DW/TW Fic: Conscription (1/1)
Oct. 31st, 2010 01:05 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lizzledpinkTitle: Conscription
Author:lizzledpink
Rating: PG
Characters: Ianto, Rose, Doctor
Summary: Torchwood One Archivist Ianto decides to head upstairs five minutes earlier than originally intended, and runs into an infiltrating blonde.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything from Torchwood or Doctor Who, however much I might wish I do, and I certainly make no money for writing this.
Beta:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
aseaoftroubles, who kindly beta'd when I was feeling IMPATIENT and REALLY WANTED TO POST THIS TONIGHT. You may have noticed. I kind of have no patience at all. Ever. So thank her very much. :)
A/N: NaNoWriMo starts tomorrow, which means I'll either be writing a lot of fic or, if I stick with my hopes of writing an original story instead, very little of it. :D This little ficlet is something of a last hurrah - but one that speaks of future promise. I promise an eventual sequel!
:::
Rose crept out of the TARDIS, doing her best to appear as though she belonged in this domain of white walls and oddly-scented cleaning solvents. The Doctor was physically fine, but there were, of course a few issues at hand. She didn’t trust that harsh-sounding woman not to try something funny, and while the Doctor could take care of himself, her mother was wrapped up in this newest of messes and that could only bear ill for their chances of escaping before something went irreversibly wrong.
Torchwood, she thought. Funny name. Maybe it was related to Torchwood House? She recalled that was the name of the manor, back in the nineteenth century, where she’d met Queen Victoria and the werewolf. She grimaced in silent remembrance of Sir Robert and his people. Yes, it was a werewolf, and she would forever remember it as one of their more fun adventures, but in retrospect they should have been a little more respectful. Rose almost agreed that they had deserved the banishment – almost.
Ducking into a hallway, Rose chanced a look out a window. “Still London. That’s something… Wait, this is Canary Wharf!” She exclaimed. “What, they’re hiding a giant alien-hating secret agency here? Middle of London? What for? It’s not like…”
She trailed off, realizing that yes, actually, London was regularly invaded by aliens. In fact, just last Christmas. By the…
Oh. These were the people who had killed the Sycorax as they had fled. Brutally. Rose sighed, shaking her head. Best to expect that these people would show no mercy or hesitation if they discovered her purpose here. She was going to take away their prized alien prisoner, and as a companion of his she was probably valuable herself. Rose closed her eyes and turned around quickly, continuing her search.
Wisely, she was expecting trouble.
She didn’t expect to run into a handsome young man about her age, dressed in a sharp, red, collared shirt and long, dark trousers. Unlike most of the workers, he wore no lab coat, but it was obvious he belonged here. Rose froze up for a moment, briefly stunned that her mission had failed this early in its execution, but then grinned disarmingly. “Hello!”
He raised an eyebrow. “Did you just walk out of that box?” He pointed through the door and all the way over to the TARDIS.
Rose twisted around in place, tilted her head, and then twisted back, fluttering her lashes. “Maybe. Is that a problem?”
The man considered this, casually checking her out in the meantime. “Are you human?”
“Born and raised in London, yeah.”
“I can tell.” She looked at him quizzically, and he added, “The accent is a bit of a giveaway.”
“Well, same for you. Welsh,” Rose teased.
The young man smiled. “Point taken. What are you doing here?”
“Well, my friend and I were rather kidnapped. I was looking around. Exploring, you know. For kicks.”
“You were escaping,” he accused, rolling his eyes.
“I was not escaping. That part comes after I find my friend and we save the day,” Rose corrected gently.
“Oh, of course. My mistake. More to the point, any plans to take over the Earth, murder anybody, mess with the timelines-” He saw her flinch there, but didn’t pause, “Or introduce anachronistic or extraterrestrial technology to the population?”
“Not again, only my mum but what kid doesn’t, never, and not on purpose,” answered Rose, smiling cheerfully.
