Mirror, Mirror [34/?]
Title: Mirror, Mirror
Rating: R [language and sexual situations]
Characters: Torchwood team, Torchwood team, PC Andy, Martha, Ten
Spoilers: Exit Wounds/Journey's End
Advisories: BDSM, polyamory, children, dark themes, MPreg references
Disclaimer: if you think this is even vaguely recognisable at this point...
Summary: A slip of the rift strands the Torchwood team... in Cardiff with the Torchwood team. There's nothing worse than getting on your own nerves.
**********
Torchwood being, well, Torchwood, Jack's employees appeared to have started a pool for the various disasters that might befall the doubled crew before some means was found to repatriate the extras. Jack scanned down the kitchen whiteboard, feeling his lips beginning to twitch in fond recognition of some truly devious intellects:
Owen snogging Owen in the autopsy room -- TH
Verified evidence of one or more parties successfully shagging their double(s) whilst of sound mind by Terrestrial standards -- IJ
Owen snogging Owen in the changing-room -- GH
Gwen (Harper) snogging the late Andy Davidson -- TS
Tosh, Tosh, Gwen and/or Gwen fighting seriously or otherwise in the rift-manipulator pool (jelly optional) -- AD
Owen snogging Owen in the hothouse with a lead pipe (sorry somebody had to) -- MJ-H
Andy snogging both Owens in the autopsy room or the wrong one by mistake -- GC
I do not find this at all amusing especially not the bets about me -- OH (the real one)
[and below this in the same handwriting, Oi, I'm just as real as you are, mate]
Also at the risk of biasing the results I would like to add a tenner to AD's wager -- OH (still the real one)
Rhys says he wants 'someone makes their other one go outside w/o trousers' -- GC
Dad snogging Owen in the car-park -- JOH
Jack wondered for a moment or so if an eight-year-old really had standing to enter a betting pool, then decided to add Unspecified complications that lead to Sexy Results -- CJH to the end of the list. "Would we get a bonus payout if Hilarity also Ensued?" Ianto asked, peering over his shoulder at the whiteboard.
"Doesn't count if you make it happen on purpose."
Ianto was looking too intently at the child in Jack's arms. Now he reached out to tilt up Geraint's chin with an oh-so-gentle gesture, meeting the puzzled blue gaze with half of its mate -- "Why do they live with you?"
Here we go. "We thought it would be best to give them a stable environment," Jack answered, keeping his voice carefully neutral.
"And not to my sister the chav?"
"We thought he'd rather not have had her and her family drawn into his troubles. -- Not the kids, I mean," he hastened to add as Ianto drew in a breath to object, "the Torchwood business. He wouldn't have wanted anything following them home to her."
Ianto actually seemed to be considering this on its merits. Finally a reluctant-looking nod. "What about their mother?"
"Died in childbirth." And put a lie-detector on me if you'd like... "No local family."
The tiniest, tiniest twitch past the mask, as if to acknowledge the dryness of this well of inquiry. "And so Torchwood looks after its own," Ianto said.
Jack shrugged, fending off Geraint's grab for his hair. "Wasn't any more trouble to have them in with ours, Rosie and Harriet like having more brothers to boss around," he said. "They're great kids."
Ianto raised his hand to touch Geraint's face again, looking to be searching out more traces of that resemblance that seemed so obvious to Jack. "Owen says you didn't retcon my family," he said, sounding as if he'd been considering this phenomenon for some while and it still wasn't entirely adding up to him. "You should have done, but... Thank you."
Jack shrugged again. "They deserve better than us," he said.
This actually won him a small smile before Ianto abruptly seemed to remember that he had some metaphorical bus to catch far, far away from Jack and withdrew himself hastily up the spiral stairs. And I thought ours was a tough nut to crack. Jack shook his head and steeled himself to go up to his office, where as he'd suspected he was greeted by a stack of reports from this latest only-at-Torchwood workplace safety incident, as well as one fuming Owen in full scrubs waiting at his desk. It looked like they were about to have another one of those conversations that began with something like your daughter, well, has to be 'cos she's the only one tall enough to reach the controls, yeah?, which in its most recent incarnation had led into signing a purchase order for a new autoclave. "She's been naming my rats again, Harkness."
"Martha's been encouraging her to explore her creative side," Jack said, trying to not grin at the medic's obvious distress.
"Yeah, well, now I have to explain to a six-year-old why Nibbles and Cheeser are being asked to make the ultimate sacrifice for science. Do you know how long it took me to infect them with that sample in the first place?"
Jack let him rant, feeling almost as if things had settled back to something like what passed for equilibrium around here. Which normality, not surprisingly, would stretch to include the field team staggering in battered to the sound of a Gwen demanding, plaintively, "Are we really this incompetent? Honestly?"
