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Torchwood: Fanfic: Early morning mission
Title: Early morning mission
Fandom: Torchwood
Characters: Ianto, Jack, Myfanwy
Author: m_findlow
Rating: PG
Length: 1,794 words
Content notes: none
Author notes: Written for juliet316's prompt "Any, any, on a mission to collect fish" at fic_promptly
Summary: Not all missions are sexy, but they can be just as gratifying
'Stay,' Jack mumbled as Ianto pulled back the covers and got out of bed.
‘Can’t. It’s Wednesday,’ he replied, watching as Jack uselessly reached out to pull him back into bed, missing him by a mile with his eyes still closed, head half buried in the pillow.
‘Stupid pets,’ Jack moaned, finally giving up his attempts.
Ianto showered and dressed quickly, suppressing the yawn that tried to escape his lips. It was early, even by Jack’s standards, but it was routine, and as much as he would have loved to stay snuggled in bed, there were others who wouldn’t thank him for it.
Stepping out into the car park, and walking across to the Audi, he could already seen his breath ghosting in front of his face. If it was cold down here in an undercover car park three levels down, he could only imagine what it was like above ground. It was always harder in winter to force himself up and out into the weather.
Hitting the road, he kept the heating on its lowest setting, just enough to keep feeling in his hands and feet, but not so much as to send him off to sleep. The drive down to Newport was easy, with little traffic at this early hour, just the haulage trucks passing him in a blaze of speed to reach the ports for scheduled pick-ups, and the shift workers coming the other way, heading home to their own warm beds.
He made it there in good time, despite a light drizzle that kicked up off the road with each speeding truck that scooted around his car. As soon as he opened the door and stepped out, the familiar raucous met his ears.
The Newport fish market was bustling at five am, with vendors loudly proclaiming their stocks to wholesale buyers in a code that was almost a foreign language. No one around here bothered touting words like “fresh” or “straight from the ocean”. These were the serious buyers who knew what they wanted, and could tell just from looking at the top of the crate whether it was good enough. The Dutch auction system left him for dead as sellers cried out codes and numbers until some buyer yelled for an accepting bid, paper tickets quickly exchanging hands before the next crate of nondescript goods was put up for sale.
Oddly, it had been Ianto who’d felt like a fish out of water the first time he’d come down here. A few locals made the trip to pick up the odd fish here and there, but more ordinary folk wouldn’t arrive until after eight thirty, when all of the best fish was well and truly gone, just the leftover stocks remaining for their perusal, and by which time the vendors changed tact, pronouncing the worst of the day's haul as the best fish in all of Britain.
It was like a different world, as burly men moved about, carrying crates on their shoulders that most men would struggle to lift onto a trolley, let alone cart around by hand. Their voices were gruff, their hands calloused, dungarees filthy. The one thing he didn’t smell though was fish. It smelled briny like seawater, but there was no pungent fishy scent. This was as close as you could get to being on the boat itself, watching the fish being hauled on deck right from the ocean.
He knew what he wanted, but it didn’t stop him from wandering around, receiving nods and smiles from trawlermen who knew him for a regular. He was constantly amazed that they could haul so many different types of fish from local waters, wandering past crate after crate, packed with ice and fish, silver and black and blue and brown. There were pots of crayfish, cockles, scallops, peeler crabs and a dozen other shellfish, as well as other things he still couldn’t identify, and some he wished he couldn’t.
He’d originally put the word around that he worked for a local wildlife sanctuary, and it had been readily accepted. After all, what normal person would buy that much seafood every week, and he didn’t have the arrogant air of a chef or restauranteur, always fussing over quality. Needing to feed animals was far more plausible, and the hub was something of a wildlife sanctuary in any case, so it wasn’t much of a stretch.
Stopping by the side of the dock, assailed by a sudden gust of icy air coming off the water, he pulled his coat tighter around him.
‘A bit fresh this morning, bute,’ Eddie, one of the regular sellers called out to him, smiling thought his crooked teeth and shaggy beard. He was the very image Ianto had of tough bred fishermen that spent their days battling fifty foot waves and Moby Dick.
‘What’s good today?’ Ianto asked, knowing it was a redundant question. Everything was good, it was just a question of what took your fancy.
‘Big haul of cod and whiting last night,’ he replied. ‘Some nice eel as well.’
Ianto frowned at the mention of eel and Eddie laughed.
‘Don’t know what you’re missing, mate. Get the missus to chop it up in a pie with some gravy and mushy peas. Nothing better.’