“Then as long as you promise to drop the dumb blonde act, we have no problem,” the man said with a shrug.
Rose nodded. “That’s very kind of you. Rose Tyler,” she said, extending her hand.
He took it. ”Ianto Jones. By the way, I have a girlfriend.”
“Didn’t stop you from looking,” Rose remarked. She had seen him quickly check her out, and knew better.
“She thinks she’s subtle, but I know she’s planning to break up with me over dinner tomorrow, so I’m really just getting a head start.”
Rose could tell he was more bothered by that situation than he was about to admit, and felt a stab of sympathy. “I’m sorry. Bet she’s missing out.”
Ianto stuck a thumb out towards the TARDIS in a less-than-subtle but tactful change of subject. “You came in that?”
“Sort of, yeah. It wasn’t quite by choice.”
“Oh, I know. Big blue box and young female companion? I’ve read the files, Dame Rose of the Powell Estate.” He saw her flinch, slightly, and smiled, shaking his head. “Don’t worry, it’s only the other stuffy archivists who know about that, and most of them don’t care.”
Rose had no idea what to say to that. “You’re an archivist?”
“Yep.”
“What are you doing up here?”
“Supposedly-” A worker walked by, and Ianto turned to him, smiling. “Hey, Walker.”
The older man scowled. “Jones,” he said. He spared Rose a quick glance, but moved on without comment.
“You’re well-known,” Rose observed.
“Only because most people hate me. I bug them about their paperwork, in between work, my girlfriend, and plotting a coup.” Ianto looked at her speculatively. “You’re the Doctor’s companion. At the very least, I suppose that means you aren’t stupid. Want to try to help me take down Torchwood One?”
“And what’s Torchwood One when it’s at home?”
“The primary branch of a secret Institute of people trained to defend the planet from aliens, including, but not limited to, the Doctor, currently led by a morally bereft maniac named Yvonne Hartman. Care to help?”
Rose considered his unique and apt description. Ianto Jones was knowledgeable, smart, good-looking, well-known enough that her presence in the building would not be questioned if she was with him, and her ticket into the heart of a revolution. She grinned. “Where do I sign up?”
:::
Ianto’s clipped footsteps were the only sound in the tattered and scorched staircase. He’d already sicked up once, and didn’t care to repeat the experience, so for now he was running on adrenaline and quite carefully avoiding the cadavers that littered the path, bent over railings and sprawled across corners, staring from unblinking orbs.
Panting and shaking, he threw open the door and strode into the floor.
There were fewer bodies up here. He waded through, tasting the leftover bile on his tongue, and at last he saw it: the Ghost Shift room - and in it, a single man.
“Oh, God,” Ianto mumbled. “What happened?”
When the Cybermen truly began to invade, Ianto panicked. He left Rose in the capable hands of Samuel - or, apparently, Mickey. He already trusted Mickey, and the man seemed to know Rose already, so it was a no-brainer. He needed to see his friends, and help where he could. Rose had smiled and nodded, wishing him luck, and they’d thanked each other, promising to stay friends, before Ianto bolted for the door.
One moment he was running and Lisa, his Lisa, was following, but she wasn’t really Lisa anymore. She was metal and cold and wrong, one of them now, and all he could do was try desperately to escape. Then, all a sudden, she stopped, and as if magnetised she and all the rest of the Cybermen rose into the air and dragged themselves through hallways and doors and windows. Ianto followed one to the glass panes, and looked up. They were flying, headed towards the top floors of the tower, and Ianto knew –
Ianto shook himself out of it, shuddering.
He noticed a man in a pinstripe suit. The man blinked and straightened, for he had been leaning against the blank wall. He turned towards Ianto, and in his gaze there was so much to be seen - stars and planets, worlds, peoples, and pain, so much pain, the heartbreaking pain of a loss beyond the meagre feelings of a mere human, and in that moment Ianto realized the identity of this lonely, broken man.
“She’s gone,” the Doctor whispered, more to himself than the other man.
