The Day After The End Of The World (for coffee_cult)

[kateriffic]

The quarters of Torchwood One are just as bleak as the rest of the institute. They are built for function and use, not for decoration. The rooms each contain two bunk beds, with a small stand on each side and a wardrobe. The floor is covered with a black, rubberized tile to prevent slippage from the occasional leaks that permeate the entire

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[coffee_cult]

Twenty-four hours and more since the Toclafane invasion. Torchwood have been scrambling to decide their next move. Ianto hasn't slept since it happened, and it shows. He's freshly showered and shaved (with a nick under the jaw for his trouble), clad impeccably in his usual three-piece suit, chain of a pocketwatch dangling from the waistcoat. Being down in the civilian quarters probably isn't a good idea. No one bothers stopping or interrupting him - most of that comes from upstairs, from bitter employees still upset at being virtually locked in. Until the dust settles, he can't allow anyone to leave. The news stations aren't broadcasting any longer; any satellite signals on the television bring up empty static. There are a brave few still trying to infiltrate the Internet and radio channels, but they've no way of knowing how much longer it will last

[kateriffic]

She's very focused on her task. So much so that when the knock comes, she gets startled. Kate cuts the flesh between her left thumb and finger with the seam ripper. She looks at the injury. A spot of red appears but there is no immediate healing. That part of her is still gone.

"Come in," she calls and then shakes her hand. The cut stings just a bit.

[coffee_cult]

Ianto feels almost guilty as he opens the door and steps inside. He shakes the feeling away - it's foolish, at best. The smile he summons is half-hearted, levity in such a situation is difficult. The world is being destroyed, there are aliens on the loose, and ... the feeling of hopelessness is almost stifling. Ianto pushes it away; even in his darkest moments, he's never felt anything so insistent like this.

"How are you?" he asks, hand still on the doorknob as he eases the door ajar behind himself.

[kateriffic]

How is she? That is an extremely loaded question. She's not good but no one right now is doing well. "I'm fine." It's an easy enough response with some kernel of truth. She removes her sewing project out of her lap and onto the bed next to her. It would be rude to work on it with company.

"What about you?" It's a very civil start to their uneasy conversation.