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fandomweekly2026-02-01 12:23 pm
m_findlow) wrote in fandomweekly2026-02-01 12:23 pm
Entry tags:
[#289] HANDLE WITH CARE
Theme Prompt: #289 - Hot cocoa
Title: Handle with care
Fandom: Torchwood
Rating/Warnings: PG.
Bonus: Yes
Word Count: 1,000 words
Summary: Ianto is left to handle a victim of the rift on his own.
This had been such a bad idea, Ianto told himself as he stood awkwardly outside his own bathroom door. No choice, he then reminded himself. He might have taken her back to the hub but that would risk someone finding her there and asking questions. Tosh was always in early and the others were getting better at detecting his lies. Leaving her there until he could smuggle her back out was fraught with problems.
‘This is all your fault Jack,’ he muttered under his breath. If you'd just told them. All the trust about the bloody rift and what it was capable of. They had no idea it didn't just dump stuff. In Cardiff. It could also steal stuff – people most noticeably – and then decide whether or not it felt like giving them back at some other point in time. They came back injured, aged or utterly broken: sometimes all three. There was no helping them to find their feet again, reintegrated back into society, assuming that doing so didn't interfere with their own timeline or that of their family. Giving them an isolated place to stay and be cared for was the best they could hope for. Flat Holm Island has, as much as was possible, given them that refuge.
Except tonight the weather had turned nasty, with high winds and drenching rain. There was no boat's captain willing to take Ianto across the channel with his charge no matter how much he paid them. Even they weren't stupid enough to brave stormy seas, and with Jack far away in places unknown, having left weeks ago to track down this Committee organisation, Ianto was left at a loose end.
He might have prayed that the rift didn't choose to vomit up another one of its victims, but that was too much to hope for. When the alarm went off Ianto felt the bottom drop out of his stomach. He'd only done this on his own once before and he didn't relish the unknown horrors again tonight.
The woman had been tall and slim, with long blonde hair that had hung in soaked clumps when he'd found her, just standing there catatonic in the rain. The side of her face was mutilated and scarred but he couldn't tell if that was recent or not. He still couldn't remember how he'd managed to coax her to the car, assured that she would be safe and that he'd take her somewhere she could stay the night. Everything about his promise screamed stranger danger, right down to the calm, kind way he offered it. If she hadn't been in shock he expected he might have gotten his eyeballs clawed out.
He looked down at the pile of clothes sitting by the bathroom door. He didn't have anything dry he could offer her apart from a shirt, some pajama bottoms which had a drawstring tie, his dressing gown and some probably too big slippers.
‘I've popped some clothes by the door,’ he said, leaning towards it so his voice would carry without yelling. ‘Sorry I don't have anything in ladies sizing. I gave away all my girlfriend's old clothes to the charity shop. I have a boyfriend now,’ he heard himself blurt out, as if that might make him seem less threatening as he hovered outside. ‘Only he's gone away for work for a bit. He's much better at helping people who've been taken by the rift than I am.’
He cleared his throat feeling awkward and stupid. ‘Anyway, I'm going to go change the bedsheets,’ he told her, having already promised her a bed for the night and relegating himself to his own sofa. ‘If you need anything you just let me know okay? There's a first aid kit in the cupboard under the sink.’ He waited a few more agonising moments and then heard the shower start up. Thank God for that. He was starting to worry she was dead in there, or otherwise having a complete breakdown.
He was well and truly done freshening the bedlinen by the time the shower stopped more than twenty minutes later. He'd never had a twenty minute shower in his life, except for that time he and Jack had… But that wasn't really a shower.
He slipped into the kitchen and popped the kettle on so that he wouldn't be seen to be lurking in wait. His default was to make coffee but instincts told him caffeine probably wasn't a good idea. He rummaged through his party cupboard for that bag of fancy hot chocolate Tosh had bought him last Christmas - the one with the bits of real chocolate in it and set some milk in a pan on the stove to warm.
He lost himself in the task until he heard a faint shuffle behind him. The woman stood there on the other side of the island bench, his thick burgundy robe cinched tightly around her slender waist. Her hair was damp but combed and as he looked at her, she turned her face away so that the unblemished side was all he could see.
He poured the warm milk into two mugs and carried them slowly towards her. ‘Here, this will help,’ he said, sliding one across. ‘It's just hot chocolate.’ He took a sip, intense creamy sweetness hitting him like a sucker punch.
Thin fingers wrapped slowly around the mug, raising it cautiously until the scent became overpowering, taking a tiny sip. There were no words, but Ianto read the unspoken “good” in her body language. It gave him a chance to get a closer look at the scars on her face, confirming they were old, but clearly traumatic.
‘I've got a nurse friend who can take care of those scars,’ he said. ‘She's helped people like you before. I can take you tomorrow once the storm blows over.’
