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fandomweekly2024-10-06 11:15 am
m_findlow) wrote in fandomweekly2024-10-06 11:15 am
Entry tags:
[#236] WATCH FOR ICE (TORCHWOOD)
Theme Prompt: #236 - Cold snap
Title: Watch for ice
Fandom: Torchwood
Rating/Warnings: PG.
Bonus: Yes
Word Count: 1,000 words
Summary: Ianto’s morning routine is disrupted by a missing newspaper and unexpectedly poor weather conditions.
Ianto shuddered as he woke in the semi-darkness. His face felt cold which meant the whole house must have been cold. He pulled up the covers over it and lay there for a few minutes, letting the warmth of his breath cloud the newly confined space, until the dampness caused by so much sudden humidity made him pull them away again.
He curled over on his side, stretching an arm out under the duvet and finding nothing there. He sighed. So much for Jack's promise that he’d come home just as soon as he was done. Not that it would be the first time he was waking up to an empty bed. Still, Ianto had gotten used to Jack crawling in under the duvet at two or three in the morning, snuggling up against him and usually waking him up in the process. It was nice to know Jack was there despite the interruption to his sleep. Even if it was only for a few hours, Ianto would take it gladly.
It was only the second week of autumn, he thought, reluctantly having to pull himself out of bed given the lack of things keeping him there. The weather forecasters had gotten it wrong again, clearly. Why he even bothered with it he couldn't say. Working for Torchwood he knew there was no way to predict the future in any accurate way, so why did humans think that they could predict something as fickle as weather? ‘Because people like you prefer certainty over uncertainty,’ he answered, padding quickly across the room before his feet succumbed to the chill. Hot shower first, then he’d worry about whether to turn on the radiator.
His morning routine kept him moving from bedroom to kitchen and back again, using coffee and hot buttered toast to stave off any residual chill he felt from moving around the house. So much for global warming, he thought, carrying half a slice of toast with him towards the front door. What he wouldn't give for Cardiff to be a few degrees warmer most of the time. If it was going to be this cold so early in the season, he could only imagine what it would look like when winter arrived. Now was probably a good time to get in his order for snow boots and a new winter coat. If the city was going to be knee deep in snow, he intended to be ready for it.
He crunched his way down the gravel footpath, searching the yard for his morning paper and contemplating whether they should consider thicker, warmer boiler suit drops in the sewers for the local weevil population. A bitter winter must be worse down there and, as much of a nuisance as weevils could be, they didn’t deserve to suffer through wintry weather any more than the rest of Cardiff's residents.
‘Where is it?’ Ianto muttered, still looking everywhere for the paper. It was that much harder to spot since they’d taken to rolling them up in cling film. Must be easier for the delivery man to throw, he assumed, but harder to find since it could now roll under the begonias or become wedged in a rosebush.
He reached the front gate and peered over it, spotting his paper lying teen feet away on the naturestrip outside, teetering towards the gutter. Lazy shites. How hard was it to throw the paper into his yard? Any early morning walker could’ve picked it up and just walked off with it. Mind you, it was only just after five thirty. He was probably the only person up at this hour on a morning like this. He unlatched the gate and walked over to it, picking it up and turning on his heel before the world spun and the silvery grey skies above him flashed into view for a split second.
Confused. That’s all Ianto can think of as his eyes open. Everything is white, or at least that's how it feels until he turns his head and finds the white intermingled with metal bars. What? Is that the right question? It doesn’t feel like it. His head is all fuzzy and feels like it’s wrapped up in something tight. Where? Maybe that’s the question. Everything smells funny, like chemicals. Confused.
A loud intake of breath off to the other side. Ianto is slow to react to the sound but hands reach out to him as he manages to turn his neck slowly to the left. ‘You’re awake. Thank the goddesses!’ A man leans down over him and kisses his cheek. He knows that face and the fluttering feeling in his stomach as the man’s lips touch him, but he can’t find the name that goes with it. John? James? Something like that, he’s sure.
He closes his eyes and opens them again, trying to refocus. ‘What?’ He repeats the question.
‘It's okay.’ The man strokes his face, looking tired and anxious. ‘You’re in the hospital. You slipped on a patch of ice out in the street. Hit your head pretty damn hard, they reckoned. You’d been lying out there a while before anyone came along and found you, calling an ambulance.’
‘Head,’ he murmured, focusing on that tight sensation around his temples once more.
‘There was so much swelling they had to take you into surgery and drill a hole in your skull to release the pressure. They say it was so cold that morning that the temperature probably slowed the swelling down, preventing it from getting worse.’ The man reached down and took his hand, squeezing it tight as tears began to well in his blue eyes. ‘You've been in a coma for four days. I was worried you weren't going to wake up again.’
Jack. That's the name he was searching for. The name of the man that was in love with him. ‘Don’t remember.’
