m_findlow

Title: Don't think, just shoot
Fandom: Torchwood
Characters: Ianto
Author: m_findlow
Rating: PG
Length: 1,007 words
Content notes: none
Author notes: Written for badly_knitted's prompt "Torchwood, Ianto, the first time he ever fired a gun" at fic_promptly
Summary: The excitement of working for Torchwood wears off very quickly

Ianto should have been excited to be offered firearms training.

To be honest, it wasn't really an offer, it was a prerequisite. Every person who worked for Torchwood One was required to undertake basic firearms training.

It didn't matter if you were a front line operative, or the lowest clerk, everyone was to be competent with weapons. Orders from Yvonne Hartman herself.

Everyone else in his team was excited by the prospect, as if it made even their most mundane of jobs at Torchwood highly exciting and exotic.

The team were lead to an internal area down on one of the sub basement levels, to a fully equipped firing range. Several burly looking officers started them off in a conference room, training them on the science behind modern weaponry and how various models differed. Most of the group couldn't have care less about safeties and slides, they just wanted to get out there and shoot something. Ianto however paid careful attention.

After the lengthy safety demonstration, they were issued with tinted safety goggles and a clip for the semi automatic weapons they would be handed by their instructor. Ianto couldn't understand the trepidation he felt until the gun was placed carefully in his hand. It was heavier that he expected, and the grip remained cold despite the warmth from his hand.

He was pulled back into a memory from his teenage years, hanging out with a gang on the estate. The same one that he'd been with when he'd gotten caught shoplifting a handful of CDs from a local shop. One of the leaders in the group had often been seen brandishing a gun, claiming that he'd once shot someone with it. Ianto didn't quite believe him at the time, even though the boy was a few years older. It was more a statement, that he could produce it from the back of his jeans when he wanted to make a particular point, or regain some authority when arguments between various members got too heated.

Ianto hadn't really wanted to be involved in that sort of thing at the time, knowing what a bollocking he'd have gotten from his dad if he'd found out. Bad enough that his sister knew he was hanging out with them, but what choice did he have? You were either one of them, or a victim of them.

He still felt his cheeks grow hot and red from the memory of the day his dad had to take him to the local magistrates, and the look of disappointment on his face as he was convicted. They'd threatened to hurt his sister if he dobbed the rest of them in, so he'd remained quiet, pleaded guilty and taken the charge. He didn't hang out with them after that, but they didn't bother him either. He'd earned their amnesty.

Holding the gun now he knew he didn't like it anymore than he had back then. They made him feel that same uncomfortable feeling, as if he were doing something wrong, and was about to be caught in the act. He tried looking for a way out as the sound of gunfire began to ring through various stalls along the range. Instead when he turned, the instructor stood there in an intimidating way and nodded his head toward the paper target. It was clear he wasn't being given any options.

He turned back to the stall, facing his paper victim and trying to distance himself emotionally from what was about to happen. In his mind he ran through the instructor's checklist, methodically inserting the ammunition clip, pulling back on the slide, and taking aim, one hand supporting the other from underneath.

He breathed in and then out, trying to empty his mind. On the second exhalation he gently but firmly squeezed the trigger. The shot was impossibly loud, even through the ear protectors, though he expected much more throwback from the piece. Instead it remained steadily within his grip. Perhaps they'd been designed that way so that they were appropriate for people like him who have never used one, and were not expected to be capable of using anything more powerful. Or perhaps the tension running through his body was stronger than he'd thought.

Following on with his instructions he emptied the clip mechanically, one shot ringing out after another, until twenty shots had exited from the muzzle and left his hand vibrating slightly.

The instructor clapped him gently on the shoulder to tell him he could put the weapon down, now that it was safely empty of munitions. He dislodged the earmuffs and glasses placing them alongside the firearm, whilst the target was being returned from its position on the far end of the range.

When it came into view he was more than a little shocked, and slightly sickened to find that the majority of the shots had hit the target, some quite accurately hitting the upper torso near the heart.

Whilst the instructor was praising his first efforts, he was trying to process the myriad of thoughts in his head. Had he really just done that? When on earth would he ever need to take hold of a gun? He worked in records management. Even if his life was in danger he didn't think he would be capable of taking up a gun and firing it. Not at the risk of hurting someone else, however dire the situation.

Relief flooded through him as he realised that the session was over and done with, and he could go back to doing his normal job. That was until the instructor said he was looking forward to seeing him again next week. Ianto must have muttered something along the lines of incomprehension, because the instructor replied, 'Not much use calling it training if you only have one session.'

The minimum requirement had been set down in corporate policy that he would have to attend at least once a fortnight for no less than an hour.

Suddenly his job at Torchwood didn't seem quite so exciting.