Length: 376 words
Summary: Jack and Ianto try a spot of pteranodon training. For the prompt don't want to go back to the Hub.
“I’m sure it’s working,” says Jack, tapping the face of his wristwatch with his index finger.
“And yet,” says Ianto, spreading his arms wide in an exaggeratedly dramatic fashion, “no pteranodon.”
Jack looks up and scans the sky, squinting when he turns to face the sunrise, but it’s a useless exercise.
The pair of them have been stood on the roof of the Millennium Centre for nearly an hour and Myfanwy still hasn’t shown up. It’s freezing, they’ve finished the coffee, and it’s far too early in the morning as far as Ianto’s concerned. So far the care and feeding of the pteranodon has been one of his least annoying tasks since he started working for Torchwood Three two weeks ago, but he thinks now might be a good time to reassess.
“Are you quite sure that you can train her to come when signalled by your stupid watch?” he mutters to himself as he sits down on the rooftop next to the bucket of cod covered in Suzie’s special barbecue sauce. (It’s not the worst thing he’s ever smelt, but it’s in the top ten.)
“Of course it will, Ianto,” he says in an attempt at mimicking Jack’s accent, and then sarcastically, in his own voice, “of course it will.”
Jack sighs and sits down next to him, pressing the palms of his hands onto the roof behind him and leaning back.
“Maybe she just doesn’t want to come back to the Hub.”
“It’s a Sunday,” says Ianto. “None of us want to be at the Hub.”
“No such thing as weekends at Torchwood,” says Jack cheerfully.
Ianto considers throwing a cod at him, but he knows it’ll only end up with him being the one that has to sort out getting Jack’s clothes and his precious coat dry-cleaned.
“Come on,” says Jack, flashing his teeth at Ianto in a broad smile, “aren’t you enjoying private Captain time?”
He bites his lip to avoid saying something that would probably get him fired and then lowers his lashes before turning his face away, hoping that conveys a suitably shy and flirty ‘yes, sir.’
Jack sighs again, but happily this time.
“I love being in high places,” the Captain says. “There’s so much that you can see.”
Title: Kind of Magic
Length: 484 words
Summary: Some days the Doctor thinks that Young River is even worse than Spoilers River. For the prompt "If she floats she's a witch."
The Doctor wants to close his eyes with the childish hope that when he opens them again everything will be different, but closing his eyes whenever River Song is around, even just to blink, is never a good idea. Blink and you’ll miss her.
“Look, we’re really very sorry,” he tries, but the Arachnidie guarding him merely tightens the ropes of web restraining him.
“Actually, we’re really not,” says River.
The three Arachnidies surrounding her almost block her from the Doctor’s view, so he supposes that she can’t see the look that he’s giving her right now. It’s better than thinking that she’s just ignoring it.
“And I didn’t use magic,” she continues. “Don’t be ridiculous. We’re just a lot smarter than you are.”
“I’m not telling them anything but the truth, sweetie.”
It’s irritating when she knows more than him and comes calling with ‘spoilers’ on her lips, but some days Young River is even worse. Like days when they’re arrested for witchcraft by an indigenous species who happen to resemble giant spiders and come complete with acidic webbing that they use to restrain their captives.
His jacket will never be the same again and when he finally manages to retrieve his sonic screwdriver from his pocket he suspects that it’s going to have acid-etched stripes.
(Alright, admittedly it’s only a mild acid, but he likes this jacket.)
“The Ocean of The Righteous will prove it,” the one in charge proclaims to the crowd of Arachnidies behind them. “If she’s a witch magic was used. If she floats she’s a witch!”
“Well that’s a sort of logic I suppose,” says River.
The Doctor looks at the webbing wrapped so thoroughly around her that she’s practically cocooned and at the steep cliff in front of them with a raging sea below.
“What about swimming?” River asks curiously.
The Doctor closes his eyes, even though he knows that it’s a bad idea, and groans. He can’t help it.
When he opens them again River is gone.
The Arachnidies move closer to the edge of the cliff and the Doctor moves with them. The water is too wild to be able to see if there’s a splash or not, but he does see a reassuring flash of familiar blue about halfway down. He sighs and wonders which one of them is going to have to remember to have moved the TARDIS.
“You don’t seem concerned,” one of his guards says.
“Of course I’m concerned,” he replies. “You really shouldn’t arrest or kill people just because they’re different and there’s no such thing as magic. At least not that I’m aware of and if there is then we weren’t using it.”
“But the witch. You believe she will float and live?”
“Oh, well,” says the Doctor, gaging the drop to the TARDIS and steeling himself to jump. “She’s rather her own kind of magic.”
Title: The Day The Gnome Garden Walked
Length: 446 words
Summary: Rory tries to help a witness, the Doctor examines mud, and Amy asks stupid questions. For the prompt gnome garden.
“Gnomes they were!” says the elderly gentleman a bit breathlessly and Rory takes his arm to lead him over to a bench where he can sit down, but the man shakes Rory off and glares at him. “Young man, I have lived through two World Wars. I am not cowed by garden gnomes.”
“Right,” says Rory, holding his hands up, “of course not.”
“Of course not,” the Doctor echoes. “Now then, what did they look like? Were they taller than your usual garden ornament? And were any of them carrying fishing poles?”
“Fishing poles?” says Amy.
“Shut up,” the Doctor tells her without looking in her direction. “Don’t ask stupid questions.”
Amy crosses her arms and glares at him.
“They were normal garden gnomes,” says the gentleman, “apart from the fact that they were moving. I can’t remember if any of them had fishing poles.”
“Hmm.” The Doctor spins around and crouches down to examine the muddy trail on the road with his sonic screwdriver.
Amy bends forward to look over his shoulder. If she squints she can see the odd tiny footprint.
“So, are you with Torchwood then?” the man asks, turning to Rory.
“Um, we’re new,” Rory replies.
“Good. That Scottish lad that comes down our way sometimes – Archie – he could use some help. Institutional help as well as some helping hands, if you get my drift.” He nudges Rory with his elbow. “Now there’s a chap that’d falter at the sight of all them gnomes marching up the high street. Last time we had weird goings on he fainted.”
“They’re not just garden gnomes,” the Doctor declares as he springs upright and Amy jerks backwards out of his way. “They’re garden gnomes that have spent a long time immersed in fresh water and at some depth. At least forty-five metres,” he adds as he checks the readout on his screwdriver.
“Oh, well then,” says the gentleman. “They’ll be from the lake.”
“We’re in the Lake District,” says Amy, fighting against rolling her eyes. “Could you be more specific?”
“Wastwater. Deepest lake in England. We get lots of divers leaving garden gnomes down there. I hear there was a picket fence around them and everything at one point.” He tilts his head and turns to Rory again. “There’ll be some leaflets at the Post Office, I’ll wager.”
“A gnome garden!” says the Doctor excitedly. “A garden of garden gnomes! At the bottom of a lake!”
The gentleman raises his eyebrows.
“Don’t worry,” says Rory. “He gets like that.”
“Well just you be careful teaming him up with Archie,” the man replies. “Some folks who get like that get even worse when they get together.”