m_findlow (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
m_findlow) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
fandomweekly2025-02-09 03:14 pm
m_findlow) wrote in fandomweekly2025-02-09 03:14 pm
Entry tags:
[#249] INNOCENT BYSTANDER (TORCHWOOD)
Theme Prompt: #249- Emergency
Title: Innocent bystander
Fandom: Torchwood
Rating/Warnings: PG. A post-CoE AU.
Bonus: Yes
Word Count: 1,000 words
Summary: Ianto is caught off guard in a strange city and a strange realisation of his new place in the world.
Ianto flipped through his stack of papers again, finding the place in his notes where his mental image of his presentation failed him. No matter how many times he'd rehearsed in his head, he always seemed to get stuck at this particular spot, his pre-prepared words failing to stick in his memory. He knew his subject matter back to front; it was the getting up in front of a few hundred people to present it that had his stomach twisting in knots, making him stumble over his thoughts.
A stiff breeze swept through and he instinctually slapped his hands down on the papers so that they didn't fly off the café table and under the wheels of the bright yellow cabs that filled the busy New York street. He absently reached for his coffee as he shuffled the papers back in order, rehearsing his notes again, sipping and cringing at how bad it was. Americans simply couldn't make coffee. He’d be glad to head home in a few days, even if it meant he wouldn’t stay long enough to see the sights of one of the world’s great cities. He never had travelled much, and even now he was here, there was no great yearning or disappointment to be leaving so soon.
He should get going, he realised. He wasn’t due at the conference centre for another hour, but preferred to be there a half hour early, just in case. He scooped up his notes and slid them back in his satchel, tucking a ten dollar bill under his coffee mug – more than enough for the coffee and a generous tip, even if he’d had no service and the coffee had been awful.
He rounded the corner of the large city block, all concrete and glass towers, waiting at the lights to cross when there was a flash and a loud boom that shook the ground underneath his feet. Immediately he felt himself jostled by dozens of people as they scattered in a panic, the other half blocking their path as they pulled out phones hoping to film a glimpse of whatever had just happened.
‘No… no, not again,’ he heard a man nearby almost whimper, the fear in his voice clear as he stood in the middle of the street, paralysed by the sound of the explosion. An explosion, yes but a momentary purple hue just seconds before it. With a sickening feeling, Ianto realised he knew what had caused it, and that it was no plane. It wasn’t even terrestrial. Why here and why now were questions he didn’t have time for.
Gwen would have gone haring in, all guns blazing and would have chewed him out for nothing doing the same. Only Gwen wasn't here and, he realised, he didn't have a gun. He'd always had a gun. He scarcely left home without one when he'd worked for Torchwood. Except he didn't work for Torchwood anymore. He didn't need a gun to do what he was doing. More to the point, he kind of liked it that way. He’d died doing what he felt was his duty and somehow come back from death. He had a new appreciation for living and having not been in a single moment where he'd been in danger or having his life threatened – if he excluded crossing the road each day where Dakar rally style drivers of the Route 288 London red double decker bus liked to roam. In the past five months, he'd become comfortable with the safe, pedestrian nature of his job. Rooting out bad actors that endangered the safety of the planet was capable of being done from a desk. It wasn't glamorous work, but it was something. It was his penance for having allowed Torchwood to disintegrate in the aftermath of the 456 incident.
“Ianto, move!” Gwen’s voice yelled louder in his head, urging him to set aside thoughts of danger. He pushed his way through confused locals and tourists, heading in the direction of sirens and flashing lights that began to spring up more and more the closer he got to the source of the explosion. Up ahead a young man in a dark navy police uniform and peaked cap raised a hand to stop him. When he didn't slow, the man stepped across his path. ‘Hey man, you can’t come through here. I need you to turn around and head back the way you came.’
‘I'm with the Unified Intelligence Taskforce.’
‘Never heard of them.’
‘UNIT. I'm with UNIT,’ he clarified.
‘Still never heard of them. Now I need you to stand back,’ he said, raising his hands again, trying to usher Ianto backwards as two flashing lights police cars pulled in sideways across the road, blocking it off.
‘I can help.’
‘This area is being cordoned off by the New York City Police Department whilst we investigate an emerging incident. Code for they didn’t have a bloody clue and were trying not to act alarmed. ‘That means no civilian access.’
Ianto was about to say “but I’m not a civilian” when it hit him; he was just a civilian. A member of UNIT presenting at a global conference on the separation of domestic political powers during the activation of international security measures, but a civilian nonetheless. He’d spent so long at Torchwood, being outside the government and beyond the police, that being told he needed to step back and let the authorities handle things was completely foreign to him.
‘Sir,’ the police officer repeated. ‘I need you to clear the area and let us do our job. If you wanna argue about it, you can take it up with the chief over there,’ he said, thumbing back to where a hastily erected incident command post was coming together. ‘Otherwise, I suggest you head back to your hotel. NYPD has this covered.’
