Torchwood FF: Two minutes, thirty-six seconds (Team gen, PG-13, spoilers for The Sound of Drums)
Title: Two minutes, thirty-six seconds
Fandom: Torchwood
Characters: Ianto, Owen, Tosh, Gwen
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Missing-scene
Length: 750 words
Disclaimer: All belongs to RTD and the BBC.
Spoilers: S1 of Torchwood, episode 3.12 of NewWho - The Sound of Drums
Summary: Phones may not work, but the Torchwood network is accessible from anywhere.
AN: This was not what I meant to write today. I was meant to be figuring out whether to finish the Owen/Ianto even if it won't comply with Jack canon in S3 of Who. But then I finally got to watch The Sound of Drums, and this happened instead...
Mountain climbing was not Ianto’s idea of a good time. Honestly, he suspected this was punishment of some kind, combined with their collective inability to say no to Britain’s newly elected leader. But the man had smiled (with far too many teeth, now Ianto came to think of it again) and explained about a hole in space and time. And - the crucial part, lest anyone think otherwise - a man in period military apparently stepping through it. “Brings it under your jurisdiction, doesn’t it?” the Prime Minister had asked. It didn’t, actually, but the damage had been done.
So here they were, freezing, and halfway up a mountain.
Owen was complaining about frostbite, and explaining the symptoms in graphic detail. There was a slim possibility that Owen was in fact making sure that none of them had frostbite, but Ianto wasn’t sure this was the best way to go about it. Owen had never had a good bedside manner. Then again, he did have three potential patients who were now so afraid of things going black and falling off that they were extremely well wrapped up. It was all about priorities.
One of Tosh’s scanners blinked, once, and a green LED lit up without fanfare. Ianto opened the laptop it was attached to. She had erected the dish when they had made camp, and he connected easily to the network and logged in. He wasn’t alone.
Torchwood I.D.s were randomly generated numbers, so they couldn’t be traced back to names. But there were only six active members now, and Ianto knew each number by heart. Somewhere, Captain Jack Harkness had logged onto the Torchwood network.
“Tosh,” he whispered.
“What is it?”
“Look at this.”
She crept alongside him, bundled up against the cold, but curious still.
He pointed at the online log.
“Is that…?” At his nod, she did what he had not thought of, and stabbed at the keyboard, at the button which would open the online chat. Clumsy fingers, wrapped in thermal gear, made her miss the key. Like he had known they were watching, Jack logged off.
“Bring him back!” Tosh said, irrationally. As if Ianto would have chosen this fleeting contact, this less than contact, for their proof he was still alive.
She had spoken too loudly, and Gwen and Owen looked up. Gwen stood quickly, and Owen was already reaching for his gun, peering around the campsite. “What?” Owen snapped.
“Jack was there,” Tosh said.
Ianto expected a comment about snow-blindness and hallucination, or aspersions against their sanity, but Owen looked over their heads like Jack just walking up to them in the snow was not at all unlikely. The way they all thought about him, secretly, like Jack could do anything he wanted. The way they would never find him by looking, not if he didn’t want to be found, but did it anyway.
“Where?” Gwen asked, her eyes bright again, after days of no sleep and no luck.
Tosh pointed at the screen. “He logged on.”
Gwen sat down heavily beside them, and Owen leant over the laptop, one hand braced on Ianto’s shoulder.
“You’re sure?” “What did he do?” Gwen and Owen asked simultaneously.
Ianto nodded, and Tosh clicked on the record, drawn out of her shock by a task she knew she could accomplish. An IP address, time spent (two minutes thirty-six seconds) and a record of uploads and downloads.
“He’s in London,” Tosh said. “Checking his email.”
Owen snorted, and Gwen laughed with a touch of that always-worrying hysteria. Ianto tapped the back of Tosh’s hand and asked, “What did he download?”
She looked at him over the top of her glasses, implying that perhaps Gwen wasn’t the only one with the touch of madness, but opened the file. A woman, blonde and well-dressed, told them that she was dead. That the world was in danger. That the Prime Minister had caused it. On the other side of the world (but on the same world, at the same time, back with them), Jack had been given a mission.
“Son of a bitch.” Owen turned away from them. “Son of a fucking bitch.”
“Owen?” Tosh asked carefully.
“He got rid of us.”
“Jack?”
“No, not Jack! Saxon! If Jack wasn’t there…”
“No one would ever have got this message.”
“Why was he even…?” Gwen asked. “What’s he doing in London? Why didn’t he…?”
Tosh shut the laptop hurriedly, and began to detach the equipment. Owen put out the campfire, and Ianto started to dismantle the tents they had put up less than two hours before. The woman had called out to them and Jack had gone to help. “We need to get back.”
AN2: Yes, two minutes thirty-six seconds is an arbitary amount of time, sorry. It seemed close enough, given that immediately after they hear the message the Doctor takes the computer apart!
