m_findlow

Title: Til death us do part
Fandom: Torchwood
Characters: Jack, Ianto
Author: m_findlow
Rating: PG
Length: 435 words
Content notes: none
Author notes: Written for badly_knitted's prompt "Torchwood, Jack/Ianto, Do you think it's dead yet?" at fic_promptly
Summary: Jack and Ianto are forced to confront an unusual death.

Jack considered the thing sitting on the desk in front of him. In all his years working first as a Time Agent, then as a freelancer, and now as the head of Torchwood, he'd never come across a situation like this, nor been confronted with the aftermath. There weren't really words to describe just how sad and pathetic it looked now, Ianto having carefully cradled it in his arms, bringing it in with a reverence that caught Jack by surprise. He supposed all deaths, even inglorious ones, should be respected.

Rather than touch it, he picked up his pen and poked it in the side, earning a slightly disapproving look from his teammate. 'You were there when it happened?' he asked, looking up at Ianto.

'Actually, no,' he confessed, looking slightly guilty that he'd left it unattended. 'I mean, I was there, but then I left to go and sort out breakfast for Myf. I thought it'd be fine to leave it on its own for a few minutes and come back. I didn't expect it to just start dying the minute I had my back turned.'

Jack gave him a puzzled look. 'Do you think it's dead yet?'

'I think it's safe to say that when anything explodes, that's pretty much death covered, present company excepted,' he added.

'Maybe we should get Owen to take a look,' Jack said. 'He's around here somewhere, isn't he? He was the one who originally brought it in. He'd be best placed to know if this is a normal thing or not.'

Ianto scoffed. 'I don't think a medical opinion is required.' He pinched he nose as another whiff of the thing caught in it. Nothing that wasn't dead smelled that bad, that burnt decaying smell that lingered long after the fact. The tiny tendrils of smoke still wafting upwards from it pretty much sealed it for him.

'Okay, so there's no resurrecting it, that's our conclusion?' Jack asked, giving it another poke.

'I'm no expert, but I think it's gone to God,' Ianto confirmed. 'Do you want to tell Owen, or shall I?'

Jack poked it one last time with his pen, as part of it dislodged and crumbled into a pile of ash on his desk. Oops. 'You can have the honour,' he said. 'Really puts a dint in our breakfast plans, doesn't it?' he said, cringing at the poor thing.

'Looks like it'll be takeaway from then café down the road,' Ianto replied, taking the tea towel and picking it up, and wrapping it up for the bins. 'Owen's old toaster is quite literally toast.'