Fandom: Torchwood

Characters: Jack, Ianto, OCs

Author: m_findlow

Rating: PG

Length: 2,574 words

Content notes: none

Author notes: Written for Challenge 209 - Office

Summary: Jack has a job that's perfectly suited to his right hand man.



'I need a favour,' Jack said, coming to lean on the edge of the desk, over the top of the reports Ianto had been referring to, forcing him to stop.

He looked up at Jack slowly. If it was run of the mill, he wouldn't even bother asking permission. That was how he knew the next thing out of Jack's mouth would be something slightly more out of the box. 'Yes?'

'I need you to go to London.'

'London? Why?'

'I, um, was thinking, maybe you could go and deliver our quarterly report to the Home Office?'

Ianto leaned back slightly in his chair and considered Jack with a knowing look. 'Would that be the one that only you're supposed to deliver. I mean, you being in charge of Torchwood and all.'

Jack gave him a curious look. 'I'm not sure where it says that in the rules.'

'No doubt I could find the reference,' Ianto quipped.

Jack smiled. Even though he was coming here hat in hand for a favour, it didn't stop him from enjoying their little tete a tete. 'And does being in charge of Torchwood mean that I have other powers, too?'

'Some.'

'Such as making new rules?' Oh, the things he could do with that kind of power! Properly instigating Naked Tuesdays would be a good start.

'Perhaps,' Ianto cautiously replied, equally worried about a Naked Tuesdays policy.

Jack folded his arms and grinned. 'So, if I wanted to make it so someone else could go in my stead, I could do that?'

'You could... if you thought it was in the best interests of Torchwood.'

'I do.'

Ianto twirled his pen in between his fingers. 'And this isn't just some ploy to get out of it?'

'Of course not. I simply thought it might be something suited to you. A string to add to your bow. You did work in London for quite some time.'

'You want me to go because I used to live there?'

'I always get lost in London, and the SUV is a nightmare to park anywhere. D'you know I once got it stuck in the exit of one of those paid parking buildings and they couldn't get another car out of there for six hours?'

Ianto could very well believe that. 'Perhaps if you'd read the height restrictions signage before you drove in,' he said, just picturing the scene. The only thing that annoyed Londoners more than traffic, was parking, and having some goose block the exit was not going to go down well.

'Think I'd take the train. It's a whole lot less hassle,' Ianto replied.

'That's the spirit!'

'That wasn't me saying yes.'

Jack got off the desk and knelt down in front of him, hands held up in prayer. 'Please, please, please don't make me go there,' Jack pleaded. 'They hate me and they'll much prefer you. You're so much better and cleverer and sexier and more organised, and I'll kiss your feet and give you a massage and let you lick whipped cream off my,'

'Enough,' Ianto said. 'I'll go.' There was nothing more undignified than groveling; especially Jack groveling.

'I just have to go down there and report on what we've been doing?'

'That's all,' Jack promised.

'And he's not going to ask me any curly questions I don't have an answer for?'

'You know everything,' Jack insisted.

Ianto sighed. 'I do?' Sometimes he wasn't sure that was entirely true. Jack kept a lot of secrets and Ianto wasn't fool enough to think Jack wasn't still keeping some from him as well.

'Everything that they need to know, you know,' Jack assured him.

Ianto paused, considering this for a moment. 'So, were not mentioning the thing that happened on Thursday?'

Jack laughed heartily. 'Definitely not. Attempted invasions by alien hamburgers are on a need to know basis, and the Home Office definitely don't need to know.'



The tip to London was a breeze. He'd done it often enough over the years that he was practically on autopilot, navigating platforms in Cardiff, settling down in his seat and letting the southern countryside roll by. Whilst it did, he could focus on reviewing reports from the last three months, preparing himself for what he should and shouldn't say. By the time he'd reached Reading, he had a clear picture of what he should cover, allowing him half an hour for the train to wend its way through increasing levels of suburbia before finally plunging into the depths of the London underground.

He didn't get the buzz from coming here anymore. London was once exciting and new, always changing and staying the same simultaneously. He'd loved living here once upon a time, far from home and all the problems he'd been trying to escape. Now it was just another place; somewhere to tick off his list of "been there, done that".