Fandom: Torchwood
Characters: Ianto, Owen, Tosh, Gwen
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Missing-scene
Length: 750 words
Disclaimer: All belongs to RTD and the BBC.
Spoilers: S1 of Torchwood, episode 3.12 of NewWho - The Sound of Drums
Summary: Phones may not work, but the Torchwood network is accessible from anywhere.
AN: This was not what I meant to write today. I was meant to be figuring out whether to finish the Owen/Ianto even if it won't comply with Jack canon in S3 of Who. But then I finally got to watch The Sound of Drums, and this happened instead...
Mountain climbing was not Ianto’s idea of a good time. Honestly, he suspected this was punishment of some kind, combined with their collective inability to say no to Britain’s newly elected leader. But the man had smiled (with far too many teeth, now Ianto came to think of it again) and explained about a hole in space and time. And - the crucial part, lest anyone think otherwise - a man in period military apparently stepping through it. “Brings it under your jurisdiction, doesn’t it?” the Prime Minister had asked. It didn’t, actually, but the damage had been done.
So here they were, freezing, and halfway up a mountain.
Owen was complaining about frostbite, and explaining the symptoms in graphic detail. There was a slim possibility that Owen was in fact making sure that none of them had frostbite, but Ianto wasn’t sure this was the best way to go about it. Owen had never had a good bedside manner. Then again, he did have three potential patients who were now so afraid of things going black and falling off that they were extremely well wrapped up. It was all about priorities.
One of Tosh’s scanners blinked, once, and a green LED lit up without fanfare. Ianto opened the laptop it was attached to. She had erected the dish when they had made camp, and he connected easily to the network and logged in. He wasn’t alone.
Torchwood I.D.s were randomly generated numbers, so they couldn’t be traced back to names. But there were only six active members now, and Ianto knew each number by heart. Somewhere, Captain Jack Harkness had logged onto the Torchwood network.
“Tosh,” he whispered.
“What is it?”
“Look at this.”
She crept alongside him, bundled up against the cold, but curious still.
He pointed at the online log.
“Is that…?” At his nod, she did what he had not thought of, and stabbed at the keyboard, at the button which would open the online chat. Clumsy fingers, wrapped in thermal gear, made her miss the key. Like he had known they were watching, Jack logged off.
“Bring him back!” Tosh said, irrationally. As if Ianto would have chosen this fleeting contact, this less than contact, for their proof he was still alive.
She had spoken too loudly, and Gwen and Owen looked up. Gwen stood quickly, and Owen was already reaching for his gun, peering around the campsite. “What?” Owen snapped.
“Jack was there,” Tosh said.
Ianto expected a comment about snow-blindness and hallucination, or aspersions against their sanity, but Owen looked over their heads like Jack just walking up to them in the snow was not at all unlikely. The way they all thought about him, secretly, like Jack could do anything he wanted. The way they would never find him by looking, not if he didn’t want to be found, but did it anyway.
“Where?” Gwen asked, her eyes bright again, after days of no sleep and no luck.
Tosh pointed at the screen. “He logged on.”
Gwen sat down heavily beside them, and Owen leant over the laptop, one hand braced on Ianto’s shoulder.
“You’re sure?” “What did he do?” Gwen and Owen asked simultaneously.
Ianto nodded, and Tosh clicked on the record, drawn out of her shock by a task she knew she could accomplish. An IP address, time spent (two minutes thirty-six seconds) and a record of uploads and downloads.
“He’s in London,” Tosh said. “Checking his email.”
Owen snorted, and Gwen laughed with a touch of that always-worrying hysteria. Ianto tapped the back of Tosh’s hand and asked, “What did he download?”
She looked at him over the top of her glasses, implying that perhaps Gwen wasn’t the only one with the touch of madness, but opened the file. A woman, blonde and well-dressed, told them that she was dead. That the world was in danger. That the Prime Minister had caused it. On the other side of the world (but on the same world, at the same time, back with them), Jack had been given a mission.
“Son of a bitch.” Owen turned away from them. “Son of a fucking bitch.”
“Owen?” Tosh asked carefully.
“He got rid of us.”
“Jack?”
“No, not Jack! Saxon! If Jack wasn’t there…”
“No one would ever have got this message.”
“Why was he even…?” Gwen asked. “What’s he doing in London? Why didn’t he…?”
Tosh shut the laptop hurriedly, and began to detach the equipment. Owen put out the campfire, and Ianto started to dismantle the tents they had put up less than two hours before. The woman had called out to them and Jack had gone to help. “We need to get back.”
AN2: Yes, two minutes thirty-six seconds is an arbitary amount of time, sorry. It seemed close enough, given that immediately after they hear the message the Doctor takes the computer apart!