Ficlet: Untitled
Untitled ficlet that was written between the Doctor Who episodes Stolen Earth and Journey's End.
The world is ending and he’s making coffee. Ianto’s sure that there is some kind of irony about the situation. Only it’s too hard to order his thoughts enough to work out if there is or if he’s even using the right word.
Gwen is still surfing through all the communications frequencies, trying to find something, anything, that might give them cause for hope.
However fearful the aliens that are attacking are, the thing that scares him more is Jack, or rather how Jack is dealing with the whole situation.
Jack is sat on the floor, just outside the archway down to the autopsy bay, his back against the wall. His eyes are half filled with tears, as he tries over and over again to reach somebody - the Doctor, Ianto suspects - on a mobile.
As UNIT’s surrender is broadcast over the radio, Ianto feels his hands start to shake, the mugs on the tray he’s holding rattle, threatening to spill and break. He barely has enough time to place the tray on the edge of the nearest workstation before his legs refuse to support him and drops down on the sofa behind him.
He’s numb, he can’t shout, or rage or even cry at the unfairness of it all. It’s come too close on the heels of losing Owen and Tosh.
There are no comforting words from Jack, no reassurances, none of Jack’s usual spiel about how this isn’t the end. In fact Jack hasn’t spoken since his call to Martha cut off.
Jack looks, for want of a better word, broken. Sat on the floor, still holding a phone that refuses to ring, his face streaked with tears. To see Jack like this is terrifying, this alone screams to him that this is it, this really is the end of the world and there will be no escape for any of them, not this time.
He just hopes he's wrong.
The world is ending and he’s making coffee. Ianto’s sure that there is some kind of irony about the situation. Only it’s too hard to order his thoughts enough to work out if there is or if he’s even using the right word.
Gwen is still surfing through all the communications frequencies, trying to find something, anything, that might give them cause for hope.
However fearful the aliens that are attacking are, the thing that scares him more is Jack, or rather how Jack is dealing with the whole situation.
Jack is sat on the floor, just outside the archway down to the autopsy bay, his back against the wall. His eyes are half filled with tears, as he tries over and over again to reach somebody - the Doctor, Ianto suspects - on a mobile.
As UNIT’s surrender is broadcast over the radio, Ianto feels his hands start to shake, the mugs on the tray he’s holding rattle, threatening to spill and break. He barely has enough time to place the tray on the edge of the nearest workstation before his legs refuse to support him and drops down on the sofa behind him.
He’s numb, he can’t shout, or rage or even cry at the unfairness of it all. It’s come too close on the heels of losing Owen and Tosh.
There are no comforting words from Jack, no reassurances, none of Jack’s usual spiel about how this isn’t the end. In fact Jack hasn’t spoken since his call to Martha cut off.
Jack looks, for want of a better word, broken. Sat on the floor, still holding a phone that refuses to ring, his face streaked with tears. To see Jack like this is terrifying, this alone screams to him that this is it, this really is the end of the world and there will be no escape for any of them, not this time.
He just hopes he's wrong.