With a nod that surprised him, Ianto relented. This wasn’t his job anymore. His job now was to live and let others risk themselves.
Title: Innocent bystander
Fandom: Torchwood
Rating/Warnings: PG. A post-CoE AU.
Bonus: Yes
Word Count: 1,000 words
Summary: Ianto is caught off guard in a strange city and a strange realisation of his new place in the world.
Ianto flipped through his stack of papers again, finding the place in his notes where his mental image of his presentation failed him. No matter how many times he'd rehearsed in his head, he always seemed to get stuck at this particular spot, his pre-prepared words failing to stick in his memory. He knew his subject matter back to front; it was the getting up in front of a few hundred people to present it that had his stomach twisting in knots, making him stumble over his thoughts.
A stiff breeze swept through and he instinctually slapped his hands down on the papers so that they didn't fly off the café table and under the wheels of the bright yellow cabs that filled the busy New York street. He absently reached for his coffee as he shuffled the papers back in order, rehearsing his notes again, sipping and cringing at how bad it was. Americans simply couldn't make coffee. He’d be glad to head home in a few days, even if it meant he wouldn’t stay long enough to see the sights of one of the world’s great cities. He never had travelled much, and even now he was here, there was no great yearning or disappointment to be leaving so soon.
He should get going, he realised. He wasn’t due at the conference centre for another hour, but preferred to be there a half hour early, just in case. He scooped up his notes and slid them back in his satchel, tucking a ten dollar bill under his coffee mug – more than enough for the coffee and a generous tip, even if he’d had no service and the coffee had been awful.
He rounded the corner of the large city block, all concrete and glass towers, waiting at the lights to cross when there was a flash and a loud boom that shook the ground underneath his feet. Immediately he felt himself jostled by dozens of people as they scattered in a panic, the other half blocking their path as they pulled out phones hoping to film a glimpse of whatever had just happened.
‘No… no, not again,’ he heard a man nearby almost whimper, the fear in his voice clear as he stood in the middle of the street, paralysed by the sound of the explosion. An explosion, yes but a momentary purple hue just seconds before it. With a sickening feeling, Ianto realised he knew what had caused it, and that it was no plane. It wasn’t even terrestrial. Why here and why now were questions he didn’t have time for.
Gwen would have gone haring in, all guns blazing and would have chewed him out for nothing doing the same. Only Gwen wasn't here and, he realised, he didn't have a gun. He'd always had a gun. He scarcely left home without one when he'd worked for Torchwood. Except he didn't work for Torchwood anymore. He didn't need a gun to do what he was doing. More to the point, he kind of liked it that way. He’d died doing what he felt was his duty and somehow come back from death. He had a new appreciation for living and having not been in a single moment where he'd been in danger or having his life threatened – if he excluded crossing the road each day where Dakar rally style drivers of the Route 288 London red double decker bus liked to roam. In the past five months, he'd become comfortable with the safe, pedestrian nature of his job. Rooting out bad actors that endangered the safety of the planet was capable of being done from a desk. It wasn't glamorous work, but it was something. It was his penance for having allowed Torchwood to disintegrate in the aftermath of the 456 incident.
“Ianto, move!” Gwen’s voice yelled louder in his head, urging him to set aside thoughts of danger. He pushed his way through confused locals and tourists, heading in the direction of sirens and flashing lights that began to spring up more and more the closer he got to the source of the explosion. Up ahead a young man in a dark navy police uniform and peaked cap raised a hand to stop him. When he didn't slow, the man stepped across his path. ‘Hey man, you can’t come through here. I need you to turn around and head back the way you came.’
‘I'm with the Unified Intelligence Taskforce.’
‘Never heard of them.’
‘UNIT. I'm with UNIT,’ he clarified.
‘Still never heard of them. Now I need you to stand back,’ he said, raising his hands again, trying to usher Ianto backwards as two flashing lights police cars pulled in sideways across the road, blocking it off.
‘I can help.’
‘This area is being cordoned off by the New York City Police Department whilst we investigate an emerging incident. Code for they didn’t have a bloody clue and were trying not to act alarmed. ‘That means no civilian access.’
Ianto was about to say “but I’m not a civilian” when it hit him; he was just a civilian. A member of UNIT presenting at a global conference on the separation of domestic political powers during the activation of international security measures, but a civilian nonetheless. He’d spent so long at Torchwood, being outside the government and beyond the police, that being told he needed to step back and let the authorities handle things was completely foreign to him.
‘Sir,’ the police officer repeated. ‘I need you to clear the area and let us do our job. If you wanna argue about it, you can take it up with the chief over there,’ he said, thumbing back to where a hastily erected incident command post was coming together. ‘Otherwise, I suggest you head back to your hotel. NYPD has this covered.’
With a nod that surprised him, Ianto relented. This wasn’t his job anymore. His job now was to live and let others risk themselves.
no subject