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A Matter of Pride
Fandom: Torchwood (you should know that by now)
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1313 (Yes, it is that unlucky... :P)
Summary: The more things change...
Prompt: For the![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
tw_calender, the Lent challenge. (Also to be found in the comm there - but I'm pedantic and like to keep all my fic in my journal, just in case.)
A/N: I am shameless. This fic is a direct follow on to Jack's Solution from way back when... It's only 1405 words, so double the fic for your money if you haven't read it before. :) And anyway, I think this one should just about work on its own as it is, so if you want to risk it, go ahead... ;) Enjoy.
A Matter of Pride
After the demise of the Space Invaders machine, the team as a whole suggested that Owen might, perhaps, want to cut back on the computer games. It was Tosh who went a step further and pointed out that – although nobody had really mentioned it – it did happen to be Lent.
The rabbit-in-the-headlights look Owen gained on hearing that was enough to have Jack jumping on the bandwagon with every sign of sadistic glee.
“We’ll all chip in to help,” he offered. “We’ll remind you when you forget about it and try to play Solitaire when you should be working. Shouldn’t keep us busy for more than… oh, six hours of the day?”
“I’m not the only one,” Owen protested, as Ianto brought them another round of coffee. “Ianto, what’s your winning streak on FreeCell at the moment?”
“Three hundred and eighty four,” Ianto said absently, handing Jack his mug. “Check back this afternoon and I should have rounded it up to three ninety.”
Owen spread his hands and sat back, pen between his teeth and eyebrows raised.
“Ianto actually does his work, though,” Jack started, while Tosh blinked at Ianto and asked him quietly, “How have you managed that? The most I ever got in a row was twenty eight.”
“I don’t lose,” Ianto told Tosh simply.
“And you,” Owen added, gesturing at Jack himself. “You’re always on Minesweeper.”
“I can give that up any time I want,” Jack said quickly. “You have a problem.”
Owen sat forward suddenly, glancing between them all and then staring hard at Jack.
“Alright,” he said. “I’ll quit. But you do too. No computer games for the rest of Lent. It’s only three weeks. You can do that.”
“Bet you can’t, though,” Gwen put in. “Tenner says you don’t last a week.”
“Done,” Owen shot back. “Twenty says Jack cracks first.”
“Taken,” Tosh said quickly, while Jack just clasped his arms around himself and shook his head at them all.
Ianto smiled to himself and went back upstairs, saying nothing.
~*~
The first two days passed without undue incident, as an unexpected trio of alien corpses gave Owen plenty to do in the autopsy room and little time to get distracted by his games. In fact it went so well that when Owen finally got round to typing up his reports, he’d more or less forgotten about the deal.
His fingers, finding a break in the typing, automatically drew the mouse over and went to click the Solitaire icon in his menu. The cards popped up, and so did a message in the middle of his screen.
Someone owes Gwen a tenner.
Owen leaned back in his chair and said, “Tosh?”
“Yes, Owen?” Tosh said brightly, smiling too cheerfully at him.
“Just want to check something,” Owen said, waving her over to his desk. She got up and came to stand beside him. He pointed at the Solitaire window.
“See the timer?” he asked, as she started to say, “So that would be twenty quid to me, then?”
She leaned forward to look closer, and he added, “See how it’s at zero and not moving? That means I haven’t started playing, yeah?”
“I suppose,” Tosh said slowly, and Owen nodded, then calmly closed the window.
“Great.”
He brought up his report again and returned to work.
“Um,” Tosh said after a second.
“That was it,” Owen told her. “Haven’t played. Don’t owe anyone money. All done, thanks.”
Tosh headed back to her desk, frowning, but didn’t argue the point. Instead, she muttered, “We’ll see,” and returned to her work.
Owen glanced over at her nervously every few minutes for the next three hours, unreasonably worried by her lack of reaction.
~*~
On the third day, Owen had just settled into his chair when he noticed something odd about the area by Jack’s office, where the old Space Invaders machine used to reside.
It was no longer empty.
Cautiously, he got up and headed over to investigate, and found, to his horror – or delight, he couldn’t quite decide which at the moment – a replacement arcade game. A zombie shoot-em-up. With laser guns attached.
His palms itched.
The machine was even turned on at the plug, and the screen was active, cycling between a tempting snippet of plot background and fake gameplay, and the high scores list, which was currently completely blank.
Owen swallowed hard and returned to his desk.
He spent the rest of the day shooting looks over at the new machine, and got less work done than if he’d been playing Solitaire anyway.
~*~
Owen’s first move on the fourth day was to go straight over to the machine (casually, while no-one was looking) to check out the high scores.
They were all Ianto. Every last one.
And Christ, they were crap.
