I'd rather like to do one of these for all of the days... Fat chance of that happening.
Because I adore setting myself challenges I can't possibly succeed at;
horizonssing! The first challenge: Day One.
Title: Mild Climate
Author:
consequential0/Amy
Rating: let's be safe and say... T
Disclaimer: RTD and the Beeb own Torchwood and all associated characters. The United Kingdom owns its terrible weather.
Summary: It's the hottest day of the year so far.
Spoilers: Set post-Exit Wounds, but with none of that angst stuff. I wanted to do something light-hearted.
"Summer afternoon - summer afternoon; to me those have always been the two most beautiful words in the English language." - Henry James
Technically, the British climate is mild. Neither too hot nor too cold, too wet nor too dry, few to no natural disasters (that weren't actually cover-ups for alien-related chaos)... technically, if you didn't mind exchanging glorious sunshine for grey, gloomy rain clouds and fresh winter snow for dirty slush and some sneakily placed black ice, Britain was an ideal place to live, work, reproduce, invade, etcetera.
Unless, of course, you happened to work in an underground base in the middle of a bustling city, and the nature of the job meant that you really, really couldn't pop out for ten minutes for a breather. And wouldn't that be unfortunate?
Ianto stood at the desk in the tourist office, glaring resentfully at each and every person to enter; should they have dared go outside, where there was shade and a light breeze and it wasn't so swelteringly hot that your collar was starting to form a molecular bond with your skin.
On an unrelated topic, it was amazing how quickly these people left after entering the office. Some didn't even get one foot in before deciding that maybe they should spend a few more hours looking for tourist destination of choice. Incredible, really.
Gwen had come up, and assured him that it wasn't any cooler down in the central hub. In fact, she said, trying to un-stick her fringe from her forehead, the humidity had destroyed any chance of the damp concrete lessening the heat. Also, Myfanwy might have died, but Gwen didn't fancy getting close enough to find out. Ianto raised an eyebrow.
“And Jack?”
Gwen bit her lip. “He might have died too. Or he's just passed out. Hard to tell.”
“Did you try waking him up?”
“Well...”
“Well?” He prompted. Gwen avoided his gaze.
“Well, if he is just sleeping and I woke him up, he'd probably complain that I'd taken both fans.”
It was rather amazing, Gwen decided. Ianto's death glare was more impressive than she'd really have thought possible. Nought-to-neurotic in ten seconds. “Is, er, something wrong Ianto?” She enquired uncertainly - and wondered if there were any sharp objects in the Tourist office.
“Both fans?” He repeated icily. Gwen looked around the absolutely melting, and distinctly fan-less room.
“Ah. Oh. I'll, um, I'll just go and bring one up for you, shall I?”
“Gwen?”
“Yes?”
“If Jack isn't dead, d'you mind killing him for me?”
“Yeah, of course.” 'Rather him than me,' went unspoken.
Myfanwy, as fate would have it, was not dead. On the other hand, she was very irritable. As Ianto went to leave her meal, she shot him a glare through one, half-opened eye, which said - quite clearly - that if she had the energy he would so be pteranodon food right now. With new-found energy, Ianto walked hastily away from her nest.
Jack had also escaped Death's bony clutches to live for another day, and he was dealing with it about as well as Myfanwy. He wiped his brow, and grimaced at Ianto.
“Y'know, it's really weird... but I'm sure that an hour or so ago, there was a fan in here.”
“Yes, that is weird,” Ianto dead-panned back. “What's even more peculiar is that this morning, the other fan was broken. And that I ought to relinquish the one in the tourist office for the sake of humanity.”
Jack had the grace to look sheepish. “Sorry. It was either that or the morgue.”
“The latter is still a possibility. Sir.” A small, polite, and completely passive smile. Oh, he was good. Jack smirked.
“Is that a threat, Ianto Jones?” He drawled lazily, leaning back on his chair and cringing slightly as his damp shirt clung to his back.
“Oh, I'm sure I couldn't say.”
Jack stood up, and leaned his head towards Ianto. “Well, I'm sure you've noticed that I have... ways of making you talk.” With an almost identical smirk to Jack's, Ianto drew his head ever so slightly away, and let out a theatrical sigh.
“I suppose we could--”
“Jack! Ianto! Weevils!”
