Battle Confusion challenger 1
Title: Inside Of A Dog
Words: 770
Fandom: Firefly
A/N: Title comes from an old Groucho Marx quote: “Outside of a dog, a book is a man's best friend. Inside of a dog, it's too dark to read.” Small spoilers for FF 0115, The Message.
His friendships seemed to be what caught most people off guard.
It was partially what made him a good fighter, the fact that Jayne had a knack for surprising people when-and how-they least expected it. Even just day by day, he could get people looking at him funny. Strange actions, out of character statements, making people look twice...most of the time, unless sex or money was involved, Jayne was about as predictable as “a bat outta Hell with it's wings on fire,” as Zoe had put it.
Lately though, he was frustrating the entire crew of Serenity with the liking he'd taken to Shepard Book.
---
"What's Jayne want with the Shepard anyway?" Zoe muttered to Mal, watching the pair from the upper staircase. Jayne was spotting Shepard while he lifted weights, laughter from both floating up to their ears.
Mal shrugged. "Maybe he doesn't want anything from him."
"It's Jayne we're talking about, right? He's always wanting something from someone."
"Well, maybe that someone right now ain't the Shepard." Mal shook his head. "Don't worry yourself over it. Long as Jayne isn't shootin' no one and Book doesn't...do whatever it is he does, preach and whatnot, I don't particularly care what they're doin'."
Zoe shook her head as Mal turned and walked away. Sparing one last glance down at the pair, she headed off as well.
---
"Is Jayne...cooking?"
"Yep” Kaylee grinned at Simon, scuffing the toe of her shoe against the floor. “It's his night for dinner, after all."
"And you all...trust him?” he asked. “To make food for everyone?"
"Well yeah. It's a might bit better than trusting the Captain or Zoe to it. Wash does make some good sandwiches, though he don't like to admit it. Doesn't want to be thought of as a ship-husband or some such nonsense."
"But...what if Jayne were to try and...you know?” Lowering his voice, he asked, “Poison you?"
"He has." Kaylee smiled as Simon gaped at her. "We just like to call it Chili Surprise round here though. Sides, Shepard Book is in there with him. Not like he's gonna attempt murder in fronta a Shepard."
"Um, Kaylee? He has killed people in front of Shepard Book before, remember?"
"Yeah, but they was tryin' to kill us too." She frowned at him. "Jayne don't kill people he likes, besides."
"Yes, well,” Simon snorted. “That doesn't exactly make me feel very safe."
"Well...you'n Jayne ain't the easiest pair to get along with, and I don't think that helps, you catch my drift."
"I-" Simon sputtered. "I, I'm very easy to get along with, it's his-"
There was a clatter of pots, the sound of glass breaking, and Jayne started swearing up a storm.
"Dinnertime!" Kaylee chirped.
---
River smiled to herself. She knew exactly what they were doing.
Humming a movement from Beethoven's Fifth, she moved on down the hall, pausing to spin on her tiptoes as she passed Jayne's bunk.
---
Book sat at the foot of Jayne's bed, watching with mild interest as Jayne cleaned his guns and shrugged. Most of Jayne’s collection was spread on the mattress between them.
"It's like I told 'em all before. If I'da wanted schoolin', I'da gotten it. Well," he reached for the closest gun. Quickly and methodically, he pulled it into several pieces, replacing all but the smallest piece. He started to wipe it clean as he went on. "I'm just wantin' it now."
"I see," Book nodded. "Any particular reason, or is this truly just a whim?"
Jayne looked down at the guns he'd spread over his blanket, half clean, half waiting to be disassembled.
"Matty. My kid brother. He's getting big, almost fourteen now I think. Last I heard, he's been goin' to school and learnin' how to read and count and stuff. Don't want that little brat thinkin' he's better'n his big brother next time I see him, just because he can talk like Inara and read everything, understand?"
"I understand completely," Book nodded again. Offering the book to Jayne, he asked, "How much do you know, if you don't mind my asking?"
"Enough to get by, I s'pose..." he trailed off, staring at the book. Setting the gun he’d been working on aside, he flipping to the first page. “Takes me a might longer than it ought to. Maybe."
"Well, good. We’ll start at the beginning then."
"Sounds good t'me," Jayne nodded.
They sat in silence for another moment.
