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."