Fic: Compromising Positions (TW)
Title: Compromising Postitions
Author: ravenclaw42
Fandom: Torchwood
Rating: PG-13
Summary: From a fic-prompt meme. Prompt was "Cause the proof is in the Kodak."
Author's Notes: This is AU where none of the shitty things ever happened. You know the things I'm talking about. Pure silliness. And, you know, I only noticed in retrospect that I named the other two new TW members Meena and Bram. At least it wasn't Mina. *headdesk*
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Compromising Postitions
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George was positive he had them now. Torchwood Three was infamous for the funding it guzzled away to God-knew-what projects, the incidents of mass hysteria, memory loss and spontaneous orgies that sporadically seized the city of Cardiff, and - of course - it was infamous for its coat-flashing enigma of a leader.
George had worked hard to infiltrate this team, had made the cut alongside three others. The Cardiff team of five had gotten so strained under their growing workload that they had finally begun recruiting, and George was the Prime Minister's first choice for an inside man. George was good at his job. Damn good.
He had gathered masses of evidence of Torchwood's unprofessional behavior and flaunting of the rules. He had collected dozens of incriminating past case files that Captain Harkness had never shown to the P.M., having sent glossed-over briefs instead. He had documented unsafe storage practices of dangerous alien creatures. They had named a Weevil Janet and Dr. Harper brought it treats every morning, for God's sake! They allowed a pterodactyl to fly free over Cardiff at night! George had personally visited farmers north of the city to collect complaints of missing sheep.
He had them now. Tomorrow he'd slip away to London with his data on his weekend off. He'd have the Captain's ass in a sling, a grateful Prime Minister and a sealed deal career for the rest of his life.
George was alone in the Hub on night shift, checking through CCTV footage of the cells for more evidence of carelessness around the alien captives, when he flipped past the channel showing the boardroom. He nearly choked. Of course he knew Harkness was incorrigible and the thing with Jones was pretty obvious, but... but! This!
He ought to turn it off. He was going to turn it off any second now. Tinny moans coming through the speakers dried his throat - he cleared it and wiped his suddenly-damp palms on his knees. Wait, he'd thought he was alone! He glanced up at the glass front of the boardroom nervously. No shadows moving, but the glass was soundproof and he couldn't be sure. Shit. He could use this, though. More evidence of unprofessional behavior, right? It wouldn't hurt to record this... just a little.
Jones was more flexible than George would have thought. Damn. He cleared his throat again.
And then a throat cleared behind him, almost mockingly. George jumped and spun around - right into the barrel end of a revolver pointed at his head. His eyes went saucer-wide.
"This is sad," said Jack. "Are you the best they could find?"
George made a sound that he refused to admit was unmanly. Damn it.
"You can turn that video loop off now, Tosh," said Jones into his cell phone, standing demurely behind Jack's right shoulder. "Got him."
George found his voice. "I thought I was alone," he said, affronted.
Jack grinned broadly. "Never go up against me and Ianto in a game of hide and seek," he said cheerfully, gun still resting between George's eyes. He noticed George's eyes crossing to look at it. "Oh, I'm not going to shoot, it's just fun to watch you piss yourself. Ianto?"
"Indeed," said Ianto, not looking up while he fiddled with something on his PDA.
"You're awfully unconcerned about the, um," said George, "compromising position you've been caught in. I'll send this footage to the P.M."
Even Ianto grinned at that one. Jack laughed so hard George thought he might die of a hernia. Not that that would help George escape this nightmare. He knew he was red as a boiled lobster right now, and his hands were shaking with a combination of indignation and fear of the loose-canon Captain.
"Oh God," wheezed Jack. "Ianto, let's send the Minister a DVD gift basket. With toys. That would be amazing. Can we?"
"Better not," said Ianto. "It might damage him."
"Damn," said Jack. "Okay, George. Let's talk about compromising positions. You know those few hours missing from your memory of last Friday?"
George frowned.
Jack holstered his gun at last and leaned over George to pull up a different CCTV video from the archives.
"Well, we felt a bit bad for you because you were new and we didn't want you completely traumatized just yet, so we let you retcon yourself. But, you know. That DVD gift basket idea is still on the table. And I don't think you want the Prime Minister to see the effects of Kryllian wedding powder on his inside man."
George grew steadily paler as the footage played out. Oh God. There was Jack, and Tosh, and Meena, and Bram, and Dr. Harper. And Ianto, now. And. And oh God. George was more flexible than he'd thought he was.
Ianto, nonplussed by the video, said in a reassuring tone, "Dangers of the job. Don't blame yourself." He handed George a tumbler with two fingers of scotch. George downed it at once.
"Was there retcon in that?" Jack asked, and George's heart hiccupped uncomfortably at his own idiocy. Then again, he was pretty sure he wanted to forget this.
"No," said Ianto. "But it's an option. George?"
George whimpered and shook his head, mostly as a gesture of his utter failure to comprehend what was happening to him.
Jack slapped him on the back, beaming. "Welcome to Torchwood," said Jack.
