Fic: Clean up. Feed Myfanwy. File alien artefacts. (1/1)
Title: Clean up. Feed Myfanwy. File alien artefacts.
Rating: PG
Characters: Ianto, very brief mentions of the team
Word Count: ~470
Summary: Ianto's first day back at work after Cyberwoman
Disclaimer: I don’t own Torchwood, but I wouldn’t say no to a pet pterodactyl.
Authors Note:No idea where this came from. Unbeated.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Torchwood, but I wouldn’t say no to a pet pterodactyl.
Clean up. Feed Myfanwy. File alien artefacts.
The list of commands ran through his mind. A set of instructions, pre-programmed by the Captain. His tasks for his first day back.
Clean up. Feed Myfanwy. File alien artefacts.
He started on the first task. Robotically moving through a pre-set system, no thought process required. His mind was blank, no thoughts present, except for the cycle of instructions.
Clean up. Feed Myfanwy. File alien artefacts.
He dropped the empty pizza boxes and bottles of beer in the recycle bin, freezing temporarily as Owen stalked past, on his way to see the Captain.
Clean up. Feed Myfanwy. File alien artefacts.
He heard no sounds as he completed his first task. Failed to notice Gwen asking him if he was OK; did not see Owen drag her out of the kitchen, without a backward glance; did not register the Captain following his every move.
The first task was now complete. Automatically he moved onto the next one.
Feed Myfanwy. File alien artefact. Order Lunch.
The team all fell silent as he headed for the kitchen. Even the pterodactyl was eerily silent.
He didn’t notice.
Feed Myfanwy. File alien artefact. Order Lunch.
Ianto’s world was devoid all feeling and emotion.
No gratitude or relief.
No anger or pain.
Nothing.
Just a grey cloud; filtering out all the colours and life of the real world. Only the instructions, repeating their never-ending cycle, were processed.
Feed Myfanwy. File alien artefact. Order Lunch.
He reached for the bottle of BBQ sauce, used to cover the pterodactyl’s food.
The second his fingers touched the bottle, colours exploded in front of his eyes. Images raced through his mind of the last time he had seen the pterodactyl eat.
He saw metal, could hear people screaming. Two sets of hands had a vice-like grip on his arms; refusing to let him go. His hand ached from where it had made contact with another face.
The memories sped up, jumping from scene to scene.
Lisa begging him to fix her; a male face laughing, causing his heart to stand still; the cold metal jammed against his temple; their last Christmas before Canary Wharf.
His world was torn apart by the screams. Pre-historic screeches; terrified yells; howls which occupied his nightmares; all combining until he thought his head would explode.
He thought he could detect his own screams somewhere in the explosion of noise.
“Ianto.” The screams ceased; the voice was both comforting and terrifying at the same time.
“Ianto, look at me.” He felt firm hands on his face, forcing him to look back at frozen blue eyes; the same blue eyes that had haunted both his sleeping and waking hours.
The last thing he remembered was the gaze that thawed slightly, an almost undetectable shift, before his entire world went black.
Rating: PG
Characters: Ianto, very brief mentions of the team
Word Count: ~470
Summary: Ianto's first day back at work after Cyberwoman
Disclaimer: I don’t own Torchwood, but I wouldn’t say no to a pet pterodactyl.
Authors Note:No idea where this came from. Unbeated.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Torchwood, but I wouldn’t say no to a pet pterodactyl.
Clean up. Feed Myfanwy. File alien artefacts.
The list of commands ran through his mind. A set of instructions, pre-programmed by the Captain. His tasks for his first day back.
Clean up. Feed Myfanwy. File alien artefacts.
He started on the first task. Robotically moving through a pre-set system, no thought process required. His mind was blank, no thoughts present, except for the cycle of instructions.
Clean up. Feed Myfanwy. File alien artefacts.
He dropped the empty pizza boxes and bottles of beer in the recycle bin, freezing temporarily as Owen stalked past, on his way to see the Captain.
Clean up. Feed Myfanwy. File alien artefacts.
He heard no sounds as he completed his first task. Failed to notice Gwen asking him if he was OK; did not see Owen drag her out of the kitchen, without a backward glance; did not register the Captain following his every move.
The first task was now complete. Automatically he moved onto the next one.
Feed Myfanwy. File alien artefact. Order Lunch.
The team all fell silent as he headed for the kitchen. Even the pterodactyl was eerily silent.
He didn’t notice.
Feed Myfanwy. File alien artefact. Order Lunch.
Ianto’s world was devoid all feeling and emotion.
No gratitude or relief.
No anger or pain.
Nothing.
Just a grey cloud; filtering out all the colours and life of the real world. Only the instructions, repeating their never-ending cycle, were processed.
Feed Myfanwy. File alien artefact. Order Lunch.
He reached for the bottle of BBQ sauce, used to cover the pterodactyl’s food.
The second his fingers touched the bottle, colours exploded in front of his eyes. Images raced through his mind of the last time he had seen the pterodactyl eat.
He saw metal, could hear people screaming. Two sets of hands had a vice-like grip on his arms; refusing to let him go. His hand ached from where it had made contact with another face.
The memories sped up, jumping from scene to scene.
Lisa begging him to fix her; a male face laughing, causing his heart to stand still; the cold metal jammed against his temple; their last Christmas before Canary Wharf.
His world was torn apart by the screams. Pre-historic screeches; terrified yells; howls which occupied his nightmares; all combining until he thought his head would explode.
He thought he could detect his own screams somewhere in the explosion of noise.
“Ianto.” The screams ceased; the voice was both comforting and terrifying at the same time.
“Ianto, look at me.” He felt firm hands on his face, forcing him to look back at frozen blue eyes; the same blue eyes that had haunted both his sleeping and waking hours.
The last thing he remembered was the gaze that thawed slightly, an almost undetectable shift, before his entire world went black.