Ficlet: Caught Flat-Footed
Jan. 9th, 2026 05:29 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
badly_knittedTitle: Caught Flat-Footed
Author:
badly_knittedCharacters: Ianto.
Rating: PG
Word Count: 744
Spoilers: Nada.
Summary: They say most accidents happen in the home, but Ianto knows Torchwood is where the most unexpected hazards lie.
Written For: The prompt ‘any, any, bloody feet,’ at
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threesentenceficathon.Disclaimer: I don’t own Torchwood, or the characters.
Torchwood, as everyone who worked there undoubtedly knew, could be hazardous to one’s health, often in the most unexpected ways, and at the most inconvenient moments. It would have been nice to be able to say everyone was used to the hazards, and able to deal with them, and to a certain extent they were. Dangerous alien creatures and invasion attempts were at least recognisable threats, and there were known methods for handling situations involving them, but there were some things that were rather more difficult to get one’s head around.
Even so, accidents with alien technology were common enough that everyone had been caught out a few times. It was just that the results of such accidents were… unpredictable at best, so while there were basic guidelines for such incidents, there wasn’t much in the way of a standard procedure to follow.
So here Ianto was, muttering curses to himself which, under the circumstances, was probably only natural, because once again one of the curses of being a Torchwood agent had struck him down. Not even all the safety precautions he used religiously when working alone down in the archives had been enough to save him from this one.
Which, when he thought about it, shouldn’t have come as a surprise. No matter how careful he was, he couldn’t be expected to foresee the collapse of a section of shelving from an accelerated case of dry rot, which itself might well have been caused by one of the items stored there. Anyway, he’d had the misfortune of being right there when the accident had occurred, resulting in several dozen mostly unidentified pieces of alien tech crashing down around him, just because he’d taken one single small and insignificant item off the bottom shelf. Some days, fate just seemed to have it in for him.
The falling items, and indeed, the falling shelves, had mostly missed him, which was fortunate, because if they’d all crashed down on top of him, there was some doubt about whether he would have survived the experience. Some of the items weren’t exactly lightweight, which may have contributed to the shelves collapsing so spectacularly. Unfortunately, as he’d hastily stepped backwards to avoid the unexpected avalanche, one particular piece of tech had landed solidly on one of Ianto’s feet and then, through a random quirk of fate, had toppled over onto his other foot, and now…
“Bloody feet!” Ianto muttered again, awkwardly trying to sidle up the stairs, his large, bare, flappy feet slapping against the floor, more like flesh-coloured flippers than the feet he was accustomed to having. They were so big and misshapen now that there was no way he’d be able to get shoes, or even socks, to fit them. To make matters worse, the floors of the Hub were not only cold, but hard, rough, and gritty to the point that his newly flappy feet were going to wind up literally bloody before much longer if someone, namely Tosh, didn’t figure out how to restore them to their normal size and shape soon.
But before she could do that, he would first have to make his way up several flights of stairs to the main Hub with his flappy flat feet and the piece of tech responsible for making them that way, because he’d not only left his phone in the pocket of his coat, which was hanging in Jack’s office, he also had no idea where his Bluetooth earpiece had gone. It must have fallen out while he was hopping from foot to foot in agony, trying to pull his shoes and socks off his feet as they rapidly expanded.
He had clown feet! Except they were actual feet, of a sort, not shoes designed to make his feet look ridiculously huge. Pausing to catch his breath, Ianto took stock of his situation and decided on a different approach. Going up the stairs forwards was out of the question, and going up sideways was exhausting, so he turned around and tried going backwards. That was a bit easier. It still put a strain on muscles unaccustomed to being used that way, but he could live with that for the time being, even if he ultimately ended up with sore muscles and aching legs.
And if anyone laughed when they saw him, he was going to drop the bloody device on THEIR toes, and see how THEY liked having gigantic, flappy bare feet. Misery loved company.
The End
Even so, accidents with alien technology were common enough that everyone had been caught out a few times. It was just that the results of such accidents were… unpredictable at best, so while there were basic guidelines for such incidents, there wasn’t much in the way of a standard procedure to follow.
So here Ianto was, muttering curses to himself which, under the circumstances, was probably only natural, because once again one of the curses of being a Torchwood agent had struck him down. Not even all the safety precautions he used religiously when working alone down in the archives had been enough to save him from this one.
Which, when he thought about it, shouldn’t have come as a surprise. No matter how careful he was, he couldn’t be expected to foresee the collapse of a section of shelving from an accelerated case of dry rot, which itself might well have been caused by one of the items stored there. Anyway, he’d had the misfortune of being right there when the accident had occurred, resulting in several dozen mostly unidentified pieces of alien tech crashing down around him, just because he’d taken one single small and insignificant item off the bottom shelf. Some days, fate just seemed to have it in for him.
The falling items, and indeed, the falling shelves, had mostly missed him, which was fortunate, because if they’d all crashed down on top of him, there was some doubt about whether he would have survived the experience. Some of the items weren’t exactly lightweight, which may have contributed to the shelves collapsing so spectacularly. Unfortunately, as he’d hastily stepped backwards to avoid the unexpected avalanche, one particular piece of tech had landed solidly on one of Ianto’s feet and then, through a random quirk of fate, had toppled over onto his other foot, and now…
“Bloody feet!” Ianto muttered again, awkwardly trying to sidle up the stairs, his large, bare, flappy feet slapping against the floor, more like flesh-coloured flippers than the feet he was accustomed to having. They were so big and misshapen now that there was no way he’d be able to get shoes, or even socks, to fit them. To make matters worse, the floors of the Hub were not only cold, but hard, rough, and gritty to the point that his newly flappy feet were going to wind up literally bloody before much longer if someone, namely Tosh, didn’t figure out how to restore them to their normal size and shape soon.
But before she could do that, he would first have to make his way up several flights of stairs to the main Hub with his flappy flat feet and the piece of tech responsible for making them that way, because he’d not only left his phone in the pocket of his coat, which was hanging in Jack’s office, he also had no idea where his Bluetooth earpiece had gone. It must have fallen out while he was hopping from foot to foot in agony, trying to pull his shoes and socks off his feet as they rapidly expanded.
He had clown feet! Except they were actual feet, of a sort, not shoes designed to make his feet look ridiculously huge. Pausing to catch his breath, Ianto took stock of his situation and decided on a different approach. Going up the stairs forwards was out of the question, and going up sideways was exhausting, so he turned around and tried going backwards. That was a bit easier. It still put a strain on muscles unaccustomed to being used that way, but he could live with that for the time being, even if he ultimately ended up with sore muscles and aching legs.
And if anyone laughed when they saw him, he was going to drop the bloody device on THEIR toes, and see how THEY liked having gigantic, flappy bare feet. Misery loved company.
The End