"It's fine," Book repeated. "Just do as much as you can for now."
"Right." Taking a deep breath, Jayne looked down, and began, "In the beg-beginning, God created the Heaven and the Earth..."
Title: A Gun And A Girl
Words: 648
Fandom: NCIS
A/N: Title comes from a Jean-Luc Godard quote, “All you need for a movie is a gun and a girl.”
"You know," Tony frowned. "I'm beginning to think that Ducky was right."
"How so?"
"He said you and I have a lot more in common than we're willing to admit."
"I might be willing to concede the point," Sacks nodded, smiling politely even as he yanked on the DVD case again. "If you'd be willing to concede the movie."
"Well you can forget it then, because I saw it first-"
"Yeah, too bad you didn't grab it first-"
"I did!" Tony insisted.
"You tried to snatch it out of my hands!"
"And it almost worked," he muttered. "Look. I need it. I have guests coming over."
"What makes you so sure I don't?"
"See, having guests would require having friends, which would require having a likeable personality-"
"Call me a radical free-thinker, but-" Abby peered at them from the next row over. "-couldn't Ron just come with us? And then we could all watch the movie."
"Preferably before midnight," Ziva spoke up from beside her. "Some of us plan on getting to work on time tomorrow morning."
"Things would go a lot faster if Fathead over here would just let go-"
"Fathead? Seriously, DiNozzo? Just because you look like a ballerina could break you in half-"
"I'm lithe, and it sure beats looking like I could out-eat a trucker-"
"Say whatever you want, you're just jealous. It's called muscle, DiNozzo, and if you had any, you'd know what it looks like. Besides-" Ron smirked. "I haven't gotten any complaints from the ladies."
"I think you mean 'lady.' Singular. And I'm not sure if your cousin counts, was your date pre-or-post op?"
"You're both about to get a couple of complaints from two bona fide ladies right here," Abby said. She and Ziva had made their way around the aisles to where Tony and Ron were standing. "Look. Ron, are you having guests?"
"Fine, no, but that doesn’t mean he can just-"
"So come hang with us!" Abby reached out, snatching the last copy of "30 Days of Night" out of both their hands and handing it off to Ziva. “Problem solved!”
"Hey!"
"Abs!"
"Besides," she went on, looping one arm through Ron's. "It'll be more fun this way. And I'm in charge of popcorn tonight, and I do flavors."
"Oh gee," Tony scowled, turning to Ziva as Abby led Ron toward the registers. "Does anyone want to maybe, oh, ask me about inviting Slacks to my apartment?"
Ziva looked thoughtful for a second, before shaking her head. "No."
---
"You look tired."
It was supposed to be a simple statement, a comment to start a conversation. McGee wondered briefly, as Ziva grabbed his tie and dragged him halfway over his desk, where he had gone wrong.
"I look tired?" she snapped, pulling him closer. "Tired, really Tim?"
"I just meant-a little-"
"Have you ever watched a movie, McGee," Ziva murmured, her voice deathly quiet. "with two Tonys?"
"I, I-" Beads of sweat began to pop up along his forehead. "I don't think so, but I saw, um, a play once, with three."
The anger on her face melted away into confusion.
"Are you mocking me?" she hissed suddenly.
"No! Nononono, never, I just, I didn't quite-"
"She means two of me, Probie," Tony spoke up, grinning as he took his seat across the way. "And you know, I don't appreciate the insinuation that Ronniekins is anywhere near the level of expertise it takes to be a DiNozzo. He barely meets my base standards for human beings."
"Hah!" Ziva laughed, letting go of Tim. He collapsed back in his chair, looking grateful to be free. "You have standards?"
"Occasionally," he smirked.
"You guys watched a movie with Sacks last night?" Tim asked.
"Yep, and you missed it. That's what you get for staying late, Probie."
"Work done?" Gibbs asked as he breezed through the bullpen.
“Exactly.”
“Right Boss.”
“Of course.”
Title: Off-Chance
Words: 282
Fandom: Psych
A/N:
"Does he do this...often?" Mrs. Robinson asked, never taking her eyes off Shawn.
"You have no idea." Gus sighed into his hands, hoping against hope that an earthquake would spontaneously occur and create a gaping chasm directly under Shawn's feet.
