Fic: Eggsplanations
Apr. 9th, 2026 07:01 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
badly_knittedTitle: Eggsplanations
Author:
badly_knittedCharacters: Jack, Owen, Tosh, Ianto, Gwen.
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1553
Spoilers: Nada.
Summary: When is an egg not an egg? Jack has some eggsplaining to do.
Content Notes: None needed.
Written For: Weekend Challenge: Hopping Into Easter at
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
1_million_words.Disclaimer: I don’t own Torchwood, or the characters.
If this was anywhere but Torchwood, certain distinctions would not need to be made. Eggs were eggs, and as long as they weren’t past their use by date, and provided they didn’t float suspiciously when placed in a bowl of water, they were fair game. Always assuming they were the kinds of eggs usually selected for eating, and not random eggs stolen from some unsuspecting bird’s nest.
This was, however, the Torchwood Hub, and therefore, just because it LOOKED like an egg, even if it was genuinely an egg, that should not be taken as carte blanche to turn it into a light snack. There were rules regarding anything not purchased at the supermarket on one of Ianto’s grocery runs. Probably it shouldn’t have been necessary to lay them out in such detail, but again, this was Torchwood, and the intelligence, or lack thereof, of certain members of staff needed to be taken into account. That was why Jack had the entire team gathered together in what passed for the Hub’s kitchen, behind the spiral staircase, to make sure everyone understood. The old saying ‘Better safe than sorry’ was something all Torchwood agents needed to take to heart.
“Okay, kids.” Jack looked from one of his employees to the next, making sure he had their full attention. They stood across from him, shuffling their feet restlessly, at the opposite side the small kitchen table, on which sat a basket, lined with an old sweater, and containing fifteen or so white ovals, approximately the size of large hen’s eggs. He sighed. “Look, I shouldn’t have to say this, it should be obvious, but nobody is to touch these eggs, not for any reason. Is that understood? They are not to be used as a convenient snack. No boiled eggs, no egg sandwiches…”
Ianto interrupted him, intoning in a solemn voice: “These eggs are NOT to be fried. Nor are they to be roasted, toasted, or waffled.”
Jack glared at his lover. “Do you mind?”
“Sorry, didn’t realise I said that out loud. Don’t mind me. Obscure movie quote,” Ianto added at Jack’s questioning look. “I’ll explain later.”
“Right, where was I?”
“Do not fold, spindle, or mutilate?” Owen suggested.
Jack very nearly pouted. “At least Ianto’s quote was apt. Who’d try folding an egg?”
“Whatever.” Owen folded his arms over his chest. “Are we done here? I’ve got things to do.”
“No.” Jack scowled at the team medic. “We are NOT done, Owen; not until everyone is clear on this! No one touches these eggs for any reason. If you want a snack, there are eggs in the fridge. Chicken eggs, certified as safe for human consumption. Help yourself to those if you want an omelette, or scrambled, boiled, poached, or fried eggs, an egg sandwich, or anything else involving eggs, but the eggs in this basket remain in this basket. And just so you all know EXACTLY how serious I am about this, anyone who disobeys this order, even as a misguided attempt at a joke, will be immediately fired and retconned back to infancy, and I am NOT joking! Got that?”
“That’s a whole lot of fuss for a bunch of eggs,” Owen grumbled. “What’s so special about them? I know they’re gettin’ a bit pricy in the shops, but you’re acting like they’re made of solid gold or something.”
“This is Torchwood, Owen. I shouldn’t need to remind you that we deal with a lot of things that aren’t from earth, and a lot of things that aren’t necessarily what they look like.”
“So these are what, some sort of shapeshifter? All the more reason for me to study them then.”
“No, Owen, they’re eggs.” Jack fought the urge to roll his eyes; he’d leave that to Ianto, who was far better at it. “They’re just not CHICKEN eggs, or duck, or goose, or any other kind of terrestrial bird. In fact, they’re not birds at all, not as such, and interference with them could well cause a serious diplomatic incident. I’ve accepted responsibility for their safety, but if anything happens to any of them, blame will go where it’s due, and you won’t be able to say I didn’t warn you.”
“So if they’re not bird eggs, what sort of eggs are they?” Tosh studied the eggs curiously, from a safe distance, keeping her hands well clear.
“They’re more… reptilian, I suppose, but even that isn’t really an accurate description. A bit reptile, a bit bird, a bit batlike, a bit of a lot of things.” Some creatures, being of alien origin, were difficult to categorise. They didn’t exactly fit earth classifications, or maybe it was the earth system of biological classification that didn’t fit aliens. There was a reason one of the first rules of Torchwood was to avoid judging anything of alien origin by earth standards.