Ianto licked dry lips. “Rose?”
The Doctor looked at him, refocusing and noticing Ianto. “She saved the world, and now she’s trapped inside a parallel universe for her trouble. Gone.” He swallowed. “You knew her?”
Ianto shook his head. “I... When all this was over, I was going to ask her out. It didn’t have to be a date if she didn’t want it to be. I just wanted to have a night with her. To enjoy her presence. She was so...”
The Doctor gave him an empty, meaningful stare. “She was.” A pause. “You’re Torchwood. Going to take me in?” He held out his arms, and raised an eyebrow in challenge.
Ianto laughed, or barked, or made some other caustic noise. “I was helping you, Doctor, and Rose. And even if my loyalty was to Torchwood, well, what Torchwood? There were about eight-hundred employees in this building, and if even fifty survived, I’ll be shocked. I wanted Torchwood One to fall, but not like this.”
“Well reasoned.” The Doctor tilted his head, speculative and shrewd. “Torchwood One. Does that mean there are others?”
“Yes.”
“What’s your name?”
“Ianto Jones.”
“You’re a good man, Ianto Jones. Find the other Torchwoods. If they’re corrupt, destroy them. If they’re not, make them into a force for good. There was potential here, and there still will be, as long as Torchwood is in the right hands. Take care of the Earth when I can’t.”
“But - but I’m only an archivist, practically a PA!” Ianto protested.
“Which means you know everything, all the information, Mr Jones. You pulled that eight-hundred number out of thin air. You know things. That’s important. Can I trust you to try, Ianto Jones?” The Doctor hesitated, and added, “For Rose?”
Ianto swallowed. He remembered tales of Time Lords and wars and Daleks, myths come alive and legends made far too real.
“That’s what you do, isn’t it?” He asked. “You come in, and make a big mess. You save the world. You don’t save everybody, of course, but you do what you can, and then you leave it to the survivors to clean up the shrapnel left behind.”
The Doctor raised an eyebrow.
Ianto chuckled darkly. “Of course. You have to – or else humanity would never learn. Without the aftermath of disaster, we’d forget and nearly destroy ourselves with our own arrogance all over again.”
“You learn quickly.”
“I’ve had to.”
“And you’re right.”
Of course I am, Ianto thought.
The Doctor sighed. “Again, you’re a very good man, Ianto Jones. One of the very few people I could trust with this job. You might have been part of Torchwood, but you were fighting for the right thing, and always will, no matter the cost. So will you help me?”
“Do you even have to ask? You know I’ll try my best,” he promised.
“Good,” the Doctor said with a solemn nod. “I’m sure we’ll meet again, Ianto Jones.” And he brushed right past Ianto, leaving. A moment later, he heard a sound like no other – time, whirring and stirring, he thought. The TARDIS. The Doctor was gone, and would never return to this desolate battleground of a building.
Ianto slumped down to the floor, and clenched his fists, and couldn’t bear to cry.
:::
Weeks later, dressed in a suit and craving dark chocolate (and promising himself to research the brain functions of a pteranodon later), Ianto found a tiny package in the mail, and a letter.
Thank you, Ianto Jones.
Point the attached device at your phone and press the button; destroy the device afterwards. Add the number 07700900461 to your contacts list. Give me a ring if the world is ending.
The Doctor
P.S. If you’d been given the chance to ask... she would’ve said yes.
Ianto realized something. Given the chance to ask, and given the time to follow through, he could have fallen in love with Rose Tyler, and, just a little bit, already had.
The Doctor, of course, had fallen long ago. For that strange, alien, wonderful man, it was already too late.
Silently thanking the Time Lord, who had given him a purpose, a reason to live, after the end of his world, Ianto Jones followed the instructions on the letter, and when he was done with that he tucked the note into his wallet – in case he ever forgot what he was fighting for.
He considered his (drop-dead celebrity gorgeous) new boss, and, with a sigh, decided all he really needed was a nice, cold shower. Maybe then he could finally sleep.