“I’m sensing a pattern,” Shawn spoke up, bracing himself against the foot of the bed with both hands. He stretched one leg back. “One…two…three…four!”
“Are you declaring a thumb war?”
Gus and Mrs. Reynolds spun around at the voice from the doorway. Behind their backs, Shawn cracked one eye slightly, biting his lip as Detective Lassiter glared straight at him.
“Hold on-my reading has become-corrupted. There’s static, so much static I can’t get a reading-”
“Good,” Det. Lassiter crossed the room, grabbing Shawn by the elbow. “Because you’re so finished.”
“Officer, please-“ Mrs. Robinson started. “This is Mr. Spencer, the psychic from Santa Barbara. The head detective on my son’s case sent for him-“
“That’s detective, ma’am,” Lassiter sighed, spinning around and dragging Shawn with him. “And this man? This Mr. Spencer? He wasn’t called for by anyone in the Santa Barbara PD, he’s supposed to be at the station waiting for me to come pick him up, as I am the head detective on your son’s case.”
Mrs. Robinson turned to Shawn, looking heart-broken.
“Mrs. Robinson,” Shawn started.
“Is that true?” she demanded.
“…sort of. You see, I got a premonition about your son, so I called my friend, the very honorable Detective Lassiter here-“
“Oh for the sake of-” Lassiter sighed, dragging Shawn out of the room again.
“You have my number! Call me! Gus! Give her a card!”
“You even reach for one Guster, I’m having Buzz cuff you.”
Title: A Poor Substitute For Caffeine
Words: 842
Fandom: Torchwood
A/N: I’ve only seen the first couple episodes of series two, so my canon only goes up to eleven Meat, I think. 0204? Something like that.
Owen realized just how stupid an idea this had been seconds after he knocked on the door. It was the kind of plan that wouldn't have worked if he weren't already three drinks past drunk. It was the kind of plan that he would most definitely regret in the morning. It was-
Ianto opened the door, wearing a thin t-shirt and old-looking pajama pants, and Owen was pretty sure he couldn't have been more shocked if Ianto had been wearing women's underwear. The image of Ianto in high heels, with stockings and a belt and matching bra and everything suddenly (and rather forcefully) invaded his mind. Owen shook his head, immediately regretting his last six beers.
"God's sake, man, can't you put on a suit?" he grumbled, pushing past Ianto into the apartment. “Distracting, Jesus…”
"If I had only known you would be calling so late," Ianto muttered, shutting the door behind him. "I wouldn't have inconvenienced you by trying to sleep."
"Doesn't look like you were doing much sleeping," Owen said, gazing over at the rumpled pile of sheets that might have been Ianto's bed. "For being so mental about everything at work, you sure are a slob."
"I don't usually entertain..." he trailed off as Owen wandered over to the bed, flopping backwards onto it. "What exactly is it that you want?"
"Didn't have you pegged as a gamer," Owen grinned; he flipped over the Gameboy that was lying on the pillow. "Bet you like Mario. Saving the princess and whatnot."
"I'd really like to know what you think you're doing here."
Owen ignored the question, staring at the tiny screen. "Your game's messed up."
Ianto frowned, momentarily distracted as he walked over. "It's not."
"Yeah it is, all the writing's gone wonky-" Owen paused. "Oh you wanker..."
"Give me that-"
"This all is in Japanese." He waved the game around with one hand. Ianto snatched at it, but Owen rolled over, stretching on his stomach diagonally across the bed.
"Yes, it is," Ianto muttered. "Your point?"
"Ooh, you get cranky when you're interrupted trying to save the eight bit universe?" He shut the game with a snap, tossing it aside and folding his arms under his chin. "How fast can you beat Mario?"
"Pardon?"
"Don't tell me you haven't tried," Owen grinned. "I saw this guy on the internet, he can beat Super Mario Three in eleven minutes, it's mental-I mean, obviously he's mental-"
"Owen-"
"And then some other idiot beat the original in five minutes. Five. Look me in the eye and tell me you don't think we should be investigating these people, Ianto, seriously. There's obviously something supernatur-"
"Again, what are you doing here?"
He sighed. "I can't sleep, alright? Happy?"
"You can't…sleep?"
"Two weeks Jack's been gone now, and I'm down to sleeping maybe three hours a night. Sometimes less," Owen shrugged. "Think I'm becoming immortal too? Just one of the perks of being tops at Torchwood? Do immortal people need to sleep, or is it just habit, d'you think?"