He bunched his hands into fists and forced himself into the autopsy room to sweat it out. He may have felt the need to prove, repeatedly, that the others couldn’t get anywhere near his scores on Space Invaders, but this was different. He knew he could wipe the floor with Ianto any day. He didn’t need to thrash him at some stupid arcade game, again, just to prove a point.
It would have helped, though, if Jack and Ianto didn’t take such pains to talk about the new machine while sitting on the couch by the autopsy room entrance. Although if Ianto gave in to Jack’s requests that the game be counted as a form of firing practice, he would be up twenty quid from Tosh.
Except that then Jack would top the scoreboard. And would gloat about it for weeks.
It crossed his mind, very briefly, when he noticed that his hands were shaking, that the others might have been right when they said he had a problem.
Nah. They were just jealous of his skills. And besides, he was managing fine without his games. Absolutely fine. No problem at all.
God, he was going to shoot Ianto the first chance he got.
~*~
On the fifth day, Tosh, Gwen, Ianto and Jack spent the morning playing catch with a swarm of generally harmless but damn annoying robotic insects. When they got back Owen was hiding – was working very hard in the autopsy room, back hunched, head down, dutifully taking notes as he examined samples of one of their many alien plants for the umpteenth time.
He heard the sniggering a few minutes later.
It was Ianto who ventured into his lair to ask for Tosh and Gwen’s winnings.
Grudgingly, without turning, Owen dug into a pocket and pulled out a few notes, shoving them at Ianto and muttering, “It’s your fault, anyway.”
He could practically hear Ianto’s smirk as he said, “Me? I didn’t do anything. Been meaning to replace the old machine ever since… well. You know. Not a bad score, by the way. Might actually take me a couple of tries to beat.”
“Just try it, teaboy,” Owen snapped, whirling round to face the challenge.
He was right. Ianto was smirking.
“I should warn you,” Ianto added. “Jack’s going to have a go in a minute. He says he doesn’t mind us playing this one. Good target practice.”
“After the fuss he made about the other one?” Owen asked. “You’re kidding.”
“Didn’t you notice?” Ianto said, eyebrows raised. “This one’s faulty. It’s the only reason he let me buy it. The sound effects don’t work, so you won’t drive us all insane this time.”
From out in the Hub, there came the sound of heavily synthesised melodramatic music, accompanied by oh-so-fake gunshots. Ianto glanced back in surprise, and then looked back at Owen with an expression that said, clearer than words, this is going to end very, very badly.
Owen grinned, and pulled a screwdriver from the pocket of his lab coat.
“You’d be amazed what you can pick up watching Tosh at work.”
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1313 (Yes, it is that unlucky... :P)
Summary: The more things change...
Prompt: For the
tw_calender, the Lent challenge. (Also to be found in the comm there - but I'm pedantic and like to keep all my fic in my journal, just in case.)A/N: I am shameless. This fic is a direct follow on to Jack's Solution from way back when... It's only 1405 words, so double the fic for your money if you haven't read it before. :) And anyway, I think this one should just about work on its own as it is, so if you want to risk it, go ahead... ;) Enjoy.
A Matter of Pride
After the demise of the Space Invaders machine, the team as a whole suggested that Owen might, perhaps, want to cut back on the computer games. It was Tosh who went a step further and pointed out that – although nobody had really mentioned it – it did happen to be Lent.
The rabbit-in-the-headlights look Owen gained on hearing that was enough to have Jack jumping on the bandwagon with every sign of sadistic glee.
“We’ll all chip in to help,” he offered. “We’ll remind you when you forget about it and try to play Solitaire when you should be working. Shouldn’t keep us busy for more than… oh, six hours of the day?”
“I’m not the only one,” Owen protested, as Ianto brought them another round of coffee. “Ianto, what’s your winning streak on FreeCell at the moment?”
“Three hundred and eighty four,” Ianto said absently, handing Jack his mug. “Check back this afternoon and I should have rounded it up to three ninety.”
Owen spread his hands and sat back, pen between his teeth and eyebrows raised.
“Ianto actually does his work, though,” Jack started, while Tosh blinked at Ianto and asked him quietly, “How have you managed that? The most I ever got in a row was twenty eight.”
“I don’t lose,” Ianto told Tosh simply.
“And you,” Owen added, gesturing at Jack himself. “You’re always on Minesweeper.”
“I can give that up any time I want,” Jack said quickly. “You have a problem.”
Owen sat forward suddenly, glancing between them all and then staring hard at Jack.
“Alright,” he said. “I’ll quit. But you do too. No computer games for the rest of Lent. It’s only three weeks. You can do that.”
“Bet you can’t, though,” Gwen put in. “Tenner says you don’t last a week.”
“Done,” Owen shot back. “Twenty says Jack cracks first.”
“Taken,” Tosh said quickly, while Jack just clasped his arms around himself and shook his head at them all.
Ianto smiled to himself and went back upstairs, saying nothing.
