badly_knitted (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
badly_knitted) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
fandomweekly2019-05-04 03:01 pm
badly_knitted) wrote in fandomweekly2019-05-04 03:01 pm
Entry tags:
[#013] From Cloudless Skies (Torchwood)
Theme Prompt: #013 – Clear Skies
Title: From Cloudless Skies
Fandom: Torchwood
Rating/Warnings: PG / None
Bonus: Yes
Word Count: 1000
Summary: Whenever things start getting weird in Cardiff, Kathy Swanson knows exactly who to call: Torchwood.
Living on a Rift through space and time invited weirdness. Although most of Cardiff’s inhabitants, and the holidaymakers who visited the Welsh capital each year, didn’t know it existed, that didn’t prevent random people from getting caught up in its effects. Fortunately, most of those who were never really remembered the experience afterwards, thanks to Torchwood’s nifty little memory-erasing drug.
They were the lucky ones; the phrase ‘ignorance is bliss’ couldn’t have been more apt. Who wanted to remember being attacked by living candyfloss, abducted by alien slavers, or having a giant squid materialise in the middle of a church service? Forgetting such events allowed most people to sleep well at night, drugged into believing whatever outlandish explanation Torchwood handed them.
Sometimes, Detective Inspector Kathy Swanson wished she hadn’t opted to retain her memory when Jack Harkness had given her the choice. Knowing the truth about the city she did her best to protect just gave her more things to worry about, lying sleepless late at night. Take today, for instance…
Kathy had awoken to the perfect spring morning: cloudless blue skies, bright sunshine, the air fresh and warm without being hot. Wales could be rainy, it was what made the rolling hills so green, but contrary to popular belief, it didn’t rain all the time. So it was that Kathy, perhaps foolishly, decided to walk to work that morning, leaving her umbrella in her car, where she always kept it.
Naturally, three-quarters of the way to Cardiff Central police station, and out of a clear blue sky, it started to rain.
Gherkins.
The first Kathy knew about it was when one hit her on the head, and seconds later she was making a dash for the nearest shelter, covering her head as the pickles pelted down, and hoping against hope that they wouldn’t stain.
In the cover provided by a recessed doorway, she pulled out her phone and called Torchwood, not bothering with a greeting.
“Harkness, you’d better get over here; I’m on North Road and it’s raining pickled gherkins!”
“Gherkins? You’re sure?”
“Well, I haven’t tried one but they look like gherkins.”
“I’ll take your word for it. Be there in ten minutes.”
As he hung up, Kathy could hear Jack Harkness shouting at his team to gear up. How they were going to deal with this crisis she couldn’t imagine, but it was his problem now, not hers.
The team arrived in a screech of brakes, Torchwood’s black SUV rocking to a halt at the kerb, gherkins pattering off its roof. Ianto Jones stepped out of the passenger seat, umbrella up, and picked his way through the pickles.
“Thought you might need this,” he said calmly, handing her a spare umbrella.
“Thanks.”
“Well this is different.” Harkness deftly caught a pickle as it ricocheted off Ianto’s umbrella, and bit into it, chewing thoughtfully. “Definitely gherkins,” he confirmed.
“Maybe the Rift’s pregnant and having cravings,” Ianto joked.
“That would be all we need; a bunch of baby Rifts. As if the main one wasn’t a big enough problem.” Eschewing umbrellas as girly, Owen Harper was out in the gherkin storm, shoulders hunched, wincing every time a pickle hit him. “We don’t get paid enough for this!”
“Tosh, I need the location of the epicentre,” Harkness called to his tech expert, still inside the SUV.
“Already working on it,” she replied calmly. “There; the Castle Green.”
“Good work.” Harkness turned to Kathy. “DI Swanson, would you care to accompany us?”
“I don’t think there’s room.” Kathy eyed the SUV; it seated five, not six.
“Owen can ride in the back.”
“Why me?”
“You’re the smallest.”
“Tosh is smaller.”
“Tosh is busy.” There was a note of finality in Jack’s voice.
Curiosity overcame common sense and Kathy slid into the back beside ex-PC Cooper, who was sitting in the middle. Jack and Ianto got in the front, after shutting Harper in the rear.
“I feel like the family dog,” Harper griped.
“Dogs are better looking,” Cooper teased.
“Screw you, Cooper!”
“In your dreams!”
“Nightmares, more like.”
Kathy was glad it was a short drive because the pair bickered the entire time. It was a relief to pull up in the castle grounds and get out. How the rest of the team put up with their two colleagues’ constant sniping she’d never understand.
“We’ve learned to tune them out,” Ianto told her, as if reading her mind. “It’s a survival thing; they wouldn’t survive if we couldn’t ignore them.”
“Oi!” Owen protested, then, “Ow!” as a falling gherkin struck him on the nose.
Tosh giggled. “Serves you right. You know, if you weren’t too macho to use an umbrella I’d let you share mine.” She set off towards the green, picking her way through the gherkins littering the ground, kicking them delicately out of her way. Harkness, Kathy noted, just trampled right over them, uncaring. Owen trailed disconsolately behind Kathy and the rest of the team, muttering an occasional “Ow” but still resolutely refusing to share anyone’s umbrella.
“So what do you think’s causing this?” Kathy asked, falling into step alongside Harkness, no easy task given the length of his strides.
“Some kind of alien tech would be my guess. Not to worry though; whatever it is, Tosh will sort it out. She’s a genius.”
“How will you explain it raining pickles?”
This time it was Ianto who answered, delicately licking one finger and holding it up to check the direction of the wind. “Freak tornado hitting a pickling factory on the continent,” he said, smiling. “Picked up a whole batch of pickles and swept them all the way to Cardiff before running out of energy.”
“And I suppose people will just believe that?”
“They always do. The hard part will be collecting the pickles and disposing of them,” Ianto said with a sigh. “Can’t just leave them to rot; imagine the smell!”
Jack nodded. This would be a good time for the Rift to deliver a Hoix. They’ll eat anything.”
The End
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
Thank you. Glad you liked it!
no subject
no subject