The things we do
May. 12th, 2008 12:22 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
silver_sunSome how I've made it through round six of writerinadrawer, I am so surprised to have made it into the sixteen of us left from the orginal fifty. That's particularly true for this round as considering I was drawing a absolute blank on what to write until about ten hours before the deadline and so it was written in a rush, and like all my other writer in a drawer entries, is unbeta'd.
Title: The things we do.
Rating: PG
Characters: Ianto, Owen.
Warning/Spoilers: Day in the Death and Fragments, although this set before Fragments.
Prompts: Busted (somebody's found doing something they shouldn't be) an art or craft and 400 words or less.
Title: The things we do.
Rating: PG
Characters: Ianto, Owen.
Warning/Spoilers: Day in the Death and Fragments, although this set before Fragments.
Prompts: Busted (somebody's found doing something they shouldn't be) an art or craft and 400 words or less.
It isn’t so much that somebody is taking office supplies, Ianto really has no problem with people wandering off with a few pens or a packet printer paper, it's just that he’d prefer them to let him know first.
It’s the principle of the thing really, and this being Torchwood what starts with snaffling a few pens could quite easily end with somebody taking a home portable nuclear device and leaving a Cardiff shaped crater behind them.
What Ianto hadn’t expected was for Owen to be the culprit, nor for him to be sneaking into the Hub at 3am to do so.
Standing in the shadows he waits until Owen has walked past him before tapping him on shoulder, saying, “You know some people would consider that stealing.”
Startled, Owen swears, dropping the paper.
“Why paper?” Ianto asks, picking it up.
“I’ve developed an uncontrollable origami fetish,” Owen says sarcastically.
Ianto laughs, “And here was me thinking it was something strange.”
“If you must know,” Owen snaps, “there’s this girl, Maggie.”
Ianto rolls his eyes. Some things never change.
“Not like that, you’re getting as bad as Jack. She was up on a rooftop ready to jump and I talked her down. Anyway we talked a bit more after that and I said I'd help her out with a few things. There’s this club she goes to, a help group for people who’ve lost someone. I volunteered to help print up the newsletter for them. Only I forgot I’d trashed a lot of stuff in my flat – including my printer.”
“Smart move,” Ianto says wryly, before asking, “So why’d you volunteer? It doesn’t sound like something you’d do.”
”Because I know what it’s like, I’ve lost…people.” Owen voice is oddly flat and he doesn’t meet Ianto’s eyes.
“Diane?”
“Katie. My fiancé.”
“I’m sorry.” Ianto wishes it didn’t sound so inadequate.
“What? You thought you’d got the monopoly on dead girlfriends, did you?” There’s bitterness, but no anger behind it, and Ianto lets it go.
The awkwardness between them is almost palpable, and Owen scuffs his feet, an unconscious gesture of his wish to escape further conversation.
It’s Ianto that breaks the silence, saying, “If you want any help, organising stuff I mean, I could help.”
Owen shakes his head, “Nah, it gives me something to do. Anyway, why are you here so late?”
Ianto smiles, and turns to leave, “Jack. Goodnight, Owen.”
It’s the principle of the thing really, and this being Torchwood what starts with snaffling a few pens could quite easily end with somebody taking a home portable nuclear device and leaving a Cardiff shaped crater behind them.
What Ianto hadn’t expected was for Owen to be the culprit, nor for him to be sneaking into the Hub at 3am to do so.
Standing in the shadows he waits until Owen has walked past him before tapping him on shoulder, saying, “You know some people would consider that stealing.”
Startled, Owen swears, dropping the paper.
“Why paper?” Ianto asks, picking it up.
“I’ve developed an uncontrollable origami fetish,” Owen says sarcastically.
Ianto laughs, “And here was me thinking it was something strange.”
“If you must know,” Owen snaps, “there’s this girl, Maggie.”
Ianto rolls his eyes. Some things never change.
“Not like that, you’re getting as bad as Jack. She was up on a rooftop ready to jump and I talked her down. Anyway we talked a bit more after that and I said I'd help her out with a few things. There’s this club she goes to, a help group for people who’ve lost someone. I volunteered to help print up the newsletter for them. Only I forgot I’d trashed a lot of stuff in my flat – including my printer.”
“Smart move,” Ianto says wryly, before asking, “So why’d you volunteer? It doesn’t sound like something you’d do.”
”Because I know what it’s like, I’ve lost…people.” Owen voice is oddly flat and he doesn’t meet Ianto’s eyes.
“Diane?”
“Katie. My fiancé.”
“I’m sorry.” Ianto wishes it didn’t sound so inadequate.
“What? You thought you’d got the monopoly on dead girlfriends, did you?” There’s bitterness, but no anger behind it, and Ianto lets it go.
The awkwardness between them is almost palpable, and Owen scuffs his feet, an unconscious gesture of his wish to escape further conversation.
It’s Ianto that breaks the silence, saying, “If you want any help, organising stuff I mean, I could help.”
Owen shakes his head, “Nah, it gives me something to do. Anyway, why are you here so late?”
Ianto smiles, and turns to leave, “Jack. Goodnight, Owen.”
no subject
Date: 2008-05-18 10:03 am (UTC)