"Jack sleeps."
"You'd know," Owen answered, not bothering to put any real antagonism behind the comment. "Look. Ianto. I’m not tired. I'm bored."
"You're drunk," Ianto clarified. Owen rolled his eyes before rolling onto his back.
"I'm drunk and bored, and you're not helping with either," Owen paused. "I'm horny too, don't suppose you fancy a fuck?"
Ianto, to his credit, didn't react.
"Didn't think so," Owen's head lolled to the side. "Thought I'd ask, just in case. I'm being polite, see. Didn't want you feeling obligated to go wank off in the bath when we could-"
"Stop."
"Start, actually," Owen grinned up at him.
"Owen…" Ianto muttered, in the tone he usually reserved for small children and tourists seeking directions. "What exactly do you expect to accomplish here?"
"Visiting you? No idea, honestly," Owen yawned. "Seemed like a good idea at the time?"
Ianto stared at him. "You're weird, you realize that?"
"You're weird," Owen said.
"Who exactly barged in and invaded whose home for the night?"
“For the night?” Owen sat up quickly. “So I can stay the night?”
Ianto sighed. “You can stay.”
“Amazing,” Owen smiled up at the ceiling, spreading his arms and legs across the mattress. “By the way, I don’t have the slightest where my car is, so you can give me a ride to work too, yeah?”
“Only if you promise to stop talking,” Ianto muttered, sitting on the edge of the bed and shoving Owen half-heartedly. “Couch is right over there, I’ll get you some blankets.”
“Okay,” he agreed. Ianto stared at him. Owen didn’t move.
“Right now.”
“Thanks.”
“Blankets.”
“Of course.”
“For the…” Ianto glanced at the couch, then back at his alarm clock. The bright red numbers announced it was 3:24. When he looked back at Owen, his eyes were shut, his breath already slowing.
With a sigh, Ianto laid down, carefully arranging himself as far on the other side of the bed as possible. At least it was finally quiet again.
Owen started to snore.
Please rate the competitor in the following areas, 1 being the lowest score and 5 being the highest score.
Poll
Words: 770
Fandom: Firefly
A/N: Title comes from an old Groucho Marx quote: “Outside of a dog, a book is a man's best friend. Inside of a dog, it's too dark to read.” Small spoilers for FF 0115, The Message.
His friendships seemed to be what caught most people off guard.
It was partially what made him a good fighter, the fact that Jayne had a knack for surprising people when-and how-they least expected it. Even just day by day, he could get people looking at him funny. Strange actions, out of character statements, making people look twice...most of the time, unless sex or money was involved, Jayne was about as predictable as “a bat outta Hell with it's wings on fire,” as Zoe had put it.
Lately though, he was frustrating the entire crew of Serenity with the liking he'd taken to Shepard Book.
---
"What's Jayne want with the Shepard anyway?" Zoe muttered to Mal, watching the pair from the upper staircase. Jayne was spotting Shepard while he lifted weights, laughter from both floating up to their ears.
Mal shrugged. "Maybe he doesn't want anything from him."
"It's Jayne we're talking about, right? He's always wanting something from someone."
"Well, maybe that someone right now ain't the Shepard." Mal shook his head. "Don't worry yourself over it. Long as Jayne isn't shootin' no one and Book doesn't...do whatever it is he does, preach and whatnot, I don't particularly care what they're doin'."
Zoe shook her head as Mal turned and walked away. Sparing one last glance down at the pair, she headed off as well.
---
"Is Jayne...cooking?"
"Yep” Kaylee grinned at Simon, scuffing the toe of her shoe against the floor. “It's his night for dinner, after all."
"And you all...trust him?” he asked. “To make food for everyone?"
"Well yeah. It's a might bit better than trusting the Captain or Zoe to it. Wash does make some good sandwiches, though he don't like to admit it. Doesn't want to be thought of as a ship-husband or some such nonsense."
"But...what if Jayne were to try and...you know?” Lowering his voice, he asked, “Poison you?"
"He has." Kaylee smiled as Simon gaped at her. "We just like to call it Chili Surprise round here though. Sides, Shepard Book is in there with him. Not like he's gonna attempt murder in fronta a Shepard."
