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Fandomweekly Challenge 193 - Uninvited
Title: Uninvited
Fandom: Torchwood
Characters: Jack, Ianto
Author: m_findlow
Rating: PG
Length: 1,000 words
Content notes: None
Author notes: Written for Challenge 193 - Surprise at![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
fandomweekly
Summary: A visitor to Torchwood Three has Jack in a panic.
There are some things in life you just don’t wanna hear. For some, it’s the knock of the police on your front door; for others it’s the terrified scream of your child. You wanna know what sound sends a ripple of dread right through me? It’s those alarms. The ones in the hub that aren’t supposed to go off. Ever. The ones that serve one function and one function only – to announce the pending arrival of the Torchwood Assessor. The one person with the power to shut down the entire place with just the sound of their voice.
Don’t get me wrong, the Cowper Key is a neat piece of tech; I've just never figured out how to rewire it so that the only person it’ll take instructions from is me. Or at least to disable the damn thing. The potential, sudden and anticlimactic end of Torchwood would be a whole lot less of a scary prospect if you knew that it was a toothless tiger. Unfortunately for us, Agnes Havisham, is anything but. It pays to stay in her good books, but let's just say they’re not the kinds of books I've even had my name in.
‘What was that?’ Gwen asks. She knows every alarm the hub has, from unauthorised access to airborne contaminant, to full security lockdown. This alarm isn’t any of those. It hasn’t sounded since the seventies.
‘Nothing.’ Nothing good, in any case.
‘Nothing is nothing,’ Ianto says, revelling in the oxymoronic statement.
‘Okay, so it's not nothing, I just don't know what it is,’ I reply. That’s the biggest trouble with these damn alarms. They’re predicting an event so cataclysmic that Torchwood has to be graded on its response. Failure is simply not an option. The other trouble is that I have no idea what’s happening that’s causing the alarm to sound. I’m a guy who loves spontaneity, but this is a surprise of a different colour. Needless to say, it won't be good.
‘You're looking a little flustered there, Jack,’ Gwen says, amused by my attempts to conceal the rising panic.
Nothing is wrong, I keep telling myself. The system is broken. She’s going to come here and find it’s nothing. Stick her back in her time cell and let her sleep off another three decades before popping in again.
‘We’re good,’ I say through gritted teeth, reaching across the desk for the keys to the SUV, clutching them so hard that the point is pressing painfully into my palm. It's a good kind of pain, much less than the one about to be inflicted on us. ‘Ianto, with me.’
He quirks an eyebrow. ‘Sir?’
‘Just get in the damn car. We’ve got a visitor to collect. One Agnes Havisham.’ I sigh. Should let her find her own damn way here.
Ianto sits quietly in the passenger seat. He’s mastered the art of understanding the fine line between curiosity and nosiness. Still, there's only so long we can drag out avoiding talking about it. More to the point, there's only so many red lights I can avoid shimmying through at the last second before Ianto decides to mention it. He knows there's no way I'd have not sped through them on any other day, but today I'm slowing up at every intersection, praying it’ll turn red before we get there. Anything to prolong our journey.
‘So… where are we going?’
‘The Swindon Self-U-Store.’
‘Oh. Isn't that a strange place to be meeting someone?’
I shrug. ‘Not if that's where you've been keeping them.’
‘We keep her in a storage facility?’
‘What, you'd rather we keep her in deep freeze on the base?’ Not in a million years. Personally, even the Sunderland Self-U-Store isn’t far enough away if you ask me. Next time the lease agreement is up for renewal maybe we should cancel it. I hear Siberia is a nice place to keep someone on ice for a few hundred years.
‘So, she’s…’ Ianto leaves the question there for me to fill in the blanks.
‘Big trouble,’ I reply. ‘The Torchwood Assessor only comes out when we’re in direest need, and if she doesn’t like what she sees, she shuts us down.’
‘As in–’
‘Permanently. Game over. Do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars. You and me joining the unemployment queue come Monday.’
‘Ah, so not just here to lend us a hand. We could do with a few extra pairs of hands, don’t you think?’
It's hard to disagree. Three people, even two people and one immortal, just isn't enough to deal with what the rift throws at us on a daily basis. The Swindon Self-U-Store looms before us, much faster than I'd like. I pull the car to a stop and get out. We’re not offering a full valet service.
I give Ianto a serious look. ‘She’s not exactly coming to help. We're in trouble, Ianto. Deep, deep trouble and I don't know what it is, or what’s going to happen, or if we’re going to survive this and–’ my words are cut off by something fast and stinging to the side of my face that leaves it tingling.
‘You slapped me!’
‘Yes. Yes, I did,’ Ianto says, looking almost as surprised that he's done it. He’s yelled at me, pointed a gun at me – hell, even shot me once or twice – but never slapped me. He pulls himself up a little bit taller, back straight, meaning business. ‘If this woman is here, and if she's as much trouble as you say, then we need our Captain more than I need my Jack.’
That was true, in a selfless and rather romantic way. Makes you wanna just kiss him. ‘She’s come to face the end of civilisation as we know it.’ I try for gravity but it comes out desperate.
‘Oh, is that all? Just another day at the office for us, then.’
