Double Drabble: That's Torn It
Title: That's Torn It
Author: badly_knitted
Characters: Ianto, Jack, Team.
Rating: PG
Written For: Challenge 750: Split at tw100.
Spoilers: Nada.
Summary: Torchwood field missions are hell on Ianto’s dignity.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Torchwood, or the characters.
A/N: Double drabble.
In Ianto’s experience, dignity was often the first casualty on Torchwood missions, and it was usually his own that bore the brunt. Why should this occasion be any different? By now you’d think he’d be used to it, but somehow incidents like this always caught him by surprise.
The team hadn’t even been doing anything unusual, just trying to round up a Weevil that had gone walkabout from the sewers. It was February though, there’d been drizzling rain most of the day, and with the temperatures dropping after nightfall, patches of ice had formed, making the pavements treacherous for running.
The roads weren’t as bad, the rough tarmac providing a surer footing, but as Ianto had followed the Weevil across one street and into an alley, hard on Jack’s heels, he’d stepped on a patch of ice. His feet had shot off in different directions, he’d done the splits, and something else had split too. Dragging himself to his feet, he put his back to the wall.
Jack returned. “It got away. You okay?”
“Lend me your coat; I split my trousers.”
No way was he letting the others see the red lacy knickers Jack had persuaded him to wear.
The End
Author: badly_knitted
Characters: Ianto, Jack, Team.
Rating: PG
Written For: Challenge 750: Split at tw100.
Spoilers: Nada.
Summary: Torchwood field missions are hell on Ianto’s dignity.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Torchwood, or the characters.
A/N: Double drabble.
In Ianto’s experience, dignity was often the first casualty on Torchwood missions, and it was usually his own that bore the brunt. Why should this occasion be any different? By now you’d think he’d be used to it, but somehow incidents like this always caught him by surprise.
The team hadn’t even been doing anything unusual, just trying to round up a Weevil that had gone walkabout from the sewers. It was February though, there’d been drizzling rain most of the day, and with the temperatures dropping after nightfall, patches of ice had formed, making the pavements treacherous for running.
The roads weren’t as bad, the rough tarmac providing a surer footing, but as Ianto had followed the Weevil across one street and into an alley, hard on Jack’s heels, he’d stepped on a patch of ice. His feet had shot off in different directions, he’d done the splits, and something else had split too. Dragging himself to his feet, he put his back to the wall.
Jack returned. “It got away. You okay?”
“Lend me your coat; I split my trousers.”
No way was he letting the others see the red lacy knickers Jack had persuaded him to wear.
The End