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fandomweekly2025-01-19 08:53 pm
m_findlow) wrote in fandomweekly2025-01-19 08:53 pm
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[#246] PRISONER OF WAR (TORCHWOOD)
Theme Prompt: #246- The common cold
Title: Prisoner of war
Fandom: Torchwood
Rating/Warnings: PG.
Bonus: Yes
Word Count: 1,000 words
Summary: Ianto has drawn the short straw of being on prisoner watch.
Ianto closed the apartment door behind him and added the chain latch, fully a foot higher than his Sontaran guest could reach. That's us locked in for the evening, he thought. Joy. Definitely asking for a pay rise next week, he vowed. Jack owed him this time.
The Sontaran, a stout and rather odd creature by the name of Strax, rounded on him, a scowl painted on his pale, sweating, bulbous face. ‘I must protest at staying here.’
‘You don't get a choice,’ Ianto replied, wanting to put the argument swiftly to bed. ‘You remain in Torchwood's custody until such time as your own people can come collect you, provided that they also promise not to start a war while they're here. As their commander,’ Ianto emphasised, ‘we expect that you’ll be responsible for ensuring that remains the case.’
Strax gave a harrumph of displeasure, followed by a long, snotty sniff. ‘Prisoners of war are to be given medical aid when required,’ he stated.
‘And what would Sontarans know about the rights of prisoners of war?’ Ianto asked. ‘You don’t take prisoners.’
‘Only cowards would deny themselves the great honour of being killed by the Sontaran!’ he bellowed, albeit it weakly, resolving itself into a hacking cough. ‘This poisoning by disease is a foul way to conduct war! Projectile body fluids no less!’
Ianto ignored the pontificating, slipping his coat off his shoulders and hanging it on a hook by the door. ‘Well, that’s what you get for trying to take a day care centre hostage.’ Some snotty little preschooler had sneezed on him and passed on a whole petri dish full of germs.
‘As commander of the fleet, it is my duty to assess the military capabilities of the weakest of your population prior to finalising our strategy.’
‘Well, you won't have to worry about that anymore, now that you’ll be on the first starship out of here.’ Ianto smirked at how ridiculous the whole situation was. ‘Besides, they were going to take you back until you're virus free and you've completed your quarantine. Until then, we're stuck with you.’
Jack had been the least happy about it, but what could they do? It was just lucky that they'd agreed to come and collect their wayward commander at all without inciting bloodshed and carnage.
‘I detest your medical treatment. Or lack thereof, should I say. The Sontaran should destroy your world for your lack of a cure. Is this how you treat your prisoners of war? To let them suffer at the hands of your primitive viruses?’
Ianto rolled his eyes. ‘It's the common cold.’
‘Ah, so you admit that this is a regular torture inflicted upon your enemies, do you? If I should die, I shall die with dignity and avenge your world for this first offensive strike.’
‘Oh, please. It's not fatal. You won't die. You'll barely suffer more that a bit of stuffy head and runny nose.’ He looked at the queer bowl shaped head of the Sontaran and wondered if it would even know the difference, given how it looked like its head was already stuffed into too small a skeleton, squashed and disproportionate like the rest of this body. ‘Give it a day or two and you’ll be fine.’
Strax folded his arms behind him and took a few purposeful steps around the flat, appraising it. ‘This is a strange looking quarantine facility,’ he finally said.
‘That's because it's not. It's my flat.’
‘It doesn't look very two dimensional to me.
‘Flat,’ Ianto reiterated, suffering through the obtuse interpretation as he moved past Strax. ‘It's another word for apartment. Accommodation. Residence. Home.’
Strax cocked his head sideways. ‘And you call that protocol?’
‘Jack said you have to remain under guard overnight. He didn't say anything about where I had to keep you. Besides, it was sit around at the hub all night or at least get the job done from the relative comfort of my own home. Here,’ he said having paused and become temporarily hidden behind a door in the hallway, before thrusting a heavy item in Strax's direction. ‘Blanket. You can spend the night on the sofa. Granted you might have had a bed at the hub, but I draw the line at aliens sleeping in my bed whilst I take the sofa.’
Strax grumbled as he fumbled with the blanket, continuing to stand there as Ianto moved into the kitchen. He’d feed Strax and then leave him to his own devices. He was too unwell to be any danger, and Ianto was the one with the gun in his side drawer.
By the time Ianto came back, Strax had found the sofa, sitting stiffly on it like the unwelcome guest he was.
‘This should help you feel better,’ Ianto said, offering a bowl. ‘Chicken soup. Out of a tin, but still decent enough with a cheese toastie. Works wonders when you feel unwell.’
Strax sniffed the bowl with suspicion then raised his eyes to glare at Ianto. ‘I don't like how it smells. Are you trying to poison me, girl?’
Ianto rolled his eyes, not letting the comment bait him. He'd been referring to Ianto in feminine terms all day, and calling Gwen a boy. Sontarans seemed to have great difficulty in discerning gender. He didn't think it was done on purpose. Sontarans equally didn't seem to have much of a sense of humour, nor the kind of dry wit Ianto might parry with. ‘Take it or leave it. It won’t stay hot forever, and nobody likes cold chicken soup.’
Reluctantly, Strax sipped a spoonful, eyes narrowed at Ianto as he did so. ‘I suppose it will suffice as prison food. We cannot expect much from such primitive enemies.’
Ianto heaved a sigh. ‘I'm done playing nurse. Goodnight, Strax.’
‘Once I'm feeling better I shall come and murder you in the night, girl! You shall rue the might of the great Sontaran army!’