‘My missus doesn’t cook, but you already know that,’ Ianto replied, grinning. It was something of a private joke but one that never got old. Just the thought of Jack in the kitchen making eel pie made Ianto want to fall over laughing. Perhaps he should try it just the once.
‘Maybe your missus could make some for the both of us,‘ Ianto suggested.
‘Ha!’ he laughed. ‘Would if she was still around. She’d probably chop me up and put me in a pie if she caught my face round there.’
Ianto peered at the display, selecting two crates of sea bass, one of cod and half a crate of sardines. They made Myf’s breath a bit on the nose, but she seemed to like them.
‘Squid’s come in good, too,’ Eddie said. ‘Might be you want to pick some up for yourself. I could clean it for you. No trouble.’
‘Sounds good,’ Ianto said, thinking that calamari would be very tasty, and better still if he didn’t have to do all the fiddly removing of the ink sacs. Just because he was here for Myf’s shopping didn’t mean he couldn’t take advantage of the day’s catch. He might even poach a few of her cod. What she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her. If he had to trek down here in the wee hours and freezing cold, he might as well get something out of the deal.
‘Oi, Charlie,’ Eddie called out, ‘help Ianto haul this to his car, there’s a good lad.’
The scraggly youth appeared from behind a large tower of blue plastic crates. He looked barely strong enough to carry even one crate, but somehow managed one on each shoulder, following Ianto back up the pier towards his car, loading them into the surprisingly spacious boot.
Up at the end of the pier, Ianto could already smell some of the previous night’s haul being cooked up by a small caravan that touted its wares, selling cups of scalding hot tea to the men straight off the boats and paper cones of deep fried cockles doused in salt and vinegar. The smell made his mouth water, but it was far too early to be snacking on deep fried anything, no matter how good the aroma.
He returned for the third crate and the smaller bag of squid that had been cleaned for him and wrapped up. He resisted the urge to spy inside the plastic bag and make sure Eddie hadn’t put any eels in there. Jack had made him eat some weird stuff over the years, but he thought even Jack might draw a line under eel pie, or eel anything. He suspected it was more likely to fall into the no chance category, along with tripe, tofu, and liver.
Handing over the cash, Eddie tipped his cap and wished him a good day, promising see him again next week. He might not have bought the bulk quantities of the other wholesalers, but neither did he haggle over price or quality, which made Ianto the perfect customer in his books.
As Ianto parked the car back in its rightful spot underneath the Millennium Centre, retrieving the trolley that he’d left just inside the ordinary looking door that secretly led all the way into the depths of the hub, he checked his watch. Traffic back into Cardiff had been slow. Added to the regular commuters into the city was the added hassle of a broken down Mini Cooper which blocked the entire left hand lane. Despite that, he’d made reasonable time, arriving just before nine when the rest of the team would be arriving, needing their coffee fix, and Jack who would have been up for at least the last two hours, flagging significantly without his usual seven am brew.
Both the team and Jack though were not his primary thought as he wheeled the crates of fish into a cold store room located on the level directly above him, but still a floor further down than the main hub. He reserved a handful of fish, setting them on a small workbench. He knew that in the wild, Myf would have eaten them whole, but he still liked to cut them into large, but more manageable pieces. The last thing anyone wanted was her choking on it.
Scraping the chunks into a bucket, he proceeded up a back stairwell. By the time he reached the upper landing on the fourth floor and exited near Myf’s nest, she was already there waiting for him, squawking.
‘Hello to you, too,’ he said, setting down the bucket. She must have been able to smell the ocean on his clothes because she always knew when he’d been to the fish market. Other mornings she might take ages to call in from her nightly wanderings back to her nest, or if she thought Ianto might be bringing Owen she might disappear altogether, and when Owen finally did get a hold of her, she might give Ianto the cold shoulder afterwards as punishment for selling her out. But not today. Today she nuzzled him with her beak before he left her in peace to enjoy her breakfast.
It might have been cold and wet and miserable out there, and an outrageously early start, but it was worth it for that little bit of gratitude. Just a man and his pet dinosaur. Now if only he could get the rest of the team to react the same way when he brought them coffee...
no subject
I'm sad for the squids. I like squid, but not to eat =(
(I also like liver, but I agree with Jack about tofu, tripe, and eels... yuk!)
I am fortunate to get fresh fish delivered to my door every week =D
no subject
badly-knitted beat me to it - does Ianto really want Owen snuggling up to him and pecking him on the cheek when he brings coffee?
I like liver too, but it is a finnicky thing to cook just right.
no subject