Somewhere along the way, he'd grown tired of the crowded city streets, all the hustle and bustle of workers and tourists alike, and the rush of buses and black cabs. Cardiff was much quieter by comparison, its people much friendlier - if a little rough around the edges - and much better suited to his reserved and quiet lifestyle. Torchwood was all the excitement he needed these days.



He cringed as he stood outside the tall facade of the Home Office. He'd expected some grand old Victorian building, akin to the rest of the Westminster area, but instead he was confronted by some modern creation that looked like an oversized cheese grater. It seemed anyone could call themselves an architect these days, he thought as he made his way inside.

He passed through a metal detector and was followed by a full body pat down. Security had clearly been tightened since those bombings on the buses. He couldn't blame them for being a bit nervous. He might have dealt with danger every day but for most people, this was highly out of the ordinary.

There was a second metal detector further up, now that he was entering part of the building that was largely restricted to Home Office staff only. He could imagine the protocols would drive Jack mad, having his phone pulled apart to check for anything untoward inside. Given the all clear, he was lead through a narrow hallway and asked to wait outside. At least the interior of the building was more in line with what he'd expected, all leather and mahogany, and just a hint of old world wood polish. This area was strictly off limits to the general public, so they architects hadn't wasted their time and effort in revamping this section to meet the aesthetic needs of the next generation.

After about fifteen minutes of waiting, a stern looking woman of average height clicked her modest high heels across the floor, coming to stand just a few feet from him.

'Can I help you?' The way she said it inferred that helping was not high on her agenda.

'Ianto Jones,' he said, reaching out to shake her hand. He wasn't sure whether ma'am was too formal so he left it out.

'Bridget Spears,' she replied curtly. Ah, yes, the infamous Bridget the Bear, as Jack liked to call her. 'And you're Torchwood?' she asked.

'Yes, ma'am,' he said, forgetting his earlier decision.

Her expression turned sour. 'We were expecting the Captain.'

'He sends his apologies. He had a good many things demanding his attention.' He hoped that didn't come across as the bold-faced lie it was.

She huffed. 'This very all very irregular,' she said.

'Jack's a very irregular kinda guy,' he replied trying to use humour to defuse the situation

'Mr Frobisher doesn't meet with just anyone your office deigns to send,' she lectured. 'He has a set meeting with organisational heads for a reason. Next he'll be getting some lowly corporal coming to report on behalf of UNIT.'

Jack had warned him about Bridget's prickly nature, but like all things that Jack said, Ianto took him to be overreacting. On this one occasion however, he may have been correct in his exaggeration.

'Listen, I can get him on the phone right now if that would help. He can explain that I'm here as his direct representative.'

'Please don't,' she replied trying to keep her expression neutral, but Ianto caught that slight roll of the eye at having to have a phone conversation with Jack.

She sighed. 'I'll have to inform Mr Frobisher of this... revision, to his appointment.'

'Please take whatever time you need,' Ianto said, hoping than would placate her. 'I'm fully briefed and ready when you are.'

She looked him up and down, at least accepting that he'd come dressed appropriately for a meeting of such importance. 'And do you have a specific title, Mr Jones?'

He faltered, just for a split second. He didn't think General Support Officer was going to cut it, and that she wouldn't see the funny side if he gave himself the title Coffeemaker Extraordinaire.

'We're not military like UNIT. We don't have titles.'

She gave a haughty little huff before leaving.



Ianto couldn't quite understand Jack's reticence to come here. Frobisher was hardly a bulldog, more like a stern school principal. He was gruff and a little obtuse, but nothing that couldn't be overcome with the right amount of speaking only when spoken to. Perhaps that was the problem. There'd been more than a handful of thinly veiled insults directed - not at him personally - but at their organisation. It would be all too easy to take that kind of thing personally if you'd been in charge for the last five years. Perhaps Frobisher liked getting a rise out of Jack; payback for treating the government like the idiots they often were. And Jack, bless him, would fall for it each and every time. He wouldn't let anyone wound his pride. Maybe this was a better solution to the problem - the same report, without all the antagonism.

It was a relatively painless procedure in all, once you took the politics and the egos out of the equation. Frobisher had a job to do, reporting to the Prime Minister. Likewise, Ianto reported to Jack. At the end of the day, they were just two men doing their jobs, reporting to a higher authority.

