badly_knitted (badly_knitted) wrote,
badly_knitted
badly_knitted

Fic: Tattered

Title: Tattered
Author: badly_knitted
Characters: Ianto, Alien, Jack, Team.
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Nada.
Summary: Once again, thanks to another unidentified alien, Ianto finds himself with his dignity in tatters.
Word Count: 936
Written For: My own prompt ‘Torchwood, Ianto, Dignity, among other things, in tatters, at fic_promptly.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Torchwood, or the characters. They belong to the BBC.




Slowly and with a great deal of effort, Ianto extracted himself from underneath the dead alien. He was bruised, battered, his trousers were ripped across one knee, and his jacket was missing a sleeve. Well wasn’t that just perfect? Looked like another suit had gone to the great wardrobe in the sky.


“Why me?” he muttered plaintively, struggling up out of the clinging mud, shuddering at the feel of it squelching between his bare toes. One shoe and sock were probably still under the corpse and he briefly debated trying to roll it over to retrieve them, but decided against it. Even if he did manage to find them, which didn’t seen too likely, they wouldn’t be wearable now. Opting instead to limp his way back to the paved path, he put his best foot forward, the one that did still have a shoe on it, and tried to ignore his various discomforts. It was still pouring with rain and there were plenty of trees overhanging the path that he could take shelter under while he waited for the rest of the team to find him.


They’d all piled out of the SUV an hour or so ago in pursuit of an alien of unknown species, but when they’d lost sight of it because of the heavy downpour, they’d split up, keeping in touch via their earpieces. Ianto reached up to his ear, unsurprised to find his Bluetooth was now missing. That was most likely somewhere in the mud under the alien as well, having been jolted loose when the damned thing jumped on him. Figured.


Gun in hand, he’d been scouring the ground for any sign of tracks, not the easiest thing to do in a deluge, when he’d heard a menacing growl coming from behind him and had turned to find his quarry almost on top of him. And then it had been on top of him, literally. A large, shaggy creature resembling a rug on legs, and smelling strongly of wet dog, it had hit him like a pile driver, slamming him into the ground so hard it knocked most of the breath out of him. He’d found himself staring up into gaping jaws lined with jagged, razor sharp teeth; the stench of its breath had been overpowering, but had at least cleared his head and restored his senses enough that he’d been able to defend himself.


Miraculously, he’d still had his Torchwood special gripped in his right hand, so jamming his left forearm sideways into the gaping maw so the creature couldn’t rip his throat out, he’d raised the gun, jammed the barrel inside a large, hairy ear, and pulled the trigger. The monster’s head had jerked back violently, almost wrenching his arm out of its socket, and his jacket sleeve, caught on its teeth, ripped clean off at the shoulder. He’d have to have a word with his tailor about reinforcing the shoulder seams in future.


Reaching the path and a nice, big, bushy-topped tree, Ianto leant gratefully against the trunk, out of the rain, and cast his gaze back across the mud and churned up grass to where the dead alien lay, barely visible through the murk. The first bullet hadn’t finished it; he’d had to empty the rest of the clip into its mouth, which had done the job but caused the creature to collapse on top of him, almost flattening him. He’d been thankful for the mud then, because it meant he got squished down into it instead of having his ribs crushed by the monster’s weight. It was about the size of a bear, and with its thick pelt soaking wet, weighed about a ton, or felt like it anyway. Crawling out from under it hadn’t been easy; he was done in, so he slid down the trunk of the tree he was leaning against to sit at its base and wait for the others. Even over the rain they would’ve heard the gunshots and be on their way to offer assistance, if needed.


“Iantooooo!” Jack came into sight, running as fast as he could manage without losing his footing, pounding through the mud towards the hump of dead alien.


“Over here!” Ianto called back, levering himself to his feet again and slowly limping towards his lover as the rest of the team arrived on the scene, slipping and sliding on the mud and wet grass. They all stopped dead, staring at him in horror, which was understandable; he must look a sight, plastered head to toe in mud, alien blood and drool, suit torn, one foot bare, his dignity as well as his suit in tatters. Story of his life really.


Jack approached him hesitantly. “Ianto? Are you okay?”


“Slightly chewed, somewhat squashed, cold, wet, muddy, and tired, but more or less in one piece, which is more than I can say for my suit. I’ll live. Probably. Lost my earpiece though.”


“And your shoe.” Jack indicated Ianto’s bare, muddy foot.


“Yes, that too, but I doubt that’s salvageable. Shoes can be replaced; the tech is more important. Can’t have a civilian getting hold of it.” Even in his current state, Ianto kept his priorities straight. Someone had to.


“I’ll scan the area, see if I can locate it,” Tosh said, pulling out her PDA.


“Good.” Jack nodded. “Owen; fetch the SUV.” He threw the keys to the medic and steered Ianto back to his sheltering tree. “You sit here until Owen gets back; you’ve done more than your share. The rest of us can handle the clean-up.”


For once, Ianto was perfectly willing to agree.



The End












Tags: fic, fic: one-shot, fic: pg, fic_promptly, ianto jones, jack harkness, jack/ianto, team, torchwood fic, toshiko sato
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