"Um, Kaylee? He has killed people in front of Shepard Book before, remember?"
"Yeah, but they was tryin' to kill us too." She frowned at him. "Jayne don't kill people he likes, besides."
"Yes, well,” Simon snorted. “That doesn't exactly make me feel very safe."
"Well...you'n Jayne ain't the easiest pair to get along with, and I don't think that helps, you catch my drift."
"I-" Simon sputtered. "I, I'm very easy to get along with, it's his-"
There was a clatter of pots, the sound of glass breaking, and Jayne started swearing up a storm.
"Dinnertime!" Kaylee chirped.
---
River smiled to herself. She knew exactly what they were doing.
Humming a movement from Beethoven's Fifth, she moved on down the hall, pausing to spin on her tiptoes as she passed Jayne's bunk.
---
Book sat at the foot of Jayne's bed, watching with mild interest as Jayne cleaned his guns and shrugged. Most of Jayne’s collection was spread on the mattress between them.
"It's like I told 'em all before. If I'da wanted schoolin', I'da gotten it. Well," he reached for the closest gun. Quickly and methodically, he pulled it into several pieces, replacing all but the smallest piece. He started to wipe it clean as he went on. "I'm just wantin' it now."
"I see," Book nodded. "Any particular reason, or is this truly just a whim?"
Jayne looked down at the guns he'd spread over his blanket, half clean, half waiting to be disassembled.
"Matty. My kid brother. He's getting big, almost fourteen now I think. Last I heard, he's been goin' to school and learnin' how to read and count and stuff. Don't want that little brat thinkin' he's better'n his big brother next time I see him, just because he can talk like Inara and read everything, understand?"
"I understand completely," Book nodded again. Offering the book to Jayne, he asked, "How much do you know, if you don't mind my asking?"
"Enough to get by, I s'pose..." he trailed off, staring at the book. Setting the gun he’d been working on aside, he flipping to the first page. “Takes me a might longer than it ought to. Maybe."
"Well, good. We’ll start at the beginning then."
"Sounds good t'me," Jayne nodded.
They sat in silence for another moment.
"It's fine," Book repeated. "Just do as much as you can for now."
"Right." Taking a deep breath, Jayne looked down, and began, "In the beg-beginning, God created the Heaven and the Earth..."
Title: A Gun And A Girl
Words: 648
Fandom: NCIS
A/N: Title comes from a Jean-Luc Godard quote, “All you need for a movie is a gun and a girl.”
"You know," Tony frowned. "I'm beginning to think that Ducky was right."
"How so?"
"He said you and I have a lot more in common than we're willing to admit."
"I might be willing to concede the point," Sacks nodded, smiling politely even as he yanked on the DVD case again. "If you'd be willing to concede the movie."
"Well you can forget it then, because I saw it first-"
"Yeah, too bad you didn't grab it first-"
"I did!" Tony insisted.
"You tried to snatch it out of my hands!"
"And it almost worked," he muttered. "Look. I need it. I have guests coming over."
"What makes you so sure I don't?"
"See, having guests would require having friends, which would require having a likeable personality-"
"Call me a radical free-thinker, but-" Abby peered at them from the next row over. "-couldn't Ron just come with us? And then we could all watch the movie."
"Preferably before midnight," Ziva spoke up from beside her. "Some of us plan on getting to work on time tomorrow morning."
"Things would go a lot faster if Fathead over here would just let go-"
"Fathead? Seriously, DiNozzo? Just because you look like a ballerina could break you in half-"
"I'm lithe, and it sure beats looking like I could out-eat a trucker-"
"Say whatever you want, you're just jealous. It's called muscle, DiNozzo, and if you had any, you'd know what it looks like. Besides-" Ron smirked. "I haven't gotten any complaints from the ladies."
"I think you mean 'lady.' Singular. And I'm not sure if your cousin counts, was your date pre-or-post op?"
"You're both about to get a couple of complaints from two bona fide ladies right here," Abby said. She and Ziva had made their way around the aisles to where Tony and Ron were standing. "Look. Ron, are you having guests?"
"Fine, no, but that doesn’t mean he can just-"
"So come hang with us!" Abby reached out, snatching the last copy of "30 Days of Night" out of both their hands and handing it off to Ziva. “Problem solved!”
"Hey!"
