinner, but it’s all frozen into one lump.” Turning away, he set the bag back down on the counter and started to bash it with the rolling pin again, clearly not having much success.
Ianto shook his head. “Give me that.” He reached for the bag of frozen vegetables, narrowly avoiding getting his hand whacked with the rolling pin. “Oi, careful! Last thing I need today is broken fingers.”
“Sorry,” Jack apologised again, quickly setting the rolling pin aside.
Picking up the bag, Ianto checked it hadn’t split, then gripped the top and whacked it a couple of times against the edge of the worktop before handing it to Jack. “That should do it.”
“You’re a genius!” Jack beamed at him, taking the lid off the saucepan and dumping a generous amount of veg into the boiling water.
“Of course I am. I know everything,” Ianto agreed, limping back to the living room to wait for his dinner.
The End
Author: badly_knitted
Characters: Ianto, Jack.
Rating: G
Spoilers: Nada
Summary: After a difficult day, Jack offers to cook dinner while Ianto rests.
Word Count: 500
Content Notes: None necessary.
Written For: Prompt 8: Bash at anythingdrabble.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Torchwood, or the characters.
It had been a rough day even by Torchwood standards, with the team repelling an invasion attempt by some very nasty aliens resembling bipedal armadillos with bad attitudes. The entire team were nursing minor injuries by the time the would-be invaders had been sent packing.
Pulling into the driveway of Ianto’s small house, Jack helped his lover out of the car and supported him as he limped wearily up the path to the front door and inside.
“I just hope they don’t return to take another bash at invading,” Ianto sighed as Jack lowered him to the sofa and lifted his sprained ankle gently onto the footstool. “Not sure we’d survive a second attempt.”
“They won’t dare come back,” Jack assured him. “They thought earth would be an easy target, but now they know better. Why don’t you take it easy while I fix us something to eat? Pie and mash sound good?”
“Perfect.” Ianto smiled up at Jack. “Turn the telly on?”
Jack did as requested, passed Ianto the remote, and vanished into the kitchen. Over the sound of the TV, Ianto could hear Jack bustling about, opening and closing cupboards, turning on the cooker, clattering saucepans, rummaging in the freezer…
He must have dozed off for a bit, because he was abruptly woken by a loud banging coming from the kitchen.
“Jack?”
There was no reply, but the banging continued. Ianto slid his bad foot off the stool and levered himself up off the sofa, feeling abused muscles protesting throughout his body. Holding on to whatever was available, he hobbled across the living room and into the kitchen, wondering if he should draw his gun.
Standing at the kitchen counter, Jack was bashing something with Ianto’s wooden rolling pin.
“What on earth are you doing?”
Jack spun around, startled, rolling pin in one hand and a plastic bag in the other. “Ianto! I didn’t hear you come in!”
“That’s hardly surprising, considering the racket you were making.”
“Oh. Sorry, I just thought we could have some mixed veg with our dinner, but it’s all frozen into one lump.” Turning away, he set the bag back down on the counter and started to bash it with the rolling pin again, clearly not having much success.
Ianto shook his head. “Give me that.” He reached for the bag of frozen vegetables, narrowly avoiding getting his hand whacked with the rolling pin. “Oi, careful! Last thing I need today is broken fingers.”
“Sorry,” Jack apologised again, quickly setting the rolling pin aside.
Picking up the bag, Ianto checked it hadn’t split, then gripped the top and whacked it a couple of times against the edge of the worktop before handing it to Jack. “That should do it.”
“You’re a genius!” Jack beamed at him, taking the lid off the saucepan and dumping a generous amount of veg into the boiling water.
“Of course I am. I know everything,” Ianto agreed, limping back to the living room to wait for his dinner.
The End