Fic: Dashing Hero
Title: Dashing Hero
Author: badly_knitted
Characters: Ianto, Jack.
Rating: PG
Word Count: 946
Spoilers: Nada.
Summary: Jack is the biggest show-off Ianto has ever met.
Written For: Challenge 409: Show Off at fan_flashworks.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Torchwood, or the characters.
Jack was such a show-off, the dashing hero who always saved the day. It never seemed to bother him that Torchwood was supposed to be a secret organisation, and that being his dashingly heroic self usually led to a whole lot more people having to be retconned than might otherwise have been the case.
The trouble was, trying to persuade Jack to behave any other way was an exercise in futility. He’d been wearing this devil-may-care persona for well over a century, so long that by now he literally had no idea who he was when he wasn’t being Captain Jack Harkness, head of Torchwood’s Cardiff branch.
If he was being completely honest with himself, Ianto couldn’t actually imagine Jack being any other way. This was the Captain he’d captured a Pteranodon with, the man he’d started falling for the moment they’d found themselves rolling around on the warehouse floor. Jack had made a pretty big impression on him that day, and not just because he’d fallen into Ianto’s arms and knocked him flat on his back.
Still, the point remained that Jack drew far too much attention to himself. Ianto and Tosh were forever having to wipe CCTV footage of their Captain racing through the streets of Cardiff, his coat flying out behind him like a superhero’s cape. Between that and deleting photos from people’s social media accounts, it was a miracle they found time to do anything else.
“Couldn’t you, I don’t know, maybe tone things down a bit?” Ianto asked. He’d just spent two hours with Tosh deleting all the evidence of his lover’s daring battle with a couple of Uldarian mercenaries who had stumbled through the Rift from wherever they’d been doing whatever it was alien mercenaries did.
“What was I supposed to do, Ianto? Just let them rampage through Cardiff, killing anyone who got in their way?”
“No, of course not. But did you have to make such a spectacle of stopping them? Couldn’t you have just quietly knocked them out or something?”
“So much for you knowing everything,” Jack huffed. “You’ve never encountered an Uldarian, have you?”
“No, and there’s nothing about them in our database either. I checked.”
“Of course you did, you’re thorough like that. I would’ve been surprised if you hadn’t. For your information, it’s impossible to knock an Uldarian out; their skulls are so thick that conking them over the head has no effect, other than to make them angry. On top of that, they’re immune to all known sedatives and anaesthesia. It’s one of the reasons they make such good mercenaries; the only way to stop them is to kill them, and the only way to kill them is by penetrating their brains with something very sharp. That means either going through an eye, an ear cavity, or the mouth.”
“Which I suppose would account for the way you were dashing around the city wielding a rapier.” Ianto gave Jack a long-suffering look. “Where you even found one is beyond me.”
“It’s mine.” Jack beamed happily. “It’s a swordstick; I’ve had it since the late eighteen-hundreds.”
“You do know they’re illegal to carry in public, right? They count as a concealed weapon.”
“You’re going to quibble about legality when I just saved the good people of Cardiff from two lethal killing machines? What did you expect me to do, break out my bow and arrows and try to put one through a target less than an inch in diameter?” Uldarians had quite small eyes and ear cavities for their size. “My aim’s good, but not THAT good. No, the swordstick was the only practical weapon to use under the circumstances.”
“And you didn’t enjoy showing off your sword fighting skills even a little?” Ianto raised a sceptical eyebrow.
“I never said that. You’ve gotta admit I looked good, and I got the job done with the minimum of fuss.”
“Minimum? Your definition of the word obviously bears no resemblance to mine. We had to retcon seventeen people and rescue a traumatised Doberman. I had no idea they could climb trees.”
Jack shrugged. “Fear can be a strong motivating force. Primal instincts kick in.”
“Even so, it was impressive; it managed to get a good twenty feet up that Scots Pine. Anyway, that’s beside the point.” Realising he’d gone a bit off track, Ianto pulled himself back to the matter at hand. “Your swashbuckling act drew a lot of unwanted attention.”
“Hey, it wasn’t ALL my fault! I wasn’t alone out there, I was battling two seven-foot tall, armoured monsters.”
“Seven-foot tall? I helped bring the bodies back here; they were barely six-foot.”
“I was counting the horns. They’re not just for decoration you know; those things are sharp!”
As always in these situations, Jack had an answer for everything; Ianto knew when he was beaten. “Fine, you did what had to be done, but in future could you at least try not to draw so much attention to yourself? I don’t particularly enjoy searching for pictures of you online just so I can delete them.”
“You deleted all of them?” Jack actually had the nerve to pout.
Ianto rolled his eyes. “I’m an archivist; I saved copies first for our records, and a duplicate set for your personal files. I know you’ll want to review your sword fighting technique.”
“Thank you!” Jack swept Ianto into his arms and kissed him enthusiastically; what could Ianto do but go with it? Jack was a show-off, but he was Ianto’s show-off, and he was very good at the things he did. Ianto couldn’t really blame people for wanting to take photographs of the most dashing man in Cardiff.