“If they’re so important, what’re you leavin’ them in a basket on the kitchen table for?” Owen demanded. “Shouldn’t they be locked away somewhere for safety? Then we wouldn’t know they were even here. Would’ve saved all these bloody long-winded explanations that don’t explain anything.”
“They’re where they are because it’s where they want to be,” Jack explained tiredly. “I tried putting them somewhere safer, but they wouldn’t stay there. They’re too curious, and they don’t like being isolated.”
“Wouldn’t stay there?” Owen snorted a laugh. “What, they get up on little legs and run around, like in the cartoons?”
“No, Owen. They teleport.” Theoretically, it meant they could teleport themselves to safety if someone tried to cook them, but again, they were aliens, and wouldn’t necessarily recognise the danger, not until it was too late.
“Teleporting eggs? You’re ‘aving us on!”
“He’s really not. May I?” Ianto asked.
“Alright, but be careful.” Jack turned to the rest of the team. “This is a one-off demonstration, not some kind of game. The eggs, or rather the beings inside them, have limited energy reserves, and could die from overexertion, which is another reason I don’t want any of you messing about with them.”
Carefully, Ianto lifted a single egg from the basket, took a few steps back, and held it in his cupped hands, where everyone could see it. Nothing happened for a moment, but then the egg shimmered, vanished, and reappeared in the basket on the table.
Ianto shook his empty hands. “Tingles.”
“And that,” Jack said firmly, “is why the eggs should remain where they are, intact and undisturbed, until their parents come to collect them.”
“When will that be?” Tosh asked.
“Not long. Two or three days at most, I should think. The parents’ craft suffered some damage when it was sucked through the Rift, so they sent their offspring to safety.”
“Shouldn’t we help them with any repairs then?” Tosh had helped repair several damaged spacecraft, and thoroughly enjoyed studying the different technologies.
“If they were on earth, then yes, we’d be helping, but they landed on the moon, so we’re no exactly equipped to go to their aid. One of the parents teleported the eggs down here last night, after I sent them the Hub’s coordinates. The eggs can’t teleport those kinds of distances by themselves, but the parents wanted them out of harm’s way while repairs are carried out. I suspect the eggs were making a nuisance of themselves, putting themselves at risk.”
“They needed a babysitter,” Ianto said. “And since everyone aboard the ship was too busy to keep an eye on them, an alternative had to be found. Our systems were alerted when the ship arrived in orbit, so Jack made contact, and agreed to take care of the babies. It’s not as if they need much, just a safe place and a certain amount of stimulation, which they’ll get from sensing our movements and activities. They can’t see, but they can hear, and they apparently have other senses that we don’t.”
“As long as we don’t interfere with them, they should be happy enough,” Jack added. “At this stage of their development, they’ll get enough warmth from their surroundings. The only thing any of you have to do is leave them alone. I’d like to believe you’re at least capable of that.”
“We won’t touch them,” Tosh promised.
“Owen? Gwen?” So far Gwen hadn’t said a word, still staring wide-eyed at the basket of eggs.
“Yeah, whatever.” Owen stomped back to his workstation.
“Gwen?” Jack said again.
She turned to look at Jack. “If they hatch out before their parents come for them, I’m not looking after them.”
“No one was asking you to.”
“Good. I don’t much like reptiles, or bats.”
“Alright, everyone!” Jack clapped his hands. “Back to work! Ianto, how about some coffee?”
“I was going to make some anyway.”
“Good. Bring mine up to my office when it’s ready, would you?”
With that, everyone moved away, leaving the basket of eggs on the table, but no one, not even Jack, could quite shake the feeling that they were being watched, and judged, for everything they did. It was a bit disconcerting to be under the constant scrutiny of a clutch of eggs, but then, when you worked for Torchwood, sometimes you just had to put up with such discomforts. Egg-sitting was hardly the worst thing they’d ever had to do.
The End
This was, however, the Torchwood Hub, and therefore, just because it LOOKED like an egg, even if it was genuinely an egg, that should not be taken as carte blanche to turn it into a light snack. There were rules regarding anything not purchased at the supermarket on one of Ianto’s grocery runs. Probably it shouldn’t have been necessary to lay them out in such detail, but again, this was Torchwood, and the intelligence, or lack thereof, of certain members of staff needed to be taken into account. That was why Jack had the entire team gathered together in what passed for the Hub’s kitchen, behind the spiral staircase, to make sure everyone understood. The old saying ‘Better safe than sorry’ was something all Torchwood agents needed to take to heart.
