Fic: Adaptability
Jan. 22nd, 2026 05:01 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
badly_knittedTitle: Adaptability
Author:
badly_knittedCharacters: OCs, Ianto, Team.
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1031
Spoilers: Nada.
Summary: Very little of what Torchwood find themselves dealing with can be prepared for in advance; it’s a good thing they’re so adaptable.
Written For: Weekend Challenge - Unprepared, Part II at
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1_million_words.Disclaimer: I don’t own Torchwood, or the characters.
The most important quality for a Torchwood agent, beyond being open-minded and free from prejudice, was the ability to improvise. Anyone who worked for the institute needed to be able to think on their feet, and deal with the most bizarre situations imaginable without any prior notice or planning. All of that required a certain flexibility in their way of thinking, because standing around debating over what to do next wasn’t particularly helpful when facing an alien invasion force, a monster intent on eating anything it could get its claws on, or a device that was inexplicably turning everything to jelly.
Improvisational skills also came in handy when having to reassure the locals that, despite all evidence to the contrary, nothing was actually happening here, or at least, nothing they needed to worry about:
“Good heavens no, of course there isn’t a space alien gnawing on your car tyres. Someone spiked your office watercooler with a hallucinogenic substance. Nothing to worry about, you’ll be fine. Here, have a cup of tea and take this pill, it’ll counter the effects. We’ll call a taxi to take you home; you’re in no condition to drive. All you need is a good night’s sleep. You’ll be fine by tomorrow.” All that while simultaneously arranging to have the car in question collected and its tyres replaced, while your colleagues dealt with the tyre-chewing alien.
Of course, it helped if you had an honest face, and were able to make even the most peculiar statements sound totally believable.
“I think you should probably apologise to your neighbour in the morning, Mr Sanders. You really shouldn’t go around accusing people of being slimy, eight-eyed purple monsters. Just be more careful in future. It’s never a good idea mixing prescription cold medicine with alcohol. I’m sure you didn’t mean to offend Mr Fisher, but you did rather hurt his feelings. Being on friendly terms with your neighbours is important, I’m sure you agree.”
The fact that in this case Mr Fisher really WAS a slimy, eight-eyed purple monster, at least by earth standards, was beside the point. It wasn’t HIS fault that his perception filter malfunctioned at a really unfortunate moment. The technology, while very advanced, wasn’t completely infallible. Tosh had made some adjustments to it, which would hopefully prevent any more such incidents, and with the aid of a dose of Retcon, Mr Sanders could be almost guaranteed to forget about the whole incident and go back to swapping gardening tips with his neighbour over the fence.
There were over four hundred legally registered aliens living in and around Cardiff, and with a little help from Torchwood technology, most of them blended in with no problems whatsoever. It was very rare that any of them got accidentally found out. Most people believed their neighbours to be unquestionably human. The Torchwood team were experts at creating fake identities, with all the necessary documentation and backstories. Of course, it meant the resident aliens had to remain in the British Isles, because the x-ray machines at customs couldn’t be fooled; they would see what was there, not what the perception filter technology fooled human brains into thinking they were seeing. Still, no one really minded.
Nevertheless, a quick mind and a relaxed, even casual attitude was enough to mostly head off any trouble that might come about through the Rift that connected Cardiff with the rest of the universe, like a stoned person dialling random phone numbers to see who picked up. People were far more likely to believe someone who seemed calm, even bored, in a ‘seen it all before, nothing new here’ kind of way. It was far more effective than acting all stern and officious.
Ianto patted Mrs Osterhouse’s shoulder, or Betty, as she’d insisted that he call her. “Not at all, Betty, I was happy to help. I’m sure Freddie will be fine, Corgis are very resilient dogs, but you should probably keep him close to home for a few days to let him calm down. I’m sure he won’t mind just being walked around the block until, he gets his confidence back.”
“What will happen to that nasty dog that scared him so?”
“I’m afraid it will have to be put to sleep, it’s simply too vicious to be rehomed.” It was also not actually a dog but a Gnathian Froon, a carnivorous beast the size of a husky, with flame-red fur, and three rows of teeth in the kind of mouth that would give an alligator serious competition.
“That’s a shame. People should take better care of their animals, and train them properly.”
“I couldn’t agree more, Betty. Would you like another cup of tea?”
“Oh, yes, if you don’t mind. I feel terrible, I really ought to be making tea for you, but I’m a still a little shaken up. I honestly though that dog might eat poor Freddie.”
There was no doubt in Ianto’s mind that was exactly what would have happened, followed by the Froon eating Betty herself, but he couldn’t say that, so he just smiled and patted Betty’s hand again. “Everything is fine now.”
“If you and your friend hadn’t come along when you did…”
“It’s fortunate we were passing on our way to a call. Now, why don’t I make you that tea?”
By the time Ianto left, Betty would be convinced her precious Freddie had defended her from a vicious stray dog; she would probably pamper the rather portly Corgi within an inch of his life, but maybe the elderly dog deserved it. As for the Froon, by now it would have already been dealt with and the body loaded in the SUV to be taken back to the Hub.