I sure hope so, but undoubtedly, Agnes is bringing a surprise all of her own.
Fandom: Torchwood
Characters: Jack, Ianto
Author: m_findlow
Rating: PG
Length: 1,000 words
Content notes: None
Author notes: Written for Challenge 193 - Surprise at
fandomweeklySummary: A visitor to Torchwood Three has Jack in a panic.
There are some things in life you just don’t wanna hear. For some, it’s the knock of the police on your front door; for others it’s the terrified scream of your child. You wanna know what sound sends a ripple of dread right through me? It’s those alarms. The ones in the hub that aren’t supposed to go off. Ever. The ones that serve one function and one function only – to announce the pending arrival of the Torchwood Assessor. The one person with the power to shut down the entire place with just the sound of their voice.
Don’t get me wrong, the Cowper Key is a neat piece of tech; I've just never figured out how to rewire it so that the only person it’ll take instructions from is me. Or at least to disable the damn thing. The potential, sudden and anticlimactic end of Torchwood would be a whole lot less of a scary prospect if you knew that it was a toothless tiger. Unfortunately for us, Agnes Havisham, is anything but. It pays to stay in her good books, but let's just say they’re not the kinds of books I've even had my name in.
‘What was that?’ Gwen asks. She knows every alarm the hub has, from unauthorised access to airborne contaminant, to full security lockdown. This alarm isn’t any of those. It hasn’t sounded since the seventies.
‘Nothing.’ Nothing good, in any case.
‘Nothing is nothing,’ Ianto says, revelling in the oxymoronic statement.
‘Okay, so it's not nothing, I just don't know what it is,’ I reply. That’s the biggest trouble with these damn alarms. They’re predicting an event so cataclysmic that Torchwood has to be graded on its response. Failure is simply not an option. The other trouble is that I have no idea what’s happening that’s causing the alarm to sound. I’m a guy who loves spontaneity, but this is a surprise of a different colour. Needless to say, it won't be good.
‘You're looking a little flustered there, Jack,’ Gwen says, amused by my attempts to conceal the rising panic.
Nothing is wrong, I keep telling myself. The system is broken. She’s going to come here and find it’s nothing. Stick her back in her time cell and let her sleep off another three decades before popping in again.
‘We’re good,’ I say through gritted teeth, reaching across the desk for the keys to the SUV, clutching them so hard that the point is pressing painfully into my palm. It's a good kind of pain, much less than the one about to be inflicted on us. ‘Ianto, with me.’
He quirks an eyebrow. ‘Sir?’
‘Just get in the damn car. We’ve got a visitor to collect. One Agnes Havisham.’ I sigh. Should let her find her own damn way here.
Ianto sits quietly in the passenger seat. He’s mastered the art of understanding the fine line between curiosity and nosiness. Still, there's only so long we can drag out avoiding talking about it. More to the point, there's only so many red lights I can avoid shimmying through at the last second before Ianto decides to mention it. He knows there's no way I'd have not sped through them on any other day, but today I'm slowing up at every intersection, praying it’ll turn red before we get there. Anything to prolong our journey.
‘So… where are we going?’
‘The Swindon Self-U-Store.’
‘Oh. Isn't that a strange place to be meeting someone?’
I shrug. ‘Not if that's where you've been keeping them.’
‘We keep her in a storage facility?’
‘What, you'd rather we keep her in deep freeze on the base?’ Not in a million years. Personally, even the Sunderland Self-U-Store isn’t far enough away if you ask me. Next time the lease agreement is up for renewal maybe we should cancel it. I hear Siberia is a nice place to keep someone on ice for a few hundred years.
‘So, she’s…’ Ianto leaves the question there for me to fill in the blanks.
‘Big trouble,’ I reply. ‘The Torchwood Assessor only comes out when we’re in direest need, and if she doesn’t like what she sees, she shuts us down.’
‘As in–’
‘Permanently. Game over. Do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars. You and me joining the unemployment queue come Monday.’
‘Ah, so not just here to lend us a hand. We could do with a few extra pairs of hands, don’t you think?’
It's hard to disagree. Three people, even two people and one immortal, just isn't enough to deal with what the rift throws at us on a daily basis. The Swindon Self-U-Store looms before us, much faster than I'd like. I pull the car to a stop and get out. We’re not offering a full valet service.
I give Ianto a serious look. ‘She’s not exactly coming to help. We're in trouble, Ianto. Deep, deep trouble and I don't know what it is, or what’s going to happen, or if we’re going to survive this and–’ my words are cut off by something fast and stinging to the side of my face that leaves it tingling.
‘You slapped me!’
‘Yes. Yes, I did,’ Ianto says, looking almost as surprised that he's done it. He’s yelled at me, pointed a gun at me – hell, even shot me once or twice – but never slapped me. He pulls himself up a little bit taller, back straight, meaning business. ‘If this woman is here, and if she's as much trouble as you say, then we need our Captain more than I need my Jack.’
That was true, in a selfless and rather romantic way. Makes you wanna just kiss him. ‘She’s come to face the end of civilisation as we know it.’ I try for gravity but it comes out desperate.
‘Oh, is that all? Just another day at the office for us, then.’
I sure hope so, but undoubtedly, Agnes is bringing a surprise all of her own.