Author:
lizzledpink Rating: PG
Characters: Ianto, Rose, Doctor
Summary: Torchwood One Archivist Ianto decides to head upstairs five minutes earlier than originally intended, and runs into an infiltrating blonde.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything from Torchwood or Doctor Who, however much I might wish I do, and I certainly make no money for writing this.
Beta:
aseaoftroubles, who kindly beta'd when I was feeling IMPATIENT and REALLY WANTED TO POST THIS TONIGHT. You may have noticed. I kind of have no patience at all. Ever. So thank her very much. :)A/N: NaNoWriMo starts tomorrow, which means I'll either be writing a lot of fic or, if I stick with my hopes of writing an original story instead, very little of it. :D This little ficlet is something of a last hurrah - but one that speaks of future promise. I promise an eventual sequel!
:::
Rose crept out of the TARDIS, doing her best to appear as though she belonged in this domain of white walls and oddly-scented cleaning solvents. The Doctor was physically fine, but there were, of course a few issues at hand. She didn’t trust that harsh-sounding woman not to try something funny, and while the Doctor could take care of himself, her mother was wrapped up in this newest of messes and that could only bear ill for their chances of escaping before something went irreversibly wrong.
Torchwood, she thought. Funny name. Maybe it was related to Torchwood House? She recalled that was the name of the manor, back in the nineteenth century, where she’d met Queen Victoria and the werewolf. She grimaced in silent remembrance of Sir Robert and his people. Yes, it was a werewolf, and she would forever remember it as one of their more fun adventures, but in retrospect they should have been a little more respectful. Rose almost agreed that they had deserved the banishment – almost.
Ducking into a hallway, Rose chanced a look out a window. “Still London. That’s something… Wait, this is Canary Wharf!” She exclaimed. “What, they’re hiding a giant alien-hating secret agency here? Middle of London? What for? It’s not like…”
She trailed off, realizing that yes, actually, London was regularly invaded by aliens. In fact, just last Christmas. By the…
Oh. These were the people who had killed the Sycorax as they had fled. Brutally. Rose sighed, shaking her head. Best to expect that these people would show no mercy or hesitation if they discovered her purpose here. She was going to take away their prized alien prisoner, and as a companion of his she was probably valuable herself. Rose closed her eyes and turned around quickly, continuing her search.
Wisely, she was expecting trouble.
She didn’t expect to run into a handsome young man about her age, dressed in a sharp, red, collared shirt and long, dark trousers. Unlike most of the workers, he wore no lab coat, but it was obvious he belonged here. Rose froze up for a moment, briefly stunned that her mission had failed this early in its execution, but then grinned disarmingly. “Hello!”
He raised an eyebrow. “Did you just walk out of that box?” He pointed through the door and all the way over to the TARDIS.
Rose twisted around in place, tilted her head, and then twisted back, fluttering her lashes. “Maybe. Is that a problem?”
The man considered this, casually checking her out in the meantime. “Are you human?”
“Born and raised in London, yeah.”
“I can tell.” She looked at him quizzically, and he added, “The accent is a bit of a giveaway.”
“Well, same for you. Welsh,” Rose teased.
The young man smiled. “Point taken. What are you doing here?”
“Well, my friend and I were rather kidnapped. I was looking around. Exploring, you know. For kicks.”
“You were escaping,” he accused, rolling his eyes.
“I was not escaping. That part comes after I find my friend and we save the day,” Rose corrected gently.
“Oh, of course. My mistake. More to the point, any plans to take over the Earth, murder anybody, mess with the timelines-” He saw her flinch there, but didn’t pause, “Or introduce anachronistic or extraterrestrial technology to the population?”
“Not again, only my mum but what kid doesn’t, never, and not on purpose,” answered Rose, smiling cheerfully.
“Then as long as you promise to drop the dumb blonde act, we have no problem,” the man said with a shrug.
Rose nodded. “That’s very kind of you. Rose Tyler,” she said, extending her hand.