The first two days passed without undue incident, as an unexpected trio of alien corpses gave Owen plenty to do in the autopsy room and little time to get distracted by his games. In fact it went so well that when Owen finally got round to typing up his reports, he’d more or less forgotten about the deal.
His fingers, finding a break in the typing, automatically drew the mouse over and went to click the Solitaire icon in his menu. The cards popped up, and so did a message in the middle of his screen.
Someone owes Gwen a tenner.
Owen leaned back in his chair and said, “Tosh?”
“Yes, Owen?” Tosh said brightly, smiling too cheerfully at him.
“Just want to check something,” Owen said, waving her over to his desk. She got up and came to stand beside him. He pointed at the Solitaire window.
“See the timer?” he asked, as she started to say, “So that would be twenty quid to me, then?”
She leaned forward to look closer, and he added, “See how it’s at zero and not moving? That means I haven’t started playing, yeah?”
“I suppose,” Tosh said slowly, and Owen nodded, then calmly closed the window.
“Great.”
He brought up his report again and returned to work.
“Um,” Tosh said after a second.
“That was it,” Owen told her. “Haven’t played. Don’t owe anyone money. All done, thanks.”
Tosh headed back to her desk, frowning, but didn’t argue the point. Instead, she muttered, “We’ll see,” and returned to her work.
Owen glanced over at her nervously every few minutes for the next three hours, unreasonably worried by her lack of reaction.
On the third day, Owen had just settled into his chair when he noticed something odd about the area by Jack’s office, where the old Space Invaders machine used to reside.
It was no longer empty.
Cautiously, he got up and headed over to investigate, and found, to his horror – or delight, he couldn’t quite decide which at the moment – a replacement arcade game. A zombie shoot-em-up. With laser guns attached.
His palms itched.
The machine was even turned on at the plug, and the screen was active, cycling between a tempting snippet of plot background and fake gameplay, and the high scores list, which was currently completely blank.
Owen swallowed hard and returned to his desk.
He spent the rest of the day shooting looks over at the new machine, and got less work done than if he’d been playing Solitaire anyway.
Owen’s first move on the fourth day was to go straight over to the machine (casually, while no-one was looking) to check out the high scores.
They were all Ianto. Every last one.
And Christ, they were crap.
He bunched his hands into fists and forced himself into the autopsy room to sweat it out. He may have felt the need to prove, repeatedly, that the others couldn’t get anywhere near his scores on Space Invaders, but this was different. He knew he could wipe the floor with Ianto any day. He didn’t need to thrash him at some stupid arcade game, again, just to prove a point.
It would have helped, though, if Jack and Ianto didn’t take such pains to talk about the new machine while sitting on the couch by the autopsy room entrance. Although if Ianto gave in to Jack’s requests that the game be counted as a form of firing practice, he would be up twenty quid from Tosh.
Except that then Jack would top the scoreboard. And would gloat about it for weeks.
It crossed his mind, very briefly, when he noticed that his hands were shaking, that the others might have been right when they said he had a problem.
Nah. They were just jealous of his skills. And besides, he was managing fine without his games. Absolutely fine. No problem at all.
God, he was going to shoot Ianto the first chance he got.
On the fifth day, Tosh, Gwen, Ianto and Jack spent the morning playing catch with a swarm of generally harmless but damn annoying robotic insects. When they got back Owen was hiding – was working very hard in the autopsy room, back hunched, head down, dutifully taking notes as he examined samples of one of their many alien plants for the umpteenth time.
He heard the sniggering a few minutes later.
It was Ianto who ventured into his lair to ask for Tosh and Gwen’s winnings.
Grudgingly, without turning, Owen dug into a pocket and pulled out a few notes, shoving them at Ianto and muttering, “It’s your fault, anyway.”
He could practically hear Ianto’s smirk as he said, “Me? I didn’t do anything. Been meaning to replace the old machine ever since… well. You know. Not a bad score, by the way. Might actually take me a couple of tries to beat.”
“Just try it, teaboy,” Owen snapped, whirling round to face the challenge.
He was right. Ianto was smirking.
“I should warn you,” Ianto added. “Jack’s going to have a go in a minute. He says he doesn’t mind us playing this one. Good target practice.”
“After the fuss he made about the other one?” Owen asked. “You’re kidding.”
“Didn’t you notice?” Ianto said, eyebrows raised. “This one’s faulty. It’s the only reason he let me buy it. The sound effects don’t work, so you won’t drive us all insane this time.”
From out in the Hub, there came the sound of heavily synthesised melodramatic music, accompanied by oh-so-fake gunshots. Ianto glanced back in surprise, and then looked back at Owen with an expression that said, clearer than words, this is going to end very, very badly.
Owen grinned, and pulled a screwdriver from the pocket of his lab coat.
“You’d be amazed what you can pick up watching Tosh at work.”
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