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fandomweekly2025-09-21 04:19 pm
m_findlow) wrote in fandomweekly2025-09-21 04:19 pm
Entry tags:
[#274] CLOSE TO THE BONE (TORCHWOOD)
Theme Prompt: #274 - Near-death experience
Title: Close to the bone
Fandom: Torchwood
Rating/Warnings: M. Contains suicide ideation.
Bonus: Yes
Word Count: 1,000 words
Summary: Ianto is grappling with the trauma of what it really means to be a Torchwood field agent.
Ianto pulled the front door shut on his apartment block and counted off the clicking steps of his shoes on the concrete path. His car was parked out front, hemmed in by wheelie bins that had yet to be collected since yesterday.
Eighteen steps from the front door to the kerb he remembered. He made it to ten and looked back over his shoulder. He couldn't see anything through the third-storey window, but he knew Mandy would be there, watching from behind sheer curtains, making sure he got in the car, or perhaps waiting for him to change his mind and come back inside for another cup of tea, and maybe a cooked breakfast. Instead he swallowed and kept taking more steps. She'd just rinse a few dishes, put on a load of laundry and lock the door on her way out.
Sixteen, seventeen, eighteen. There, he'd made it. The car locks clinked and hazard lights flashed. He got in, turning the key and staring up the engine. Pulling seatbelt across his body, he winced at pain in his ribs which hadn't been there last night. The more he dwelt on it, the more other parts began to ache. He didn't have to go to work – Jack had said as much – but what else was he supposed to do?
He encouraged the car forward, down the street and around the corner. When he was safely out of sight he pulled alongside the kerb, tugging on the handbrake and puffed out a breath. He looked down at his hands as they loosened their grip on the steering wheel and found them trembling. He probably shouldn't be driving, given how much he'd drunk.
This time yesterday he'd been in the SUV with the team, excited at the prospect of joining them on assignment. A pleasant journey out into the Welsh countryside. Hours later he'd be trekking miles on foot towards a remote and seemingly abandoned village. A few hours after that he'd be knocked out and locked up in a cellar, and then…
His hand reached up toward his neck, touching it and feeling his lungs constrict. He could still feel the blade pressed there, just above his Adam's apple, seconds away from having his throat slit and being butchered for meat by cannibals. He'd never been so terrified in all his life.
He'd managed to keep it together until Jack had dropped him off home, telling him that if he needed anything just to call. Instead he'd leaned back against his door, unable to hold himself in check a moment longer, racing to the bathroom medicine cabinet for the bottle of sleeping pills and taking them to the kitchen where he had a full bottle of scotch. What he'd seen and experienced was too much, too horrible to comprehend. He wanted it all to go away where it couldn't haunt him a moment longer. He'd taken one pill and a large swig of alcohol, then panicked, unable to swallow any more pills. Instead of calling Jack, he called Mandy.
He pulled down the visor and studied himself in its tiny mirror. On the whole he looked okay, all crisp suit and sharp tie, perfectly pressed and presented. But for the large lump on his forehead he didn't look like he'd nearly been butchered. Appearances were important, and Ianto looked at least on the outside like he had it back together.
If he strained to remember last night he thought he could recollect saying “please, stay with me.” Just in case he changed his mind. Just in case he found the courage to do the thing he'd been too scared to do properly the first time around. Just in case he managed it despite, and needed someone to call the police to collect his body. He seemed now to remember Mandy replying “Of course, sweetheart. I'm not going anywhere.” Now though, in the cold hard light of day, he felt intensely embarrassed, not least by having called Mandy in the first place telling her that he'd attempted to kill himself with pills and booze.
‘I only took one,’ he said aloud, staring blankly through the windscreen. Not three or four, or even the entire bottle. One little pill, which had scarcely taken the edge off the physical pain he felt, let alone done anything to assuage his psychological pain.
Mandy, bless her heart, had dropped everything and stayed with him all night. That sleeping pill had done the trick, because he didn't remember changing clothes or being tucked into his own bed. When he woke this morning he had a blank space where the hours between being dropped off at his flat and waking up to his alarm clock had disappeared. Mandy had slept on his sofa, though she hadn't complained. She'd been up making mugs of tea whilst he was showering and dressing, oblivious to her presence in the flat.
He felt so stupid now for having called her. What did it say about his life that the one person he called in a crisis was the woman who ran his local pub? He could have called Jack, or even his mum, or his sister. His family wouldn't have understood what had driven him to that place but Jack might have. Except that Torchwood was his whole life now, and if Jack thought he could no longer hack it then he might as well have done himself in last night after all.
He looked at his reflection again. How was he going to show up for work and pretend he was okay?
He reached across and popped open the glovebox, pulling out a packet of nicotine gum, popping two in his mouth. He didn't smoke but the nicotine helped calm his nerves. He could do this, just like he'd done when he'd escaped the fall of Torchwood One; just like when Lisa had died. He would go in there and get his shit together because that's what he had to do.