He took it. ”Ianto Jones. By the way, I have a girlfriend.”
“Didn’t stop you from looking,” Rose remarked. She had seen him quickly check her out, and knew better.
“She thinks she’s subtle, but I know she’s planning to break up with me over dinner tomorrow, so I’m really just getting a head start.”
Rose could tell he was more bothered by that situation than he was about to admit, and felt a stab of sympathy. “I’m sorry. Bet she’s missing out.”
Ianto stuck a thumb out towards the TARDIS in a less-than-subtle but tactful change of subject. “You came in that?”
“Sort of, yeah. It wasn’t quite by choice.”
“Oh, I know. Big blue box and young female companion? I’ve read the files, Dame Rose of the Powell Estate.” He saw her flinch, slightly, and smiled, shaking his head. “Don’t worry, it’s only the other stuffy archivists who know about that, and most of them don’t care.”
Rose had no idea what to say to that. “You’re an archivist?”
“Yep.”
“What are you doing up here?”
“Supposedly-” A worker walked by, and Ianto turned to him, smiling. “Hey, Walker.”
The older man scowled. “Jones,” he said. He spared Rose a quick glance, but moved on without comment.
“You’re well-known,” Rose observed.
“Only because most people hate me. I bug them about their paperwork, in between work, my girlfriend, and plotting a coup.” Ianto looked at her speculatively. “You’re the Doctor’s companion. At the very least, I suppose that means you aren’t stupid. Want to try to help me take down Torchwood One?”
“And what’s Torchwood One when it’s at home?”
“The primary branch of a secret Institute of people trained to defend the planet from aliens, including, but not limited to, the Doctor, currently led by a morally bereft maniac named Yvonne Hartman. Care to help?”
Rose considered his unique and apt description. Ianto Jones was knowledgeable, smart, good-looking, well-known enough that her presence in the building would not be questioned if she was with him, and her ticket into the heart of a revolution. She grinned. “Where do I sign up?”
:::
Ianto’s clipped footsteps were the only sound in the tattered and scorched staircase. He’d already sicked up once, and didn’t care to repeat the experience, so for now he was running on adrenaline and quite carefully avoiding the cadavers that littered the path, bent over railings and sprawled across corners, staring from unblinking orbs.
Panting and shaking, he threw open the door and strode into the floor.
There were fewer bodies up here. He waded through, tasting the leftover bile on his tongue, and at last he saw it: the Ghost Shift room - and in it, a single man.
“Oh, God,” Ianto mumbled. “What happened?”
When the Cybermen truly began to invade, Ianto panicked. He left Rose in the capable hands of Samuel - or, apparently, Mickey. He already trusted Mickey, and the man seemed to know Rose already, so it was a no-brainer. He needed to see his friends, and help where he could. Rose had smiled and nodded, wishing him luck, and they’d thanked each other, promising to stay friends, before Ianto bolted for the door.
One moment he was running and Lisa, his Lisa, was following, but she wasn’t really Lisa anymore. She was metal and cold and wrong, one of them now, and all he could do was try desperately to escape. Then, all a sudden, she stopped, and as if magnetised she and all the rest of the Cybermen rose into the air and dragged themselves through hallways and doors and windows. Ianto followed one to the glass panes, and looked up. They were flying, headed towards the top floors of the tower, and Ianto knew –
Ianto shook himself out of it, shuddering.
He noticed a man in a pinstripe suit. The man blinked and straightened, for he had been leaning against the blank wall. He turned towards Ianto, and in his gaze there was so much to be seen - stars and planets, worlds, peoples, and pain, so much pain, the heartbreaking pain of a loss beyond the meagre feelings of a mere human, and in that moment Ianto realized the identity of this lonely, broken man.
“She’s gone,” the Doctor whispered, more to himself than the other man.
Ianto licked dry lips. “Rose?”