"Abs!"
"Besides," she went on, looping one arm through Ron's. "It'll be more fun this way. And I'm in charge of popcorn tonight, and I do flavors."
"Oh gee," Tony scowled, turning to Ziva as Abby led Ron toward the registers. "Does anyone want to maybe, oh, ask me about inviting Slacks to my apartment?"
Ziva looked thoughtful for a second, before shaking her head. "No."
---
"You look tired."
It was supposed to be a simple statement, a comment to start a conversation. McGee wondered briefly, as Ziva grabbed his tie and dragged him halfway over his desk, where he had gone wrong.
"I look tired?" she snapped, pulling him closer. "Tired, really Tim?"
"I just meant-a little-"
"Have you ever watched a movie, McGee," Ziva murmured, her voice deathly quiet. "with two Tonys?"
"I, I-" Beads of sweat began to pop up along his forehead. "I don't think so, but I saw, um, a play once, with three."
The anger on her face melted away into confusion.
"Are you mocking me?" she hissed suddenly.
"No! Nononono, never, I just, I didn't quite-"
"She means two of me, Probie," Tony spoke up, grinning as he took his seat across the way. "And you know, I don't appreciate the insinuation that Ronniekins is anywhere near the level of expertise it takes to be a DiNozzo. He barely meets my base standards for human beings."
"Hah!" Ziva laughed, letting go of Tim. He collapsed back in his chair, looking grateful to be free. "You have standards?"
"Occasionally," he smirked.
"You guys watched a movie with Sacks last night?" Tim asked.
"Yep, and you missed it. That's what you get for staying late, Probie."
"Work done?" Gibbs asked as he breezed through the bullpen.
“Exactly.”
“Right Boss.”
“Of course.”
Title: Off-Chance
Words: 282
Fandom: Psych
A/N:
"Does he do this...often?" Mrs. Robinson asked, never taking her eyes off Shawn.
"You have no idea." Gus sighed into his hands, hoping against hope that an earthquake would spontaneously occur and create a gaping chasm directly under Shawn's feet.
“I’m sensing a pattern,” Shawn spoke up, bracing himself against the foot of the bed with both hands. He stretched one leg back. “One…two…three…four!”
“Are you declaring a thumb war?”
Gus and Mrs. Reynolds spun around at the voice from the doorway. Behind their backs, Shawn cracked one eye slightly, biting his lip as Detective Lassiter glared straight at him.
“Hold on-my reading has become-corrupted. There’s static, so much static I can’t get a reading-”
“Good,” Det. Lassiter crossed the room, grabbing Shawn by the elbow. “Because you’re so finished.”
“Officer, please-“ Mrs. Robinson started. “This is Mr. Spencer, the psychic from Santa Barbara. The head detective on my son’s case sent for him-“
“That’s detective, ma’am,” Lassiter sighed, spinning around and dragging Shawn with him. “And this man? This Mr. Spencer? He wasn’t called for by anyone in the Santa Barbara PD, he’s supposed to be at the station waiting for me to come pick him up, as I am the head detective on your son’s case.”
Mrs. Robinson turned to Shawn, looking heart-broken.
“Mrs. Robinson,” Shawn started.
“Is that true?” she demanded.
“…sort of. You see, I got a premonition about your son, so I called my friend, the very honorable Detective Lassiter here-“
“Oh for the sake of-” Lassiter sighed, dragging Shawn out of the room again.
“You have my number! Call me! Gus! Give her a card!”
“You even reach for one Guster, I’m having Buzz cuff you.”
Title: A Poor Substitute For Caffeine
Words: 842
Fandom: Torchwood
A/N: I’ve only seen the first couple episodes of series two, so my canon only goes up to eleven Meat, I think. 0204? Something like that.
Owen realized just how stupid an idea this had been seconds after he knocked on the door. It was the kind of plan that wouldn't have worked if he weren't already three drinks past drunk. It was the kind of plan that he would most definitely regret in the morning. It was-
Ianto opened the door, wearing a thin t-shirt and old-looking pajama pants, and Owen was pretty sure he couldn't have been more shocked if Ianto had been wearing women's underwear. The image of Ianto in high heels, with stockings and a belt and matching bra and everything suddenly (and rather forcefully) invaded his mind. Owen shook his head, immediately regretting his last six beers.