Weevil-hunting. A trivial chore sometimes, a dangerous mission others. It was fair to say that in the whole history of Torchwood, there had never been more enthusiasm to get out and catch some weevils. Not even when they'd been monitoring something for hours and weevil-hunting felt like a well-deserved break. Not even when weevil-hunting was a euphemism for something else entirely.
And unfortunately, it would be necessary for someone to stay behind and monitor the rift. The three of them eyed each other warily.
“How should we decide?” Gwen asked, already wondering whether a good-old doe-eyes would soften them any. Probably not. Damn.
“Naked hide-and-seek?” Jack suggested, his eyes glinting. Gwen and Ianto looked at one another, and said simultaneously,
“You cheat.”
“Rock, paper, scissors?” Ianto suggested. Gwen nodded in approval, but Jack narrowed his eyes.
“Those are office supplies. You'd have an unfair advantage.”
“And of course, we'd have the problem of you getting over-excited,” Ianto retorted dryly. Gwen eyed them curiously, but did not push it any further.
“Draw names out of a hat?” She said instead, shrugging.
“Do any of us have a hat?”
“I guess we could always go out and buy one...”
“Or,” Jack said, extending his arms enthusiastically. “We could have a fight. With naked wrestling. And mud.”
“Or not.”
“Or not,” Gwen agreed fervently. “Some of us are married, and some... should do it in their own time.” Ianto turned to her.
“Oh, thank you. He's not going to let that one go now.”
“Sorry!”
In the end, no games, sexy or otherwise, were used to decide. They'd carried out their discussion-slash-argument over to the conference room, and it was then that Jack noticed the way Gwen was walking.
“Hey! You got a bit of a limp there, Gwen?” Gwen looked down nervously at her left foot, and shook it unconvincingly.
“That? No! Just a some pins-and-needles. Nothing to worry about.”
“So,” Ianto said, “definitely not from you twisting your ankle the other day?”
Gwen glowered at him. Jack, however, smiled gleefully.
“Gee, that sounds pretty debilitating. What do you think, Ianto?” Avoiding Gwen's eyes, Ianto replied,
“I'm sure it's in the rules. Somewhere. No going out on potentially dangerous missions when injured. Definitely rings a bell.”
Gwen let out an outraged hiss. “I stubbed my toe bringing up that damn fan! It is not debilitating, and I am not injured!”
Jack stroked her hair fondly. “We only have your best interests at heart, Gwen. Don't take it personally.”
“Alright, Gwen, we're about to set off. You ready?” Gwen nodded curtly, eyes down and mouth in an uncharacteristically ferocious frown. Jack gave Ianto a nervous smile before walking off to the SUV. Ianto, feeling quite sympathetic, asked,
“Do you want anything bringing back?”
“Six feet of snow?” Gwen replied sarcastically. “Your heads on a stick? Or...” She smiled slightly. “A magnum would be nice. White chocolate.” Ianto nodded, and waving goodbye, followed Jack out of the Hub.
The weevil had been absurdly easy to deal with. It seemed that even the weevils had been too badly affected by the heat to do much, and this one had only come out to give them something to do. Very courteous, really. And with weevil-hunting over, Jack and Ianto were participating in some well deserved 'weevil-hunting'. Currently, they were carrying out their hunt in the front of the SUV, and Ianto's shirt had already proven a casualty.
“Pity,” he said breathlessly as Jack's tongue traced curves and swirls along the length of his neck. “I rather liked that shirt.” Jack looked up at him.
“Yeah, me too,” he commented, eyeing the impressive tear along one side. “But-”
“You like me better out of it?” Ianto suggested. Jack laughed, and drew him into a kiss.
“Actually, I think I prefer you in it.”
“Oh, my poor delicate ego. However will it cope,” Ianto said smoothly, raising one eyebrow impeccably. Jack was sure he had to practice that in front of the mirror. Seriously.
“I can think of a few ways,” he commented.
Needless to say, 'weevil-hunting' took a couple of hours.
“Jack?”
“Yeah, Ianto?”
“I think Gwen's ice-cream's melted.”
Jack poked the plastic packaging. It definitely put up less resistance than a semi-solid ice-cream ought to.
“Oh, come on. Melted ice-creams? That's practically a tradition for summer afternoons.”
“And saving Cardiff citizens from escaped aliens?”
“Ianto, I propose a new summer tradition.”