The woman said nothing in reply, just raised her mug again and drank. Ianto lifted his own and decided more words weren't necessary.
Title: Handle with care
Fandom: Torchwood
Rating/Warnings: PG.
Bonus: Yes
Word Count: 1,000 words
Summary: Ianto is left to handle a victim of the rift on his own.
This had been such a bad idea, Ianto told himself as he stood awkwardly outside his own bathroom door. No choice, he then reminded himself. He might have taken her back to the hub but that would risk someone finding her there and asking questions. Tosh was always in early and the others were getting better at detecting his lies. Leaving her there until he could smuggle her back out was fraught with problems.
‘This is all your fault Jack,’ he muttered under his breath. If you'd just told them. All the trust about the bloody rift and what it was capable of. They had no idea it didn't just dump stuff. In Cardiff. It could also steal stuff – people most noticeably – and then decide whether or not it felt like giving them back at some other point in time. They came back injured, aged or utterly broken: sometimes all three. There was no helping them to find their feet again, reintegrated back into society, assuming that doing so didn't interfere with their own timeline or that of their family. Giving them an isolated place to stay and be cared for was the best they could hope for. Flat Holm Island has, as much as was possible, given them that refuge.
Except tonight the weather had turned nasty, with high winds and drenching rain. There was no boat's captain willing to take Ianto across the channel with his charge no matter how much he paid them. Even they weren't stupid enough to brave stormy seas, and with Jack far away in places unknown, having left weeks ago to track down this Committee organisation, Ianto was left at a loose end.
He might have prayed that the rift didn't choose to vomit up another one of its victims, but that was too much to hope for. When the alarm went off Ianto felt the bottom drop out of his stomach. He'd only done this on his own once before and he didn't relish the unknown horrors again tonight.
The woman had been tall and slim, with long blonde hair that had hung in soaked clumps when he'd found her, just standing there catatonic in the rain. The side of her face was mutilated and scarred but he couldn't tell if that was recent or not. He still couldn't remember how he'd managed to coax her to the car, assured that she would be safe and that he'd take her somewhere she could stay the night. Everything about his promise screamed stranger danger, right down to the calm, kind way he offered it. If she hadn't been in shock he expected he might have gotten his eyeballs clawed out.
He looked down at the pile of clothes sitting by the bathroom door. He didn't have anything dry he could offer her apart from a shirt, some pajama bottoms which had a drawstring tie, his dressing gown and some probably too big slippers.
‘I've popped some clothes by the door,’ he said, leaning towards it so his voice would carry without yelling. ‘Sorry I don't have anything in ladies sizing. I gave away all my girlfriend's old clothes to the charity shop. I have a boyfriend now,’ he heard himself blurt out, as if that might make him seem less threatening as he hovered outside. ‘Only he's gone away for work for a bit. He's much better at helping people who've been taken by the rift than I am.’
He cleared his throat feeling awkward and stupid. ‘Anyway, I'm going to go change the bedsheets,’ he told her, having already promised her a bed for the night and relegating himself to his own sofa. ‘If you need anything you just let me know okay? There's a first aid kit in the cupboard under the sink.’ He waited a few more agonising moments and then heard the shower start up. Thank God for that. He was starting to worry she was dead in there, or otherwise having a complete breakdown.
He was well and truly done freshening the bedlinen by the time the shower stopped more than twenty minutes later. He'd never had a twenty minute shower in his life, except for that time he and Jack had… But that wasn't really a shower.
He slipped into the kitchen and popped the kettle on so that he wouldn't be seen to be lurking in wait. His default was to make coffee but instincts told him caffeine probably wasn't a good idea. He rummaged through his party cupboard for that bag of fancy hot chocolate Tosh had bought him last Christmas - the one with the bits of real chocolate in it and set some milk in a pan on the stove to warm.
He lost himself in the task until he heard a faint shuffle behind him. The woman stood there on the other side of the island bench, his thick burgundy robe cinched tightly around her slender waist. Her hair was damp but combed and as he looked at her, she turned her face away so that the unblemished side was all he could see.
He poured the warm milk into two mugs and carried them slowly towards her. ‘Here, this will help,’ he said, sliding one across. ‘It's just hot chocolate.’ He took a sip, intense creamy sweetness hitting him like a sucker punch.
Thin fingers wrapped slowly around the mug, raising it cautiously until the scent became overpowering, taking a tiny sip. There were no words, but Ianto read the unspoken “good” in her body language. It gave him a chance to get a closer look at the scars on her face, confirming they were old, but clearly traumatic.
‘I've got a nurse friend who can take care of those scars,’ he said. ‘She's helped people like you before. I can take you tomorrow once the storm blows over.’
The woman said nothing in reply, just raised her mug again and drank. Ianto lifted his own and decided more words weren't necessary.