"God's sake, man, can't you put on a suit?" he grumbled, pushing past Ianto into the apartment. “Distracting, Jesus…”
"If I had only known you would be calling so late," Ianto muttered, shutting the door behind him. "I wouldn't have inconvenienced you by trying to sleep."
"Doesn't look like you were doing much sleeping," Owen said, gazing over at the rumpled pile of sheets that might have been Ianto's bed. "For being so mental about everything at work, you sure are a slob."
"I don't usually entertain..." he trailed off as Owen wandered over to the bed, flopping backwards onto it. "What exactly is it that you want?"
"Didn't have you pegged as a gamer," Owen grinned; he flipped over the Gameboy that was lying on the pillow. "Bet you like Mario. Saving the princess and whatnot."
"I'd really like to know what you think you're doing here."
Owen ignored the question, staring at the tiny screen. "Your game's messed up."
Ianto frowned, momentarily distracted as he walked over. "It's not."
"Yeah it is, all the writing's gone wonky-" Owen paused. "Oh you wanker..."
"Give me that-"
"This all is in Japanese." He waved the game around with one hand. Ianto snatched at it, but Owen rolled over, stretching on his stomach diagonally across the bed.
"Yes, it is," Ianto muttered. "Your point?"
"Ooh, you get cranky when you're interrupted trying to save the eight bit universe?" He shut the game with a snap, tossing it aside and folding his arms under his chin. "How fast can you beat Mario?"
"Pardon?"
"Don't tell me you haven't tried," Owen grinned. "I saw this guy on the internet, he can beat Super Mario Three in eleven minutes, it's mental-I mean, obviously he's mental-"
"Owen-"
"And then some other idiot beat the original in five minutes. Five. Look me in the eye and tell me you don't think we should be investigating these people, Ianto, seriously. There's obviously something supernatur-"
"Again, what are you doing here?"
He sighed. "I can't sleep, alright? Happy?"
"You can't…sleep?"
"Two weeks Jack's been gone now, and I'm down to sleeping maybe three hours a night. Sometimes less," Owen shrugged. "Think I'm becoming immortal too? Just one of the perks of being tops at Torchwood? Do immortal people need to sleep, or is it just habit, d'you think?"
"Jack sleeps."
"You'd know," Owen answered, not bothering to put any real antagonism behind the comment. "Look. Ianto. I’m not tired. I'm bored."
"You're drunk," Ianto clarified. Owen rolled his eyes before rolling onto his back.
"I'm drunk and bored, and you're not helping with either," Owen paused. "I'm horny too, don't suppose you fancy a fuck?"
Ianto, to his credit, didn't react.
"Didn't think so," Owen's head lolled to the side. "Thought I'd ask, just in case. I'm being polite, see. Didn't want you feeling obligated to go wank off in the bath when we could-"
"Stop."
"Start, actually," Owen grinned up at him.
"Owen…" Ianto muttered, in the tone he usually reserved for small children and tourists seeking directions. "What exactly do you expect to accomplish here?"
"Visiting you? No idea, honestly," Owen yawned. "Seemed like a good idea at the time?"
Ianto stared at him. "You're weird, you realize that?"
"You're weird," Owen said.
"Who exactly barged in and invaded whose home for the night?"
“For the night?” Owen sat up quickly. “So I can stay the night?”
Ianto sighed. “You can stay.”
“Amazing,” Owen smiled up at the ceiling, spreading his arms and legs across the mattress. “By the way, I don’t have the slightest where my car is, so you can give me a ride to work too, yeah?”
“Only if you promise to stop talking,” Ianto muttered, sitting on the edge of the bed and shoving Owen half-heartedly. “Couch is right over there, I’ll get you some blankets.”
“Okay,” he agreed. Ianto stared at him. Owen didn’t move.
“Right now.”
“Thanks.”
“Blankets.”
“Of course.”
“For the…” Ianto glanced at the couch, then back at his alarm clock. The bright red numbers announced it was 3:24. When he looked back at Owen, his eyes were shut, his breath already slowing.
With a sigh, Ianto laid down, carefully arranging himself as far on the other side of the bed as possible. At least it was finally quiet again.
Owen started to snore.
Please rate the competitor in the following areas, 1 being the lowest score and 5 being the highest score.
Poll