In some ways, it was actually good to be able to share with someone else what they'd been doing, showing them the progress they'd made. London had often lauded their own exploits and the advances they were making in defensive and military technologies. Cardiff were much more restrained in sharing their knowledge. Too much pride in their achievements was what had brought Torchwood One down in the first place. Still, it was nice to be able to report on good news.

Owen had successfully trialled a new nanotechnology capable of repairing blood vessel walls, and UNIT's medical division had already agreed to a secondary set of double-blind trials in their own labs. Local weevil populations were holding steady and the reported cases of first contact from hospitals and police were on the decline, thanks in part to Torchwood's involvement in redirecting sections of the underground sewerage network.

It wasn't all smooth sailing, of course. There was still a please explain for the damage caused to the front of City Hall last month. The mayor had refused to pay for the repairs out of council funding, and had raised the matter with Cardiff's MP. Their office had handballed it to the Senedd Appropriations Committee, who in turn approached the First Minister, and whom went straight to Whitehall to ask for the money. The memo that had landed on John Frobisher's desk was considered anything but friendly. Why should Whitehall pay when Torchwood was getting such a generous budget direct from the Monarchy? Jack wouldn't necessarily be happy that they'd agreed to pay a half share, but on the whole it seemed the most diplomatic solution to the problem. They were partly to blame for the extent of the damage after all. Who knew that a wooly mammoth from two million BC would be frightened by a mobile phone ringtone?



As he made to leave the opulent office, feeling rather pleased at how things had gone, he caught sight of Bridget quirking an eye up at him from her desk, as he shut the door behind him.

'No raised voices. That must be a first,' she quipped.

'I'm not much of a talker,' he replied. Admittedly, he'd done quite a lot of talking, but there was nothing Frobisher could say that would ruffle his feathers. It took a lot to get under his skin, and this was far from the worst thing he'd ever had to do. He was far more likely to start raging at Owen for leaving lolly wrappers wedged between the seats in the SUV.

'And should we expect to see you again next time, or was this a singular stroke of good fortune?' she asked.

'That will all depend on the Captain's schedule, I should think,' he said, remembering his earlier lie.

'Well, I suppose we can always hope for him to be otherwise engaged.'

'It's always a possibility,' Ianto said, trying hard to hide the small smile on his face.

'It must be the Torchwood London breeding,' she said.

He frowned. 'Sorry?'

'Never had any issues with reports from your London branch,' she replied. 'I can only assume that's to do with their training and recruitment policies.'

He gave her a curious look and she smiled. 'I've been reading up on you while you've been inside. Quite a colorful career for one so young and polite. General Support Officer hardly sounds like the position of someone you'd send to report to the Secretary of the Home Office.'

'It's a multi-faceted role,' he said, not having to lie this time.

'I see.'

'I should be getting back,' he added. 'Lots to do.' He reached out a hand. 'Ms Spears.'

'Mr Jones,' she said, eyes never leaving him.



Jack was leaning back in this chair, feet on the desk when Ianto returned. 'How'd it go with Bridget the Bear?'

'I think once she realised that it was going to be a whole lot easier dealing with me rather than you, she quite honestly gave in.' Ianto narrowed his eyes at Jack. 'I can't help but think that you knew that before you sent me.'

'Who me?' Jack said, trying to sound all innocent. 'Just trying to delegate a few minor tasks, that's all.'

'Minor tasks?'

'All depends on how you look at it. Saving the world from alien invasions, that's a major thing. Dealing with bureaucrats in another country, not so much.'

Ianto gave him a questioning glance, arms folded.

'Okay, so it's a major pain in my butt,' Jack confessed, 'but you would have breezed through it. Isn't it nice to get out of the hub every now and then?'

He rolled his eyes at Jack. 'There is quite a nice bespoke tailor not far from their offices. I might have stopped by there on my way back. Another trip might be in order.'

'Oh,' Jack said, leaning forward, pulling his feet off the desk, 'and is that a reward for you, or for me?' he asked, letting Ianto step close enough for him to reach out and grab him by the tie, tugging him closer still.

'All depends on how you look at it.'