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fan_flashworks2025-07-19 11:49 am
m_findlow) wrote in fan_flashworks2025-07-19 11:49 am
Entry tags:
Torchwood: Fanfic: Spat in the eye
Title: Spat in the eye
Fandom: Torchwood
Characters: Ianto, Jack
Author: m_findlow
Rating: PG
Length: 1,385 words
Content notes: None
Author notes: Written for Challenge 485 - Face
Summary: Ianto is accustomed to less than friendly inmates, though some prove more painful than others.
Ianto was used to dealing with inmates; it was part of his job, making sure that anyone spending a night – or several nights, sometimes even months – at Torchwood's pleasure was fed and watered within the limits of their humanitarian requirements.
Mostly it was just weevils, the ones that resisted being moved on, or those young adult weevils who had just gotten big enough, and mean enough, to start prowling the city's streets and sewers on their own, who needed tagging for monitoring. They also got christened at that point, and whilst Ianto was chief thing-namer, Jack had been naming weevils long before Ianto had joined so that was Jack's job. It had a certain psychological effect on the team who became less fearful of them as a result. It was hard to take seriously an alien monster called Barry or Silvia.
This morning however there were no weevils apart from long term resident Janet, and she was a model prisoner. If Janet played up, it was because she wanted to make a point to the individual to whom she was being difficult – usually Owen, sometimes Jack. For Ianto though, she knew better than to bite the hand that fed her.
‘Morning Janet,’ he said brightly before turning and spotting the other sole occupant of the cells on this level, his smile turning into a frown. He sighed. ‘You again, Kerko?’ Jack had warned him as he delivered the first coffee of the morning that Jack had picked up the blowfish overnight, breaking and entering a Boots. Kerko was a repeat serial offender, unable to keep his nose clean despite Torchwood's better judgement to keep letting him loose again, rather than finding him a nice transport ship to the backwaters of space where he could darken someone else’s doorstep. ‘What was it this time? Prescription painkillers, steroids, cans of deodorant to sniff and get high?’ Blowfish had a tendency to live fast and, presumably, die young.
Kerko shot up from the concrete bed, threw himself against the perspex glass and snarled. ‘Go to hell!’
Ianto tapped a finger to his lips, feigning deep thought. ‘Hmm… I would, but then again, most days here already are,’ he replied. ‘Now, what will it be? We have a lovely selection from the menu this morning. Porridge, scrambled eggs, maybe some nice smoked kippers?’
Kerko lurched forward again, and this time, with a surprising level of skill managed to spit a large wodge of saliva though the small holes in the glass, hitting Ianto in the face.
Ianto flinched as the spittle immediately stung his skin. Bastard! He pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the majority of it off his face. ‘Porridge it is, then.’ Then he glowered. ‘Tomorrow,’ he added, before walking out.
He cursed the entire way to the nearest bathrooms, several floors above, rueing how much blowfish saliva burned. It was definitely highly acidic, maybe even a little caustic. It wasn’t so much being spat in the face that bothered him – plenty of aliens had shown his their version of hospitality over the years – but the fact that some of the saliva had gotten in his eyes, and it was those that were stinging the most, blurring his vision as he nearly tripped up the stairs, grabbing the was to shore himself up until he got there.
The cold water from the taps was a godsend, easing the hot sensation that prickled his skin. He made sure to rinse his eyes multiple times, knowing he would add some eye drops afterwards, just as soon as he could get his hands on a first aid kit. There’d be no lasting damage, but better to be safe than sorry. He rinsed everything again, just to be sure, then grabbed the paper towel and dabbed gently until it was dry. He checked himself in the mirror, satisfied that he was sorted and good to go. ‘Just another wonderful day in hell,’ he muttered.
It didn’t take long though to realise that blowfish saliva was far more potent than anyone had ever logged in their species database. His skin itched and tingled, like it was still on fire under the surface, and his eyes were doing their best to shield him against the burning sensation, producing tears to wash away any of the saliva he missed. He grabbed a box of tissues as dabbed gently at them, feeling more well up behind the ones he'd just dried. Stupid sodding blowfish, he thought, disrupting his attempts to write up his report from two days again, having to constantly stop to wipe away more tears, which were now getting down into his sinuses and making his nose run as well.
By the time the others had arrived, he decided to move down to the archives. The last thing he needed was any of Owen's lecturing about self-treating medical issues, and perhaps the reduced lighting down there would help his eyes from turning into fountains. He'd had enough of dripping tears onto his keyboard, worried it might short out. He only came up once later in the morning to fetch a round of coffee for the team, making a hasty exit, though he doubted any of them noticed him regardless. When it came to coffee, they had eyes only for the mug and not the person who delivered it. Ingrates.
It wasn't until just before lunch that there was a knock on his door, and the familiar outline of Jack, standing there. ‘Ianto?’ His tone was gentle, not the usual boisterous “Ianto!” ‘Is everything okay?’
