Mission 0003 - complete
Title: The Saat
Rating: PG
Fandom: Torchwood with tiny, tiny blink-and-you-miss-it Lovecraft reference.
Summary: Laughter! Woe! Neck fuzz! Jaffa Cakes!
Torchwood were having trouble.
The shiny-alien-arse-thing, as Owen insisted on calling it due to its shape and size, had crashed down in the sea on the 13th of February at about 3:02am. The team had fished it out by 5am. At 7am, everyone had finally stopped giggling. At 7:29am Ianto still held out hope that their research would turn up a species and use for it so they could give it a proper name.
At 7:30am Tosh worked out that it ought to open down the middle. Jack had to go and have a sit down. Ianto gave up hope of being allowed to call the capsule anything but the shiny-alien-arse-thing, or Saat for short.
The attempts to open it - and the arguments about whether they would all be poisoned by noxious space fumes if they did, which veered wildly between deadly serious shouting matches and fits of helpless giggles - began at 7:48am, after Jack had pulled himself together.
By 9pm that evening they had worked out that it would open with a code that seemed to be the equivalent of an alien crossword puzzle. Tosh called it Araucaria on speed. Alien speed, she added, which makes you able to see through the fabric of time and space and make linguistic connections that ordinary mortal minds could never dream of.
At 3:21pm on the 14th of February, all attempts to open the Saat had failed. Tosh loomed over an enormous piece of graph paper on the meeting room table, a red pen in one hand, a black pen in the other, and a green pencil clutched between her teeth like a particularly artistic pirate. Jack had taken to removing all the implements of unknown origin from the lockers and waving them at the thing in the hopes there would be a reaction - and he never put them back in the right places, no matter how many death-glares Ianto gave him. Gwen was on the phone to Rhys, who she claimed was a bit of a genius at crossword puzzles. Owen was at the pub.
And at 3:22pm the Torchwood kitchen ran out of milk. And tea. And coffee. And Jaffa Cakes. Ianto broke this news as gently as he could. As one, the rest of the team turned and gave him a look of utter desolation and heartbreak. He practically sprinted out of the door and down the street to the corner shop.
***
When he returned, Tosh threw herself at Ianto and grabbed him by the lapels of his jacket.
‘Did you get coffee?’ she demanded, shaking him.
‘Hello Ianto,’ said Ianto wobbliliy, ‘glad to see you back safe and -’
‘COFFEE.’ He handed over the packet and she ran off to the kitchen.
‘Jaffa cakes,’ he announced, walking into the meeting room and putting them down on the table.
‘Shh,’ said Gwen. ‘He’s asleep.’ She pointed across the table. Jack was sitting up in his chair, leaning over the Saat, but his eyes were shut and he was breathing deeply and heavily in that way that he always maintained with total certainty was absolutely not snoring. ‘Does he always snore?’ Gwen asked Ianto in an undertone, standing up and opening the packet of Jaffa Cakes.
‘Yes, but, don’t tell him I told you that,’ Ianto said, and went into the kitchen to put the kettle on. He skirted around Tosh, who was drinking coffee straight from the pot with a wild look in her eyes, and made four steaming milky cups of tea - on second thoughts, make that five, just in case Owen came back from the pub and needed sobering up.
He took two of them into the meeting room. Gwen took hers and started dunking Jaffa Cakes in it. Tosh waved him away frantically and muttered ‘coffee’.
He put the other cup of tea down next to Jack. His head was bent right down now, and his hair was sticking up on the back of his neck. It looked fuzzy. Ianto’s fingers twitched. He looked at Gwen and Tosh - Gwen was pacing up and down, stretching, and not paying attention, and Tosh was scribbling with both hands on the enormous page of calculations. She seemed to be cycling between English, Welsh, algebra, Chinese and Latin - sometimes mid-word.
Trying to look nonchalant and not at all inappropriate, Ianto reached up and ran his fingers through Jack’s fuzzy neck hair. It was soft and lovely and actually, they were all very tired and perhaps he just ought to suggest they all went to bed - specifically that Gwen and Tosh went home to their own beds -
‘Risiculum f’nar fhtagn percolosa cafienatum, shiny-alien-arse-thing!’ Tosh declaimed at the top of her voice, sitting bolt upright and throwing the remains of her coffee at the Saat.
Several things happened. Ianto leapt back, Jack woke up, yelped ‘I don’t snore!’ and knocked over his tea, Gwen who had just sat down again fell off her chair, the shiny-alien-arse-thing split open and something small, tentacly and rather cute peeked its head out of the crack. It looked up at Jack and went ‘mnip?’
Jack rubbed the back of his neck with one hand.
‘What the hell just happened?’
‘It needed… the coffee,’ said Tosh, and promptly fell off her chair and went to sleep on the floor.
The tentacly creature took a couple of wobbly steps, sniffed the air with its protruberances, and dived straight for the open box of Jaffa Cakes.
Ianto looked around at the spilt milk, and tea and coffee, and the storm of crumbs rising from the cardboard box in the middle of the table.
‘… I’ll just pop out to the shops again then,’ he said.
AN: I have no idea if non UK dwellers know what Jaffa Cakes are. Suffice to say they are made of love and joy and are an absolutely necessary item in most office kitchens I've been in...
