Title: Timey Wimey Stuff
Fandom: Torchwood
Rating: PG-13 for language
Length: 200
Author notes: I guess technically this is post-series everyone lives?
Summary: Loose lips sink ships


"Now, I understand," Jack says, reasonably because he is, despite what Ianto may say in the mornings before he's had his coffee, a very reasonable man. "If this was an accident, I understand, and--"

Gwen snorts. Loudly.

"Mate," Owen says, rolling his neck but pausing mid-roll when he spots what looks like baby spit-up on his shoulder.

Ianto, without a word, grabs a pack of baby wipes from a drawer and hands them to Owen, who is, for some reason, sitting cross-legged on Ianto's desk.

"It wasn't any of us." Tosh emerges from the kitchenette with a plateful of pastries, Rhys following behind her with the tea tray. "Who do you think would leak anything to the press? Gwen only talks business to Rhys, Rhys talks to Gwen, and Owen and I have eight-month-old triplets; when do you think we'd have the time or energy to talk to strangers?"

Jack looks at Ianto.

Ianto looks back. And raises his eyebrow.

"Fine," Jack says. "Fine! But how else could they find out about Operation Pondscum before we even--"

Somewhere in the distance, a woosh-woosh-woosh, like the sound of a very strange helicopter, splits the air.

"Oh," Jack says. "For fuck's sake."