Jack reached up and kissed him again, this time on the lips. ‘That’s okay. None of that matters.’
Title: Watch for ice
Fandom: Torchwood
Rating/Warnings: PG.
Bonus: Yes
Word Count: 1,000 words
Summary: Ianto’s morning routine is disrupted by a missing newspaper and unexpectedly poor weather conditions.
Ianto shuddered as he woke in the semi-darkness. His face felt cold which meant the whole house must have been cold. He pulled up the covers over it and lay there for a few minutes, letting the warmth of his breath cloud the newly confined space, until the dampness caused by so much sudden humidity made him pull them away again.
He curled over on his side, stretching an arm out under the duvet and finding nothing there. He sighed. So much for Jack's promise that he’d come home just as soon as he was done. Not that it would be the first time he was waking up to an empty bed. Still, Ianto had gotten used to Jack crawling in under the duvet at two or three in the morning, snuggling up against him and usually waking him up in the process. It was nice to know Jack was there despite the interruption to his sleep. Even if it was only for a few hours, Ianto would take it gladly.
It was only the second week of autumn, he thought, reluctantly having to pull himself out of bed given the lack of things keeping him there. The weather forecasters had gotten it wrong again, clearly. Why he even bothered with it he couldn't say. Working for Torchwood he knew there was no way to predict the future in any accurate way, so why did humans think that they could predict something as fickle as weather? ‘Because people like you prefer certainty over uncertainty,’ he answered, padding quickly across the room before his feet succumbed to the chill. Hot shower first, then he’d worry about whether to turn on the radiator.
His morning routine kept him moving from bedroom to kitchen and back again, using coffee and hot buttered toast to stave off any residual chill he felt from moving around the house. So much for global warming, he thought, carrying half a slice of toast with him towards the front door. What he wouldn't give for Cardiff to be a few degrees warmer most of the time. If it was going to be this cold so early in the season, he could only imagine what it would look like when winter arrived. Now was probably a good time to get in his order for snow boots and a new winter coat. If the city was going to be knee deep in snow, he intended to be ready for it.
He crunched his way down the gravel footpath, searching the yard for his morning paper and contemplating whether they should consider thicker, warmer boiler suit drops in the sewers for the local weevil population. A bitter winter must be worse down there and, as much of a nuisance as weevils could be, they didn’t deserve to suffer through wintry weather any more than the rest of Cardiff's residents.
‘Where is it?’ Ianto muttered, still looking everywhere for the paper. It was that much harder to spot since they’d taken to rolling them up in cling film. Must be easier for the delivery man to throw, he assumed, but harder to find since it could now roll under the begonias or become wedged in a rosebush.
He reached the front gate and peered over it, spotting his paper lying teen feet away on the naturestrip outside, teetering towards the gutter. Lazy shites. How hard was it to throw the paper into his yard? Any early morning walker could’ve picked it up and just walked off with it. Mind you, it was only just after five thirty. He was probably the only person up at this hour on a morning like this. He unlatched the gate and walked over to it, picking it up and turning on his heel before the world spun and the silvery grey skies above him flashed into view for a split second.
Confused. That’s all Ianto can think of as his eyes open. Everything is white, or at least that's how it feels until he turns his head and finds the white intermingled with metal bars. What? Is that the right question? It doesn’t feel like it. His head is all fuzzy and feels like it’s wrapped up in something tight. Where? Maybe that’s the question. Everything smells funny, like chemicals. Confused.
A loud intake of breath off to the other side. Ianto is slow to react to the sound but hands reach out to him as he manages to turn his neck slowly to the left. ‘You’re awake. Thank the goddesses!’ A man leans down over him and kisses his cheek. He knows that face and the fluttering feeling in his stomach as the man’s lips touch him, but he can’t find the name that goes with it. John? James? Something like that, he’s sure.
He closes his eyes and opens them again, trying to refocus. ‘What?’ He repeats the question.
‘It's okay.’ The man strokes his face, looking tired and anxious. ‘You’re in the hospital. You slipped on a patch of ice out in the street. Hit your head pretty damn hard, they reckoned. You’d been lying out there a while before anyone came along and found you, calling an ambulance.’
‘Head,’ he murmured, focusing on that tight sensation around his temples once more.
‘There was so much swelling they had to take you into surgery and drill a hole in your skull to release the pressure. They say it was so cold that morning that the temperature probably slowed the swelling down, preventing it from getting worse.’ The man reached down and took his hand, squeezing it tight as tears began to well in his blue eyes. ‘You've been in a coma for four days. I was worried you weren't going to wake up again.’
Jack. That's the name he was searching for. The name of the man that was in love with him. ‘Don’t remember.’
Jack reached up and kissed him again, this time on the lips. ‘That’s okay. None of that matters.’