And this was my first non-drabble Torchwood fic. I feel curiously satisfied now. :)
horizonssing! The first challenge: Day One.
Title: Mild Climate
Author:
consequential0/Amy
Rating: let's be safe and say... T
Disclaimer: RTD and the Beeb own Torchwood and all associated characters. The United Kingdom owns its terrible weather.
Summary: It's the hottest day of the year so far.
Spoilers: Set post-Exit Wounds, but with none of that angst stuff. I wanted to do something light-hearted.
"Summer afternoon - summer afternoon; to me those have always been the two most beautiful words in the English language." - Henry James
Technically, the British climate is mild. Neither too hot nor too cold, too wet nor too dry, few to no natural disasters (that weren't actually cover-ups for alien-related chaos)... technically, if you didn't mind exchanging glorious sunshine for grey, gloomy rain clouds and fresh winter snow for dirty slush and some sneakily placed black ice, Britain was an ideal place to live, work, reproduce, invade, etcetera.
Unless, of course, you happened to work in an underground base in the middle of a bustling city, and the nature of the job meant that you really, really couldn't pop out for ten minutes for a breather. And wouldn't that be unfortunate?
Ianto stood at the desk in the tourist office, glaring resentfully at each and every person to enter; should they have dared go outside, where there was shade and a light breeze and it wasn't so swelteringly hot that your collar was starting to form a molecular bond with your skin.
On an unrelated topic, it was amazing how quickly these people left after entering the office. Some didn't even get one foot in before deciding that maybe they should spend a few more hours looking for tourist destination of choice. Incredible, really.
Gwen had come up, and assured him that it wasn't any cooler down in the central hub. In fact, she said, trying to un-stick her fringe from her forehead, the humidity had destroyed any chance of the damp concrete lessening the heat. Also, Myfanwy might have died, but Gwen didn't fancy getting close enough to find out. Ianto raised an eyebrow.
“And Jack?”
Gwen bit her lip. “He might have died too. Or he's just passed out. Hard to tell.”
“Did you try waking him up?”
“Well...”
“Well?” He prompted. Gwen avoided his gaze.
“Well, if he is just sleeping and I woke him up, he'd probably complain that I'd taken both fans.”
It was rather amazing, Gwen decided. Ianto's death glare was more impressive than she'd really have thought possible. Nought-to-neurotic in ten seconds. “Is, er, something wrong Ianto?” She enquired uncertainly - and wondered if there were any sharp objects in the Tourist office.
“Both fans?” He repeated icily. Gwen looked around the absolutely melting, and distinctly fan-less room.
“Ah. Oh. I'll, um, I'll just go and bring one up for you, shall I?”
“Gwen?”
“Yes?”
“If Jack isn't dead, d'you mind killing him for me?”
“Yeah, of course.” 'Rather him than me,' went unspoken.
Myfanwy, as fate would have it, was not dead. On the other hand, she was very irritable. As Ianto went to leave her meal, she shot him a glare through one, half-opened eye, which said - quite clearly - that if she had the energy he would so be pteranodon food right now. With new-found energy, Ianto walked hastily away from her nest.
Jack had also escaped Death's bony clutches to live for another day, and he was dealing with it about as well as Myfanwy. He wiped his brow, and grimaced at Ianto.
“Y'know, it's really weird... but I'm sure that an hour or so ago, there was a fan in here.”
“Yes, that is weird,” Ianto dead-panned back. “What's even more peculiar is that this morning, the other fan was broken. And that I ought to relinquish the one in the tourist office for the sake of humanity.”
Jack had the grace to look sheepish. “Sorry. It was either that or the morgue.”
“The latter is still a possibility. Sir.” A small, polite, and completely passive smile. Oh, he was good. Jack smirked.
“Is that a threat, Ianto Jones?” He drawled lazily, leaning back on his chair and cringing slightly as his damp shirt clung to his back.
“Oh, I'm sure I couldn't say.”
Jack stood up, and leaned his head towards Ianto. “Well, I'm sure you've noticed that I have... ways of making you talk.” With an almost identical smirk to Jack's, Ianto drew his head ever so slightly away, and let out a theatrical sigh.
“I suppose we could--”
“Jack! Ianto! Weevils!”
