for alien_catcher An average day at Torchwood 3
There's no such thing as an average day for Torchwood.
A day might be spent cleaning up after a Weevil that broke free of the sewers and decided to go on a killing rampage across Grangetown, or hunting down a shopkeeper in Llandaff who discovered a device that made everyone do as he said (and that one was a particularly long day, especially when he started hooking in the team themselves).
Or it could be worse than that. Something almost unbearable. A day where they sit in the Hub and nothing goes wrong.
A day where they had to get caught up with the dreaded paperwork.
A day like this one.
Jack sat at the desk in his office with a pile of paperwork he ought to have sifted through at least a month ago. It isn't even that he was bad at it or missed things out, it was just that he'd just rather be out there being the action man than the man behind the desk dotting his Is and crossing his Ts.
It was 6:30pm, time enough for any regular (whatever that meant) working office to be packing up and going home. But Jack barely thought about it. He lived here after all; Torchwood was his life and sometimes he could forget that might not be the same for everyone else.
His eyes flickered from the paperwork on his desk to the open programme on his computer screen. A rift monitor, registering... just about nothing.
He sighed. He'd almost prefer the world falling apart.
A day might be spent cleaning up after a Weevil that broke free of the sewers and decided to go on a killing rampage across Grangetown, or hunting down a shopkeeper in Llandaff who discovered a device that made everyone do as he said (and that one was a particularly long day, especially when he started hooking in the team themselves).
Or it could be worse than that. Something almost unbearable. A day where they sit in the Hub and nothing goes wrong.
A day where they had to get caught up with the dreaded paperwork.
A day like this one.
Jack sat at the desk in his office with a pile of paperwork he ought to have sifted through at least a month ago. It isn't even that he was bad at it or missed things out, it was just that he'd just rather be out there being the action man than the man behind the desk dotting his Is and crossing his Ts.
It was 6:30pm, time enough for any regular (whatever that meant) working office to be packing up and going home. But Jack barely thought about it. He lived here after all; Torchwood was his life and sometimes he could forget that might not be the same for everyone else.
His eyes flickered from the paperwork on his desk to the open programme on his computer screen. A rift monitor, registering... just about nothing.
He sighed. He'd almost prefer the world falling apart.