The End
Author: badly_knitted
Characters: Ianto, Jack.
Rating: PG
Word Count: 946
Spoilers: Nada.
Summary: Jack is the biggest show-off Ianto has ever met.
Written For: Challenge 409: Show Off at fan_flashworks.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Torchwood, or the characters.
Jack was such a show-off, the dashing hero who always saved the day. It never seemed to bother him that Torchwood was supposed to be a secret organisation, and that being his dashingly heroic self usually led to a whole lot more people having to be retconned than might otherwise have been the case.
The trouble was, trying to persuade Jack to behave any other way was an exercise in futility. He’d been wearing this devil-may-care persona for well over a century, so long that by now he literally had no idea who he was when he wasn’t being Captain Jack Harkness, head of Torchwood’s Cardiff branch.
If he was being completely honest with himself, Ianto couldn’t actually imagine Jack being any other way. This was the Captain he’d captured a Pteranodon with, the man he’d started falling for the moment they’d found themselves rolling around on the warehouse floor. Jack had made a pretty big impression on him that day, and not just because he’d fallen into Ianto’s arms and knocked him flat on his back.
Still, the point remained that Jack drew far too much attention to himself. Ianto and Tosh were forever having to wipe CCTV footage of their Captain racing through the streets of Cardiff, his coat flying out behind him like a superhero’s cape. Between that and deleting photos from people’s social media accounts, it was a miracle they found time to do anything else.
“Couldn’t you, I don’t know, maybe tone things down a bit?” Ianto asked. He’d just spent two hours with Tosh deleting all the evidence of his lover’s daring battle with a couple of Uldarian mercenaries who had stumbled through the Rift from wherever they’d been doing whatever it was alien mercenaries did.
“What was I supposed to do, Ianto? Just let them rampage through Cardiff, killing anyone who got in their way?”
“No, of course not. But did you have to make such a spectacle of stopping them? Couldn’t you have just quietly knocked them out or something?”
“So much for you knowing everything,” Jack huffed. “You’ve never encountered an Uldarian, have you?”
“No, and there’s nothing about them in our database either. I checked.”
“Of course you did, you’re thorough like that. I would’ve been surprised if you hadn’t. For your information, it’s impossible to knock an Uldarian out; their skulls are so thick that conking them over the head has no effect, other than to make them angry. On top of that, they’re immune to all known sedatives and anaesthesia. It’s one of the reasons they make such good mercenaries; the only way to stop them is to kill them, and the only way to kill them is by penetrating their brains with something very sharp. That means either going through an eye, an ear cavity, or the mouth.”
“Which I suppose would account for the way you were dashing around the city wielding a rapier.” Ianto gave Jack a long-suffering look. “Where you even found one is beyond me.”
“It’s mine.” Jack beamed happily. “It’s a swordstick; I’ve had it since the late eighteen-hundreds.”
“You do know they’re illegal to carry in public, right? They count as a concealed weapon.”
“You’re going to quibble about legality when I just saved the good people of Cardiff from two lethal killing machines? What did you expect me to do, break out my bow and arrows and try to put one through a target less than an inch in diameter?” Uldarians had quite small eyes and ear cavities for their size. “My aim’s good, but not THAT good. No, the swordstick was the only practical weapon to use under the circumstances.”
“And you didn’t enjoy showing off your sword fighting skills even a little?” Ianto raised a sceptical eyebrow.
“I never said that. You’ve gotta admit I looked good, and I got the job done with the minimum of fuss.”
“Minimum? Your definition of the word obviously bears no resemblance to mine. We had to retcon seventeen people and rescue a traumatised Doberman. I had no idea they could climb trees.”
Jack shrugged. “Fear can be a strong motivating force. Primal instincts kick in.”
“Even so, it was impressive; it managed to get a good twenty feet up that Scots Pine. Anyway, that’s beside the point.” Realising he’d gone a bit off track, Ianto pulled himself back to the matter at hand. “Your swashbuckling act drew a lot of unwanted attention.”
“Hey, it wasn’t ALL my fault! I wasn’t alone out there, I was battling two seven-foot tall, armoured monsters.”
“Seven-foot tall? I helped bring the bodies back here; they were barely six-foot.”
“I was counting the horns. They’re not just for decoration you know; those things are sharp!”
As always in these situations, Jack had an answer for everything; Ianto knew when he was beaten. “Fine, you did what had to be done, but in future could you at least try not to draw so much attention to yourself? I don’t particularly enjoy searching for pictures of you online just so I can delete them.”
“You deleted all of them?” Jack actually had the nerve to pout.
Ianto rolled his eyes. “I’m an archivist; I saved copies first for our records, and a duplicate set for your personal files. I know you’ll want to review your sword fighting technique.”
“Thank you!” Jack swept Ianto into his arms and kissed him enthusiastically; what could Ianto do but go with it? Jack was a show-off, but he was Ianto’s show-off, and he was very good at the things he did. Ianto couldn’t really blame people for wanting to take photographs of the most dashing man in Cardiff.
The End