Weevil-hunting. A trivial chore sometimes, a dangerous mission others. It was fair to say that in the whole history of Torchwood, there had never been more enthusiasm to get out and catch some weevils. Not even when they'd been monitoring something for hours and weevil-hunting felt like a well-deserved break. Not even when weevil-hunting was a euphemism for something else entirely.
And unfortunately, it would be necessary for someone to stay behind and monitor the rift. The three of them eyed each other warily.
“How should we decide?” Gwen asked, already wondering whether a good-old doe-eyes would soften them any. Probably not. Damn.
“Naked hide-and-seek?” Jack suggested, his eyes glinting. Gwen and Ianto looked at one another, and said simultaneously,
“You cheat.”
“Rock, paper, scissors?” Ianto suggested. Gwen nodded in approval, but Jack narrowed his eyes.
“Those are office supplies. You'd have an unfair advantage.”
“And of course, we'd have the problem of you getting over-excited,” Ianto retorted dryly. Gwen eyed them curiously, but did not push it any further.
“Draw names out of a hat?” She said instead, shrugging.
“Do any of us have a hat?”
“I guess we could always go out and buy one...”
“Or,” Jack said, extending his arms enthusiastically. “We could have a fight. With naked wrestling. And mud.”
“Or not.”
“Or not,” Gwen agreed fervently. “Some of us are married, and some... should do it in their own time.” Ianto turned to her.
“Oh, thank you. He's not going to let that one go now.”
“Sorry!”
In the end, no games, sexy or otherwise, were used to decide. They'd carried out their discussion-slash-argument over to the conference room, and it was then that Jack noticed the way Gwen was walking.
“Hey! You got a bit of a limp there, Gwen?” Gwen looked down nervously at her left foot, and shook it unconvincingly.
“That? No! Just a some pins-and-needles. Nothing to worry about.”
“So,” Ianto said, “definitely not from you twisting your ankle the other day?”
Gwen glowered at him. Jack, however, smiled gleefully.
“Gee, that sounds pretty debilitating. What do you think, Ianto?” Avoiding Gwen's eyes, Ianto replied,
“I'm sure it's in the rules. Somewhere. No going out on potentially dangerous missions when injured. Definitely rings a bell.”
Gwen let out an outraged hiss. “I stubbed my toe bringing up that damn fan! It is not debilitating, and I am not injured!”
Jack stroked her hair fondly. “We only have your best interests at heart, Gwen. Don't take it personally.”
“Alright, Gwen, we're about to set off. You ready?” Gwen nodded curtly, eyes down and mouth in an uncharacteristically ferocious frown. Jack gave Ianto a nervous smile before walking off to the SUV. Ianto, feeling quite sympathetic, asked,
“Do you want anything bringing back?”
“Six feet of snow?” Gwen replied sarcastically. “Your heads on a stick? Or...” She smiled slightly. “A magnum would be nice. White chocolate.” Ianto nodded, and waving goodbye, followed Jack out of the Hub.
The weevil had been absurdly easy to deal with. It seemed that even the weevils had been too badly affected by the heat to do much, and this one had only come out to give them something to do. Very courteous, really. And with weevil-hunting over, Jack and Ianto were participating in some well deserved 'weevil-hunting'. Currently, they were carrying out their hunt in the front of the SUV, and Ianto's shirt had already proven a casualty.
“Pity,” he said breathlessly as Jack's tongue traced curves and swirls along the length of his neck. “I rather liked that shirt.” Jack looked up at him.
“Yeah, me too,” he commented, eyeing the impressive tear along one side. “But-”
“You like me better out of it?” Ianto suggested. Jack laughed, and drew him into a kiss.
“Actually, I think I prefer you in it.”
“Oh, my poor delicate ego. However will it cope,” Ianto said smoothly, raising one eyebrow impeccably. Jack was sure he had to practice that in front of the mirror. Seriously.
“I can think of a few ways,” he commented.
Needless to say, 'weevil-hunting' took a couple of hours.
“Jack?”
“Yeah, Ianto?”
“I think Gwen's ice-cream's melted.”
Jack poked the plastic packaging. It definitely put up less resistance than a semi-solid ice-cream ought to.
“Oh, come on. Melted ice-creams? That's practically a tradition for summer afternoons.”
“And saving Cardiff citizens from escaped aliens?”
“Ianto, I propose a new summer tradition.”
And this was my first non-drabble Torchwood fic. I feel curiously satisfied now. :)