Title: Close to the bone
Fandom: Torchwood
Rating/Warnings: M. Contains suicide ideation.
Bonus: Yes
Word Count: 1,000 words
Summary: Ianto is grappling with the trauma of what it really means to be a Torchwood field agent.
Ianto pulled the front door shut on his apartment block and counted off the clicking steps of his shoes on the concrete path. His car was parked out front, hemmed in by wheelie bins that had yet to be collected since yesterday.
Eighteen steps from the front door to the kerb he remembered. He made it to ten and looked back over his shoulder. He couldn't see anything through the third-storey window, but he knew Mandy would be there, watching from behind sheer curtains, making sure he got in the car, or perhaps waiting for him to change his mind and come back inside for another cup of tea, and maybe a cooked breakfast. Instead he swallowed and kept taking more steps. She'd just rinse a few dishes, put on a load of laundry and lock the door on her way out.
Sixteen, seventeen, eighteen. There, he'd made it. The car locks clinked and hazard lights flashed. He got in, turning the key and staring up the engine. Pulling seatbelt across his body, he winced at pain in his ribs which hadn't been there last night. The more he dwelt on it, the more other parts began to ache. He didn't have to go to work – Jack had said as much – but what else was he supposed to do?
He encouraged the car forward, down the street and around the corner. When he was safely out of sight he pulled alongside the kerb, tugging on the handbrake and puffed out a breath. He looked down at his hands as they loosened their grip on the steering wheel and found them trembling. He probably shouldn't be driving, given how much he'd drunk.
This time yesterday he'd been in the SUV with the team, excited at the prospect of joining them on assignment. A pleasant journey out into the Welsh countryside. Hours later he'd be trekking miles on foot towards a remote and seemingly abandoned village. A few hours after that he'd be knocked out and locked up in a cellar, and then…
His hand reached up toward his neck, touching it and feeling his lungs constrict. He could still feel the blade pressed there, just above his Adam's apple, seconds away from having his throat slit and being butchered for meat by cannibals. He'd never been so terrified in all his life.
He'd managed to keep it together until Jack had dropped him off home, telling him that if he needed anything just to call. Instead he'd leaned back against his door, unable to hold himself in check a moment longer, racing to the bathroom medicine cabinet for the bottle of sleeping pills and taking them to the kitchen where he had a full bottle of scotch. What he'd seen and experienced was too much, too horrible to comprehend. He wanted it all to go away where it couldn't haunt him a moment longer. He'd taken one pill and a large swig of alcohol, then panicked, unable to swallow any more pills. Instead of calling Jack, he called Mandy.
He pulled down the visor and studied himself in its tiny mirror. On the whole he looked okay, all crisp suit and sharp tie, perfectly pressed and presented. But for the large lump on his forehead he didn't look like he'd nearly been butchered. Appearances were important, and Ianto looked at least on the outside like he had it back together.
If he strained to remember last night he thought he could recollect saying “please, stay with me.” Just in case he changed his mind. Just in case he found the courage to do the thing he'd been too scared to do properly the first time around. Just in case he managed it despite, and needed someone to call the police to collect his body. He seemed now to remember Mandy replying “Of course, sweetheart. I'm not going anywhere.” Now though, in the cold hard light of day, he felt intensely embarrassed, not least by having called Mandy in the first place telling her that he'd attempted to kill himself with pills and booze.
‘I only took one,’ he said aloud, staring blankly through the windscreen. Not three or four, or even the entire bottle. One little pill, which had scarcely taken the edge off the physical pain he felt, let alone done anything to assuage his psychological pain.
Mandy, bless her heart, had dropped everything and stayed with him all night. That sleeping pill had done the trick, because he didn't remember changing clothes or being tucked into his own bed. When he woke this morning he had a blank space where the hours between being dropped off at his flat and waking up to his alarm clock had disappeared. Mandy had slept on his sofa, though she hadn't complained. She'd been up making mugs of tea whilst he was showering and dressing, oblivious to her presence in the flat.
He felt so stupid now for having called her. What did it say about his life that the one person he called in a crisis was the woman who ran his local pub? He could have called Jack, or even his mum, or his sister. His family wouldn't have understood what had driven him to that place but Jack might have. Except that Torchwood was his whole life now, and if Jack thought he could no longer hack it then he might as well have done himself in last night after all.
He looked at his reflection again. How was he going to show up for work and pretend he was okay?
He reached across and popped open the glovebox, pulling out a packet of nicotine gum, popping two in his mouth. He didn't smoke but the nicotine helped calm his nerves. He could do this, just like he'd done when he'd escaped the fall of Torchwood One; just like when Lisa had died. He would go in there and get his shit together because that's what he had to do.
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