A large part of Torchwood’s job was damage control and disinformation, but they were good at it. The people of Cardiff might not appreciate them, but they’d never know how many disasters had been prevented thanks to Torchwood’s swift and decisive actions, and their ability to twist the truth, no matter how strange it might be, into something the average person could accept. No matter what they were faced with, improvisation was always the key to success.
The End
Improvisational skills also came in handy when having to reassure the locals that, despite all evidence to the contrary, nothing was actually happening here, or at least, nothing they needed to worry about:
“Good heavens no, of course there isn’t a space alien gnawing on your car tyres. Someone spiked your office watercooler with a hallucinogenic substance. Nothing to worry about, you’ll be fine. Here, have a cup of tea and take this pill, it’ll counter the effects. We’ll call a taxi to take you home; you’re in no condition to drive. All you need is a good night’s sleep. You’ll be fine by tomorrow.” All that while simultaneously arranging to have the car in question collected and its tyres replaced, while your colleagues dealt with the tyre-chewing alien.
Of course, it helped if you had an honest face, and were able to make even the most peculiar statements sound totally believable.
“I think you should probably apologise to your neighbour in the morning, Mr Sanders. You really shouldn’t go around accusing people of being slimy, eight-eyed purple monsters. Just be more careful in future. It’s never a good idea mixing prescription cold medicine with alcohol. I’m sure you didn’t mean to offend Mr Fisher, but you did rather hurt his feelings. Being on friendly terms with your neighbours is important, I’m sure you agree.”
The fact that in this case Mr Fisher really WAS a slimy, eight-eyed purple monster, at least by earth standards, was beside the point. It wasn’t HIS fault that his perception filter malfunctioned at a really unfortunate moment. The technology, while very advanced, wasn’t completely infallible. Tosh had made some adjustments to it, which would hopefully prevent any more such incidents, and with the aid of a dose of Retcon, Mr Sanders could be almost guaranteed to forget about the whole incident and go back to swapping gardening tips with his neighbour over the fence.
There were over four hundred legally registered aliens living in and around Cardiff, and with a little help from Torchwood technology, most of them blended in with no problems whatsoever. It was very rare that any of them got accidentally found out. Most people believed their neighbours to be unquestionably human. The Torchwood team were experts at creating fake identities, with all the necessary documentation and backstories. Of course, it meant the resident aliens had to remain in the British Isles, because the x-ray machines at customs couldn’t be fooled; they would see what was there, not what the perception filter technology fooled human brains into thinking they were seeing. Still, no one really minded.
Nevertheless, a quick mind and a relaxed, even casual attitude was enough to mostly head off any trouble that might come about through the Rift that connected Cardiff with the rest of the universe, like a stoned person dialling random phone numbers to see who picked up. People were far more likely to believe someone who seemed calm, even bored, in a ‘seen it all before, nothing new here’ kind of way. It was far more effective than acting all stern and officious.
Ianto patted Mrs Osterhouse’s shoulder, or Betty, as she’d insisted that he call her. “Not at all, Betty, I was happy to help. I’m sure Freddie will be fine, Corgis are very resilient dogs, but you should probably keep him close to home for a few days to let him calm down. I’m sure he won’t mind just being walked around the block until, he gets his confidence back.”
“What will happen to that nasty dog that scared him so?”
“I’m afraid it will have to be put to sleep, it’s simply too vicious to be rehomed.” It was also not actually a dog but a Gnathian Froon, a carnivorous beast the size of a husky, with flame-red fur, and three rows of teeth in the kind of mouth that would give an alligator serious competition.
“That’s a shame. People should take better care of their animals, and train them properly.”
“I couldn’t agree more, Betty. Would you like another cup of tea?”
“Oh, yes, if you don’t mind. I feel terrible, I really ought to be making tea for you, but I’m a still a little shaken up. I honestly though that dog might eat poor Freddie.”
There was no doubt in Ianto’s mind that was exactly what would have happened, followed by the Froon eating Betty herself, but he couldn’t say that, so he just smiled and patted Betty’s hand again. “Everything is fine now.”
“If you and your friend hadn’t come along when you did…”
“It’s fortunate we were passing on our way to a call. Now, why don’t I make you that tea?”
By the time Ianto left, Betty would be convinced her precious Freddie had defended her from a vicious stray dog; she would probably pamper the rather portly Corgi within an inch of his life, but maybe the elderly dog deserved it. As for the Froon, by now it would have already been dealt with and the body loaded in the SUV to be taken back to the Hub.
A large part of Torchwood’s job was damage control and disinformation, but they were good at it. The people of Cardiff might not appreciate them, but they’d never know how many disasters had been prevented thanks to Torchwood’s swift and decisive actions, and their ability to twist the truth, no matter how strange it might be, into something the average person could accept. No matter what they were faced with, improvisation was always the key to success.
The End
(no subject)
Date: 2026-01-22 05:13 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2026-01-22 05:48 pm (UTC)Thank you!