rowanberries | And now for something completely different: A domestic scene, Torchwood-style.

You know, at some point I'll learn to write narrative as well as dialogue.

Fandom: Torchwood
Characters: Jack, Ianto, unnamed and unwanted sprog.
Ownership: Not mine.
Setting: Somewhere. Possibly TIC-verse, possibly not. Just somewhere.

Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four

"Sir?"

"Hmm?"

"Are you all right?"

"Fine, Ianto."

"Only you've been... staring at nothing for quite a while now, and I was a bit- well."

"Kicking."

"...Er. No I'm not, Sir."

"The alien spawn, Ianto. It's kicking. You know, I usually take exception to that."

"...Oh, I see. Is that a- a good sign, do you think? Should I get Owen?"

"For the love of god, no! There's no way he could make this better, or he'd have done it by now. Possibly with a coat-hanger, if I know him."

"Jack, don't- Don't say that, Sir."

"Ianto, I think I'm definitely Jack right now. If there were any justice in the world, I'd be on maternity leave, for fuck's sake."

"W-well, you know you could..."

"Murderous blowfish on cocaine holding a hostage."

"Yes, your point, Jack."

"I thought so."

"...Jack? Will you- er, shoot me if I try and feel it?"

"You- Have I ever been upset with the idea of you touching me?"

"Well, when you put it that way, no. You're very zen tonight."

"It's the hormones."

And now for something completely different: A domestic scene, Torchwood-style.

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