The Doctor looked at him, refocusing and noticing Ianto. “She saved the world, and now she’s trapped inside a parallel universe for her trouble. Gone.” He swallowed. “You knew her?”
Ianto shook his head. “I... When all this was over, I was going to ask her out. It didn’t have to be a date if she didn’t want it to be. I just wanted to have a night with her. To enjoy her presence. She was so...”
The Doctor gave him an empty, meaningful stare. “She was.” A pause. “You’re Torchwood. Going to take me in?” He held out his arms, and raised an eyebrow in challenge.
Ianto laughed, or barked, or made some other caustic noise. “I was helping you, Doctor, and Rose. And even if my loyalty was to Torchwood, well, what Torchwood? There were about eight-hundred employees in this building, and if even fifty survived, I’ll be shocked. I wanted Torchwood One to fall, but not like this.”
“Well reasoned.” The Doctor tilted his head, speculative and shrewd. “Torchwood One. Does that mean there are others?”
“Yes.”
“What’s your name?”
“Ianto Jones.”
“You’re a good man, Ianto Jones. Find the other Torchwoods. If they’re corrupt, destroy them. If they’re not, make them into a force for good. There was potential here, and there still will be, as long as Torchwood is in the right hands. Take care of the Earth when I can’t.”
“But - but I’m only an archivist, practically a PA!” Ianto protested.
“Which means you know everything, all the information, Mr Jones. You pulled that eight-hundred number out of thin air. You know things. That’s important. Can I trust you to try, Ianto Jones?” The Doctor hesitated, and added, “For Rose?”
Ianto swallowed. He remembered tales of Time Lords and wars and Daleks, myths come alive and legends made far too real.
“That’s what you do, isn’t it?” He asked. “You come in, and make a big mess. You save the world. You don’t save everybody, of course, but you do what you can, and then you leave it to the survivors to clean up the shrapnel left behind.”
The Doctor raised an eyebrow.
Ianto chuckled darkly. “Of course. You have to – or else humanity would never learn. Without the aftermath of disaster, we’d forget and nearly destroy ourselves with our own arrogance all over again.”
“You learn quickly.”
“I’ve had to.”
“And you’re right.”
Of course I am, Ianto thought.
The Doctor sighed. “Again, you’re a very good man, Ianto Jones. One of the very few people I could trust with this job. You might have been part of Torchwood, but you were fighting for the right thing, and always will, no matter the cost. So will you help me?”
“Do you even have to ask? You know I’ll try my best,” he promised.
“Good,” the Doctor said with a solemn nod. “I’m sure we’ll meet again, Ianto Jones.” And he brushed right past Ianto, leaving. A moment later, he heard a sound like no other – time, whirring and stirring, he thought. The TARDIS. The Doctor was gone, and would never return to this desolate battleground of a building.
Ianto slumped down to the floor, and clenched his fists, and couldn’t bear to cry.
:::
Weeks later, dressed in a suit and craving dark chocolate (and promising himself to research the brain functions of a pteranodon later), Ianto found a tiny package in the mail, and a letter.
Thank you, Ianto Jones.
Point the attached device at your phone and press the button; destroy the device afterwards. Add the number 07700900461 to your contacts list. Give me a ring if the world is ending.
The Doctor
P.S. If you’d been given the chance to ask... she would’ve said yes.
Ianto realized something. Given the chance to ask, and given the time to follow through, he could have fallen in love with Rose Tyler, and, just a little bit, already had.
The Doctor, of course, had fallen long ago. For that strange, alien, wonderful man, it was already too late.
Silently thanking the Time Lord, who had given him a purpose, a reason to live, after the end of his world, Ianto Jones followed the instructions on the letter, and when he was done with that he tucked the note into his wallet – in case he ever forgot what he was fighting for.
He considered his (drop-dead celebrity gorgeous) new boss, and, with a sigh, decided all he really needed was a nice, cold shower. Maybe then he could finally sleep.
no subject
Date: 2010-11-18 02:17 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-11-20 06:58 pm (UTC)