Ianto stopped typing, flicking a sodden tissue off the desk next to him and into the bin underneath. ‘Fine,’ he replied. ‘You?’
‘I’m good,’ he said, stepping closer, ‘but are you sure you’re fine?’
‘Of course.’ It seemed a bit of a daft question. Why wouldn’t he be? Was there something he didn’t know about yet that he should?
Jack came and sat on the edge of the desk, a deep look of concern on his face. ‘Ianto, you can talk to me about anything.’
‘I know!’ Ianto said, wondering why he’d raised his voice and where his sudden frustration had come from. ‘We’re talking right now, aren’t we?’
Jack immediately backed off. ‘I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you.’ He tugged a tissue from the nearby tissue box and handed it to him. Only then did Ianto realise he had tears spilling down his cheeks again. ‘Whatever it is, it’ll be okay,’ Jack said, back to offering tea and sympathy. ‘I’m here for you. Always.’
‘I'm not crying!’ he said, madly wiping at his eyes and sniffing, before honking into the tissue and binning it, before reaching for a fresh one to finish what he’d started.
‘Tosh said you looked all blotchy like you’d been crying. I came down the moment she told me.’ Then he raised an eyebrow at Ianto. ‘This isn’t crying?’
Oh Tosh, bless you, Ianto thought, even though she had it all wrong. Well, maybe not the crying part. ‘It's not what you think. I just got hit in the face when Kerko decided he wasn’t going to play nice and decided I'd earned a gobby sandwich in the face.’ He dabbed at his left eye again, still watering and stinging. ‘I didn’t think it would be this bad.’
Jack picked up the tissue box and held it towards him, letting him grab another handful. ‘Yeah, that stuff is nasty. Had more than my share of blowfish spit burns. I wish you’d mentioned it. I’ve got a spray to counteract some of the worst of the acidic properties.’
Ianto honked into another tissue. ‘You might have mentioned that in the species database,’ he snuffled. ‘Or just not to get within spitting distance of one.’
Jack chuckled. ‘If I said don’t get within spitting distance of everything that was even remotely dangerous, we’d be out of a job.’
Ianto binned his tissue, finally feeling like his eyes had downgraded their attempts to flood the archives. ‘True,’ he conceded.
‘C’mon,’ Jack said, offering a hand. ‘Let’s get you de-spittled, then we can go blowfish-baiting.’
‘Okay.’ Ianto didn’t know what that was, and seldom liked to assume, but it sounded very revenge-like, and at this moment, he wasn’t opposed to it one little bit.
Fandom: Torchwood
Characters: Ianto, Jack
Author: m_findlow
Rating: PG
Length: 1,385 words
Content notes: None
Author notes: Written for Challenge 485 - Face
Summary: Ianto is accustomed to less than friendly inmates, though some prove more painful than others.
Ianto was used to dealing with inmates; it was part of his job, making sure that anyone spending a night – or several nights, sometimes even months – at Torchwood's pleasure was fed and watered within the limits of their humanitarian requirements.
Mostly it was just weevils, the ones that resisted being moved on, or those young adult weevils who had just gotten big enough, and mean enough, to start prowling the city's streets and sewers on their own, who needed tagging for monitoring. They also got christened at that point, and whilst Ianto was chief thing-namer, Jack had been naming weevils long before Ianto had joined so that was Jack's job. It had a certain psychological effect on the team who became less fearful of them as a result. It was hard to take seriously an alien monster called Barry or Silvia.
This morning however there were no weevils apart from long term resident Janet, and she was a model prisoner. If Janet played up, it was because she wanted to make a point to the individual to whom she was being difficult – usually Owen, sometimes Jack. For Ianto though, she knew better than to bite the hand that fed her.
‘Morning Janet,’ he said brightly before turning and spotting the other sole occupant of the cells on this level, his smile turning into a frown. He sighed. ‘You again, Kerko?’ Jack had warned him as he delivered the first coffee of the morning that Jack had picked up the blowfish overnight, breaking and entering a Boots. Kerko was a repeat serial offender, unable to keep his nose clean despite Torchwood's better judgement to keep letting him loose again, rather than finding him a nice transport ship to the backwaters of space where he could darken someone else’s doorstep. ‘What was it this time? Prescription painkillers, steroids, cans of deodorant to sniff and get high?’ Blowfish had a tendency to live fast and, presumably, die young.
Kerko shot up from the concrete bed, threw himself against the perspex glass and snarled. ‘Go to hell!’
Ianto tapped a finger to his lips, feigning deep thought. ‘Hmm… I would, but then again, most days here already are,’ he replied. ‘Now, what will it be? We have a lovely selection from the menu this morning. Porridge, scrambled eggs, maybe some nice smoked kippers?’
Kerko lurched forward again, and this time, with a surprising level of skill managed to spit a large wodge of saliva though the small holes in the glass, hitting Ianto in the face.