‘Mmh hmm,’ Ianto hummed, slamming his bedroom door.
Title: Prisoner of war
Fandom: Torchwood
Rating/Warnings: PG.
Bonus: Yes
Word Count: 1,000 words
Summary: Ianto has drawn the short straw of being on prisoner watch.
Ianto closed the apartment door behind him and added the chain latch, fully a foot higher than his Sontaran guest could reach. That's us locked in for the evening, he thought. Joy. Definitely asking for a pay rise next week, he vowed. Jack owed him this time.
The Sontaran, a stout and rather odd creature by the name of Strax, rounded on him, a scowl painted on his pale, sweating, bulbous face. ‘I must protest at staying here.’
‘You don't get a choice,’ Ianto replied, wanting to put the argument swiftly to bed. ‘You remain in Torchwood's custody until such time as your own people can come collect you, provided that they also promise not to start a war while they're here. As their commander,’ Ianto emphasised, ‘we expect that you’ll be responsible for ensuring that remains the case.’
Strax gave a harrumph of displeasure, followed by a long, snotty sniff. ‘Prisoners of war are to be given medical aid when required,’ he stated.
‘And what would Sontarans know about the rights of prisoners of war?’ Ianto asked. ‘You don’t take prisoners.’
‘Only cowards would deny themselves the great honour of being killed by the Sontaran!’ he bellowed, albeit it weakly, resolving itself into a hacking cough. ‘This poisoning by disease is a foul way to conduct war! Projectile body fluids no less!’
Ianto ignored the pontificating, slipping his coat off his shoulders and hanging it on a hook by the door. ‘Well, that’s what you get for trying to take a day care centre hostage.’ Some snotty little preschooler had sneezed on him and passed on a whole petri dish full of germs.
‘As commander of the fleet, it is my duty to assess the military capabilities of the weakest of your population prior to finalising our strategy.’
‘Well, you won't have to worry about that anymore, now that you’ll be on the first starship out of here.’ Ianto smirked at how ridiculous the whole situation was. ‘Besides, they were going to take you back until you're virus free and you've completed your quarantine. Until then, we're stuck with you.’
Jack had been the least happy about it, but what could they do? It was just lucky that they'd agreed to come and collect their wayward commander at all without inciting bloodshed and carnage.
‘I detest your medical treatment. Or lack thereof, should I say. The Sontaran should destroy your world for your lack of a cure. Is this how you treat your prisoners of war? To let them suffer at the hands of your primitive viruses?’
Ianto rolled his eyes. ‘It's the common cold.’
‘Ah, so you admit that this is a regular torture inflicted upon your enemies, do you? If I should die, I shall die with dignity and avenge your world for this first offensive strike.’
‘Oh, please. It's not fatal. You won't die. You'll barely suffer more that a bit of stuffy head and runny nose.’ He looked at the queer bowl shaped head of the Sontaran and wondered if it would even know the difference, given how it looked like its head was already stuffed into too small a skeleton, squashed and disproportionate like the rest of this body. ‘Give it a day or two and you’ll be fine.’
Strax folded his arms behind him and took a few purposeful steps around the flat, appraising it. ‘This is a strange looking quarantine facility,’ he finally said.
‘That's because it's not. It's my flat.’
‘It doesn't look very two dimensional to me.
‘Flat,’ Ianto reiterated, suffering through the obtuse interpretation as he moved past Strax. ‘It's another word for apartment. Accommodation. Residence. Home.’
Strax cocked his head sideways. ‘And you call that protocol?’
‘Jack said you have to remain under guard overnight. He didn't say anything about where I had to keep you. Besides, it was sit around at the hub all night or at least get the job done from the relative comfort of my own home. Here,’ he said having paused and become temporarily hidden behind a door in the hallway, before thrusting a heavy item in Strax's direction. ‘Blanket. You can spend the night on the sofa. Granted you might have had a bed at the hub, but I draw the line at aliens sleeping in my bed whilst I take the sofa.’
Strax grumbled as he fumbled with the blanket, continuing to stand there as Ianto moved into the kitchen. He’d feed Strax and then leave him to his own devices. He was too unwell to be any danger, and Ianto was the one with the gun in his side drawer.
By the time Ianto came back, Strax had found the sofa, sitting stiffly on it like the unwelcome guest he was.
‘This should help you feel better,’ Ianto said, offering a bowl. ‘Chicken soup. Out of a tin, but still decent enough with a cheese toastie. Works wonders when you feel unwell.’
Strax sniffed the bowl with suspicion then raised his eyes to glare at Ianto. ‘I don't like how it smells. Are you trying to poison me, girl?’
Ianto rolled his eyes, not letting the comment bait him. He'd been referring to Ianto in feminine terms all day, and calling Gwen a boy. Sontarans seemed to have great difficulty in discerning gender. He didn't think it was done on purpose. Sontarans equally didn't seem to have much of a sense of humour, nor the kind of dry wit Ianto might parry with. ‘Take it or leave it. It won’t stay hot forever, and nobody likes cold chicken soup.’
Reluctantly, Strax sipped a spoonful, eyes narrowed at Ianto as he did so. ‘I suppose it will suffice as prison food. We cannot expect much from such primitive enemies.’
Ianto heaved a sigh. ‘I'm done playing nurse. Goodnight, Strax.’
‘Once I'm feeling better I shall come and murder you in the night, girl! You shall rue the might of the great Sontaran army!’
‘Mmh hmm,’ Ianto hummed, slamming his bedroom door.
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I love Strax =)