Author: ravenclaw42
Fandom: Torchwood
Rating: PG-13
Summary: From a fic-prompt meme. Prompt was "Cause the proof is in the Kodak."
Author's Notes: This is AU where none of the shitty things ever happened. You know the things I'm talking about. Pure silliness. And, you know, I only noticed in retrospect that I named the other two new TW members Meena and Bram. At least it wasn't Mina. *headdesk*
---------
Compromising Postitions
---------
George was positive he had them now. Torchwood Three was infamous for the funding it guzzled away to God-knew-what projects, the incidents of mass hysteria, memory loss and spontaneous orgies that sporadically seized the city of Cardiff, and - of course - it was infamous for its coat-flashing enigma of a leader.
George had worked hard to infiltrate this team, had made the cut alongside three others. The Cardiff team of five had gotten so strained under their growing workload that they had finally begun recruiting, and George was the Prime Minister's first choice for an inside man. George was good at his job. Damn good.
He had gathered masses of evidence of Torchwood's unprofessional behavior and flaunting of the rules. He had collected dozens of incriminating past case files that Captain Harkness had never shown to the P.M., having sent glossed-over briefs instead. He had documented unsafe storage practices of dangerous alien creatures. They had named a Weevil Janet and Dr. Harper brought it treats every morning, for God's sake! They allowed a pterodactyl to fly free over Cardiff at night! George had personally visited farmers north of the city to collect complaints of missing sheep.
He had them now. Tomorrow he'd slip away to London with his data on his weekend off. He'd have the Captain's ass in a sling, a grateful Prime Minister and a sealed deal career for the rest of his life.
George was alone in the Hub on night shift, checking through CCTV footage of the cells for more evidence of carelessness around the alien captives, when he flipped past the channel showing the boardroom. He nearly choked. Of course he knew Harkness was incorrigible and the thing with Jones was pretty obvious, but... but! This!
He ought to turn it off. He was going to turn it off any second now. Tinny moans coming through the speakers dried his throat - he cleared it and wiped his suddenly-damp palms on his knees. Wait, he'd thought he was alone! He glanced up at the glass front of the boardroom nervously. No shadows moving, but the glass was soundproof and he couldn't be sure. Shit. He could use this, though. More evidence of unprofessional behavior, right? It wouldn't hurt to record this... just a little.
Jones was more flexible than George would have thought. Damn. He cleared his throat again.
And then a throat cleared behind him, almost mockingly. George jumped and spun around - right into the barrel end of a revolver pointed at his head. His eyes went saucer-wide.
"This is sad," said Jack. "Are you the best they could find?"
George made a sound that he refused to admit was unmanly. Damn it.
"You can turn that video loop off now, Tosh," said Jones into his cell phone, standing demurely behind Jack's right shoulder. "Got him."
George found his voice. "I thought I was alone," he said, affronted.
Jack grinned broadly. "Never go up against me and Ianto in a game of hide and seek," he said cheerfully, gun still resting between George's eyes. He noticed George's eyes crossing to look at it. "Oh, I'm not going to shoot, it's just fun to watch you piss yourself. Ianto?"
"Indeed," said Ianto, not looking up while he fiddled with something on his PDA.
"You're awfully unconcerned about the, um," said George, "compromising position you've been caught in. I'll send this footage to the P.M."
Even Ianto grinned at that one. Jack laughed so hard George thought he might die of a hernia. Not that that would help George escape this nightmare. He knew he was red as a boiled lobster right now, and his hands were shaking with a combination of indignation and fear of the loose-canon Captain.
"Oh God," wheezed Jack. "Ianto, let's send the Minister a DVD gift basket. With toys. That would be amazing. Can we?"
"Better not," said Ianto. "It might damage him."
"Damn," said Jack. "Okay, George. Let's talk about compromising positions. You know those few hours missing from your memory of last Friday?"
George frowned.
Jack holstered his gun at last and leaned over George to pull up a different CCTV video from the archives.
"Well, we felt a bit bad for you because you were new and we didn't want you completely traumatized just yet, so we let you retcon yourself. But, you know. That DVD gift basket idea is still on the table. And I don't think you want the Prime Minister to see the effects of Kryllian wedding powder on his inside man."
George grew steadily paler as the footage played out. Oh God. There was Jack, and Tosh, and Meena, and Bram, and Dr. Harper. And Ianto, now. And. And oh God. George was more flexible than he'd thought he was.
Ianto, nonplussed by the video, said in a reassuring tone, "Dangers of the job. Don't blame yourself." He handed George a tumbler with two fingers of scotch. George downed it at once.
"Was there retcon in that?" Jack asked, and George's heart hiccupped uncomfortably at his own idiocy. Then again, he was pretty sure he wanted to forget this.
"No," said Ianto. "But it's an option. George?"
George whimpered and shook his head, mostly as a gesture of his utter failure to comprehend what was happening to him.
Jack slapped him on the back, beaming. "Welcome to Torchwood," said Jack.