Ianto flinched as the spittle immediately stung his skin. Bastard! He pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the majority of it off his face. ‘Porridge it is, then.’ Then he glowered. ‘Tomorrow,’ he added, before walking out.
He cursed the entire way to the nearest bathrooms, several floors above, rueing how much blowfish saliva burned. It was definitely highly acidic, maybe even a little caustic. It wasn’t so much being spat in the face that bothered him – plenty of aliens had shown his their version of hospitality over the years – but the fact that some of the saliva had gotten in his eyes, and it was those that were stinging the most, blurring his vision as he nearly tripped up the stairs, grabbing the was to shore himself up until he got there.
The cold water from the taps was a godsend, easing the hot sensation that prickled his skin. He made sure to rinse his eyes multiple times, knowing he would add some eye drops afterwards, just as soon as he could get his hands on a first aid kit. There’d be no lasting damage, but better to be safe than sorry. He rinsed everything again, just to be sure, then grabbed the paper towel and dabbed gently until it was dry. He checked himself in the mirror, satisfied that he was sorted and good to go. ‘Just another wonderful day in hell,’ he muttered.
It didn’t take long though to realise that blowfish saliva was far more potent than anyone had ever logged in their species database. His skin itched and tingled, like it was still on fire under the surface, and his eyes were doing their best to shield him against the burning sensation, producing tears to wash away any of the saliva he missed. He grabbed a box of tissues as dabbed gently at them, feeling more well up behind the ones he'd just dried. Stupid sodding blowfish, he thought, disrupting his attempts to write up his report from two days again, having to constantly stop to wipe away more tears, which were now getting down into his sinuses and making his nose run as well.
By the time the others had arrived, he decided to move down to the archives. The last thing he needed was any of Owen's lecturing about self-treating medical issues, and perhaps the reduced lighting down there would help his eyes from turning into fountains. He'd had enough of dripping tears onto his keyboard, worried it might short out. He only came up once later in the morning to fetch a round of coffee for the team, making a hasty exit, though he doubted any of them noticed him regardless. When it came to coffee, they had eyes only for the mug and not the person who delivered it. Ingrates.
It wasn't until just before lunch that there was a knock on his door, and the familiar outline of Jack, standing there. ‘Ianto?’ His tone was gentle, not the usual boisterous “Ianto!” ‘Is everything okay?’
Ianto stopped typing, flicking a sodden tissue off the desk next to him and into the bin underneath. ‘Fine,’ he replied. ‘You?’
‘I’m good,’ he said, stepping closer, ‘but are you sure you’re fine?’
‘Of course.’ It seemed a bit of a daft question. Why wouldn’t he be? Was there something he didn’t know about yet that he should?
Jack came and sat on the edge of the desk, a deep look of concern on his face. ‘Ianto, you can talk to me about anything.’
‘I know!’ Ianto said, wondering why he’d raised his voice and where his sudden frustration had come from. ‘We’re talking right now, aren’t we?’
Jack immediately backed off. ‘I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you.’ He tugged a tissue from the nearby tissue box and handed it to him. Only then did Ianto realise he had tears spilling down his cheeks again. ‘Whatever it is, it’ll be okay,’ Jack said, back to offering tea and sympathy. ‘I’m here for you. Always.’
‘I'm not crying!’ he said, madly wiping at his eyes and sniffing, before honking into the tissue and binning it, before reaching for a fresh one to finish what he’d started.
‘Tosh said you looked all blotchy like you’d been crying. I came down the moment she told me.’ Then he raised an eyebrow at Ianto. ‘This isn’t crying?’
Oh Tosh, bless you, Ianto thought, even though she had it all wrong. Well, maybe not the crying part. ‘It's not what you think. I just got hit in the face when Kerko decided he wasn’t going to play nice and decided I'd earned a gobby sandwich in the face.’ He dabbed at his left eye again, still watering and stinging. ‘I didn’t think it would be this bad.’
Jack picked up the tissue box and held it towards him, letting him grab another handful. ‘Yeah, that stuff is nasty. Had more than my share of blowfish spit burns. I wish you’d mentioned it. I’ve got a spray to counteract some of the worst of the acidic properties.’
Ianto honked into another tissue. ‘You might have mentioned that in the species database,’ he snuffled. ‘Or just not to get within spitting distance of one.’
Jack chuckled. ‘If I said don’t get within spitting distance of everything that was even remotely dangerous, we’d be out of a job.’
Ianto binned his tissue, finally feeling like his eyes had downgraded their attempts to flood the archives. ‘True,’ he conceded.
‘C’mon,’ Jack said, offering a hand. ‘Let’s get you de-spittled, then we can go blowfish-baiting.’
‘Okay.’ Ianto didn’t know what that was, and seldom liked to assume, but it sounded very revenge-like, and at this moment, he wasn’t opposed to it one little bit.