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Entry tags:
Challenge 759 - Vital correspondence
Title: Vital correspondence
Character: Jack, Ianto
Author: m_findlow
Rating: PG
Length: 200 words
Content notes: none
Author notes: Written for Challenge 759 - Mail at ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
tw100
tw100Summary: Torchwood has to have a way of receiving important correspondence. A double drabble.
‘You've got mail,’ Ianto announced, dropping the envelope on Jack's desk as he shuffled through the remaining pack of letters, making sure there weren’t any others.
Jack looked up from his laptop and frowned. Mail? It hardly seemed to matter that the envelope was very clearly addressed to Captain Jack Harkenss, Torchwood Institute, Mermaid Quay, Butetown, Cardiff, CF10 5BZ. The address was very specific. Not even their post office box address. Someone – Ianto didn't know who – knew Jack was here. ‘We don't get mail.’
‘Yes, we do.’
‘How? I thought Torchwood was ex-directory?’ He paused and turned his expression into a more serious one, making sure Ianto was taking it in. ‘We’re a secret organisation. Nobody should know where we are, especially not our physical address. People could send us anything.’
Ianto snorted. ‘We’re hardly secret,’ he replied, thinking how ridiculous a notion that was when they got around in a big black car with their name splashed all over it and had the city’s most recognisable man at the wheel. ‘Besides, how else would we get our monthly copies of every conspiracy theory magazine printed UK wide? Got to keep an eye on the nutters. Occasionally they're actually right.’
‘You've got mail,’ Ianto announced, dropping the envelope on Jack's desk as he shuffled through the remaining pack of letters, making sure there weren’t any others.
Jack looked up from his laptop and frowned. Mail? It hardly seemed to matter that the envelope was very clearly addressed to Captain Jack Harkenss, Torchwood Institute, Mermaid Quay, Butetown, Cardiff, CF10 5BZ. The address was very specific. Not even their post office box address. Someone – Ianto didn't know who – knew Jack was here. ‘We don't get mail.’
‘Yes, we do.’
‘How? I thought Torchwood was ex-directory?’ He paused and turned his expression into a more serious one, making sure Ianto was taking it in. ‘We’re a secret organisation. Nobody should know where we are, especially not our physical address. People could send us anything.’
Ianto snorted. ‘We’re hardly secret,’ he replied, thinking how ridiculous a notion that was when they got around in a big black car with their name splashed all over it and had the city’s most recognisable man at the wheel. ‘Besides, how else would we get our monthly copies of every conspiracy theory magazine printed UK wide? Got to keep an eye on the nutters. Occasionally they're actually right.’