Rating: PG
Fandom: Torchwood with tiny, tiny blink-and-you-miss-it Lovecraft reference.
Summary: Laughter! Woe! Neck fuzz! Jaffa Cakes!
Torchwood were having trouble.
The shiny-alien-arse-thing, as Owen insisted on calling it due to its shape and size, had crashed down in the sea on the 13th of February at about 3:02am. The team had fished it out by 5am. At 7am, everyone had finally stopped giggling. At 7:29am Ianto still held out hope that their research would turn up a species and use for it so they could give it a proper name.
At 7:30am Tosh worked out that it ought to open down the middle. Jack had to go and have a sit down. Ianto gave up hope of being allowed to call the capsule anything but the shiny-alien-arse-thing, or Saat for short.
The attempts to open it - and the arguments about whether they would all be poisoned by noxious space fumes if they did, which veered wildly between deadly serious shouting matches and fits of helpless giggles - began at 7:48am, after Jack had pulled himself together.
By 9pm that evening they had worked out that it would open with a code that seemed to be the equivalent of an alien crossword puzzle. Tosh called it Araucaria on speed. Alien speed, she added, which makes you able to see through the fabric of time and space and make linguistic connections that ordinary mortal minds could never dream of.
At 3:21pm on the 14th of February, all attempts to open the Saat had failed. Tosh loomed over an enormous piece of graph paper on the meeting room table, a red pen in one hand, a black pen in the other, and a green pencil clutched between her teeth like a particularly artistic pirate. Jack had taken to removing all the implements of unknown origin from the lockers and waving them at the thing in the hopes there would be a reaction - and he never put them back in the right places, no matter how many death-glares Ianto gave him. Gwen was on the phone to Rhys, who she claimed was a bit of a genius at crossword puzzles. Owen was at the pub.
And at 3:22pm the Torchwood kitchen ran out of milk. And tea. And coffee. And Jaffa Cakes. Ianto broke this news as gently as he could. As one, the rest of the team turned and gave him a look of utter desolation and heartbreak. He practically sprinted out of the door and down the street to the corner shop.
***
When he returned, Tosh threw herself at Ianto and grabbed him by the lapels of his jacket.
‘Did you get coffee?’ she demanded, shaking him.
‘Hello Ianto,’ said Ianto wobbliliy, ‘glad to see you back safe and -’
‘COFFEE.’ He handed over the packet and she ran off to the kitchen.
‘Jaffa cakes,’ he announced, walking into the meeting room and putting them down on the table.
‘Shh,’ said Gwen. ‘He’s asleep.’ She pointed across the table. Jack was sitting up in his chair, leaning over the Saat, but his eyes were shut and he was breathing deeply and heavily in that way that he always maintained with total certainty was absolutely not snoring. ‘Does he always snore?’ Gwen asked Ianto in an undertone, standing up and opening the packet of Jaffa Cakes.
‘Yes, but, don’t tell him I told you that,’ Ianto said, and went into the kitchen to put the kettle on. He skirted around Tosh, who was drinking coffee straight from the pot with a wild look in her eyes, and made four steaming milky cups of tea - on second thoughts, make that five, just in case Owen came back from the pub and needed sobering up.
He took two of them into the meeting room. Gwen took hers and started dunking Jaffa Cakes in it. Tosh waved him away frantically and muttered ‘coffee’.
He put the other cup of tea down next to Jack. His head was bent right down now, and his hair was sticking up on the back of his neck. It looked fuzzy. Ianto’s fingers twitched. He looked at Gwen and Tosh - Gwen was pacing up and down, stretching, and not paying attention, and Tosh was scribbling with both hands on the enormous page of calculations. She seemed to be cycling between English, Welsh, algebra, Chinese and Latin - sometimes mid-word.
Trying to look nonchalant and not at all inappropriate, Ianto reached up and ran his fingers through Jack’s fuzzy neck hair. It was soft and lovely and actually, they were all very tired and perhaps he just ought to suggest they all went to bed - specifically that Gwen and Tosh went home to their own beds -
‘Risiculum f’nar fhtagn percolosa cafienatum, shiny-alien-arse-thing!’ Tosh declaimed at the top of her voice, sitting bolt upright and throwing the remains of her coffee at the Saat.
Several things happened. Ianto leapt back, Jack woke up, yelped ‘I don’t snore!’ and knocked over his tea, Gwen who had just sat down again fell off her chair, the shiny-alien-arse-thing split open and something small, tentacly and rather cute peeked its head out of the crack. It looked up at Jack and went ‘mnip?’
Jack rubbed the back of his neck with one hand.
‘What the hell just happened?’
‘It needed… the coffee,’ said Tosh, and promptly fell off her chair and went to sleep on the floor.
The tentacly creature took a couple of wobbly steps, sniffed the air with its protruberances, and dived straight for the open box of Jaffa Cakes.
Ianto looked around at the spilt milk, and tea and coffee, and the storm of crumbs rising from the cardboard box in the middle of the table.
‘… I’ll just pop out to the shops again then,’ he said.
AN: I have no idea if non UK dwellers know what Jaffa Cakes are. Suffice to say they are made of love and joy and are an absolutely necessary item in most office kitchens I've been in...