Rating: R [language and sexual situations]
Characters: Torchwood team, Torchwood team, PC Andy, Martha, Ten
Spoilers: Exit Wounds/Journey's End
Advisories: BDSM, polyamory, children, dark themes, MPreg references
Disclaimer: if you think this is even vaguely recognisable at this point...
Summary: A slip of the rift strands the Torchwood team... in Cardiff with the Torchwood team. There's nothing worse than getting on your own nerves.
**********
Torchwood being, well, Torchwood, Jack's employees appeared to have started a pool for the various disasters that might befall the doubled crew before some means was found to repatriate the extras. Jack scanned down the kitchen whiteboard, feeling his lips beginning to twitch in fond recognition of some truly devious intellects:
Owen snogging Owen in the autopsy room -- TH
Verified evidence of one or more parties successfully shagging their double(s) whilst of sound mind by Terrestrial standards -- IJ
Owen snogging Owen in the changing-room -- GH
Gwen (Harper) snogging the late Andy Davidson -- TS
Tosh, Tosh, Gwen and/or Gwen fighting seriously or otherwise in the rift-manipulator pool (jelly optional) -- AD
Owen snogging Owen in the hothouse with a lead pipe (sorry somebody had to) -- MJ-H
Andy snogging both Owens in the autopsy room or the wrong one by mistake -- GC
I do not find this at all amusing especially not the bets about me -- OH (the real one)
[and below this in the same handwriting, Oi, I'm just as real as you are, mate]
Also at the risk of biasing the results I would like to add a tenner to AD's wager -- OH (still the real one)
Rhys says he wants 'someone makes their other one go outside w/o trousers' -- GC
Dad snogging Owen in the car-park -- JOH
Jack wondered for a moment or so if an eight-year-old really had standing to enter a betting pool, then decided to add Unspecified complications that lead to Sexy Results -- CJH to the end of the list. "Would we get a bonus payout if Hilarity also Ensued?" Ianto asked, peering over his shoulder at the whiteboard.
"Doesn't count if you make it happen on purpose."
Ianto was looking too intently at the child in Jack's arms. Now he reached out to tilt up Geraint's chin with an oh-so-gentle gesture, meeting the puzzled blue gaze with half of its mate -- "Why do they live with you?"
Here we go. "We thought it would be best to give them a stable environment," Jack answered, keeping his voice carefully neutral.
"And not to my sister the chav?"
"We thought he'd rather not have had her and her family drawn into his troubles. -- Not the kids, I mean," he hastened to add as Ianto drew in a breath to object, "the Torchwood business. He wouldn't have wanted anything following them home to her."
Ianto actually seemed to be considering this on its merits. Finally a reluctant-looking nod. "What about their mother?"
"Died in childbirth." And put a lie-detector on me if you'd like... "No local family."
The tiniest, tiniest twitch past the mask, as if to acknowledge the dryness of this well of inquiry. "And so Torchwood looks after its own," Ianto said.
Jack shrugged, fending off Geraint's grab for his hair. "Wasn't any more trouble to have them in with ours, Rosie and Harriet like having more brothers to boss around," he said. "They're great kids."
Ianto raised his hand to touch Geraint's face again, looking to be searching out more traces of that resemblance that seemed so obvious to Jack. "Owen says you didn't retcon my family," he said, sounding as if he'd been considering this phenomenon for some while and it still wasn't entirely adding up to him. "You should have done, but... Thank you."
Jack shrugged again. "They deserve better than us," he said.
This actually won him a small smile before Ianto abruptly seemed to remember that he had some metaphorical bus to catch far, far away from Jack and withdrew himself hastily up the spiral stairs. And I thought ours was a tough nut to crack. Jack shook his head and steeled himself to go up to his office, where as he'd suspected he was greeted by a stack of reports from this latest only-at-Torchwood workplace safety incident, as well as one fuming Owen in full scrubs waiting at his desk. It looked like they were about to have another one of those conversations that began with something like your daughter, well, has to be 'cos she's the only one tall enough to reach the controls, yeah?, which in its most recent incarnation had led into signing a purchase order for a new autoclave. "She's been naming my rats again, Harkness."
"Martha's been encouraging her to explore her creative side," Jack said, trying to not grin at the medic's obvious distress.
"Yeah, well, now I have to explain to a six-year-old why Nibbles and Cheeser are being asked to make the ultimate sacrifice for science. Do you know how long it took me to infect them with that sample in the first place?"
Jack let him rant, feeling almost as if things had settled back to something like what passed for equilibrium around here. Which normality, not surprisingly, would stretch to include the field team staggering in battered to the sound of a Gwen demanding, plaintively, "Are we really this incompetent? Honestly?"