“Okay, kids.” Jack looked from one of his employees to the next, making sure he had their full attention. They stood across from him, shuffling their feet restlessly, at the opposite side the small kitchen table, on which sat a basket, lined with an old sweater, and containing fifteen or so white ovals, approximately the size of large hen’s eggs. He sighed. “Look, I shouldn’t have to say this, it should be obvious, but nobody is to touch these eggs, not for any reason. Is that understood? They are not to be used as a convenient snack. No boiled eggs, no egg sandwiches…”
Ianto interrupted him, intoning in a solemn voice: “These eggs are NOT to be fried. Nor are they to be roasted, toasted, or waffled.”
Jack glared at his lover. “Do you mind?”
“Sorry, didn’t realise I said that out loud. Don’t mind me. Obscure movie quote,” Ianto added at Jack’s questioning look. “I’ll explain later.”
“Right, where was I?”
“Do not fold, spindle, or mutilate?” Owen suggested.
Jack very nearly pouted. “At least Ianto’s quote was apt. Who’d try folding an egg?”
“Whatever.” Owen folded his arms over his chest. “Are we done here? I’ve got things to do.”
“No.” Jack scowled at the team medic. “We are NOT done, Owen; not until everyone is clear on this! No one touches these eggs for any reason. If you want a snack, there are eggs in the fridge. Chicken eggs, certified as safe for human consumption. Help yourself to those if you want an omelette, or scrambled, boiled, poached, or fried eggs, an egg sandwich, or anything else involving eggs, but the eggs in this basket remain in this basket. And just so you all know EXACTLY how serious I am about this, anyone who disobeys this order, even as a misguided attempt at a joke, will be immediately fired and retconned back to infancy, and I am NOT joking! Got that?”
“That’s a whole lot of fuss for a bunch of eggs,” Owen grumbled. “What’s so special about them? I know they’re gettin’ a bit pricy in the shops, but you’re acting like they’re made of solid gold or something.”
“This is Torchwood, Owen. I shouldn’t need to remind you that we deal with a lot of things that aren’t from earth, and a lot of things that aren’t necessarily what they look like.”
“So these are what, some sort of shapeshifter? All the more reason for me to study them then.”
“No, Owen, they’re eggs.” Jack fought the urge to roll his eyes; he’d leave that to Ianto, who was far better at it. “They’re just not CHICKEN eggs, or duck, or goose, or any other kind of terrestrial bird. In fact, they’re not birds at all, not as such, and interference with them could well cause a serious diplomatic incident. I’ve accepted responsibility for their safety, but if anything happens to any of them, blame will go where it’s due, and you won’t be able to say I didn’t warn you.”
“So if they’re not bird eggs, what sort of eggs are they?” Tosh studied the eggs curiously, from a safe distance, keeping her hands well clear.
“They’re more… reptilian, I suppose, but even that isn’t really an accurate description. A bit reptile, a bit bird, a bit batlike, a bit of a lot of things.” Some creatures, being of alien origin, were difficult to categorise. They didn’t exactly fit earth classifications, or maybe it was the earth system of biological classification that didn’t fit aliens. There was a reason one of the first rules of Torchwood was to avoid judging anything of alien origin by earth standards.
“If they’re so important, what’re you leavin’ them in a basket on the kitchen table for?” Owen demanded. “Shouldn’t they be locked away somewhere for safety? Then we wouldn’t know they were even here. Would’ve saved all these bloody long-winded explanations that don’t explain anything.”
“They’re where they are because it’s where they want to be,” Jack explained tiredly. “I tried putting them somewhere safer, but they wouldn’t stay there. They’re too curious, and they don’t like being isolated.”
“Wouldn’t stay there?” Owen snorted a laugh. “What, they get up on little legs and run around, like in the cartoons?”
“No, Owen. They teleport.” Theoretically, it meant they could teleport themselves to safety if someone tried to cook them, but again, they were aliens, and wouldn’t necessarily recognise the danger, not until it was too late.
“Teleporting eggs? You’re ‘aving us on!”
“He’s really not. May I?” Ianto asked.
“Alright, but be careful.” Jack turned to the rest of the team. “This is a one-off demonstration, not some kind of game. The eggs, or rather the beings inside them, have limited energy reserves, and could die from overexertion, which is another reason I don’t want any of you messing about with them.”
Carefully, Ianto lifted a single egg from the basket, took a few steps back, and held it in his cupped hands, where everyone could see it. Nothing happened for a moment, but then the egg shimmered, vanished, and reappeared in the basket on the table.
Ianto shook his empty hands. “Tingles.”
“And that,” Jack said firmly, “is why the eggs should remain where they are, intact and undisturbed, until their parents come to collect them.”
“When will that be?” Tosh asked.
“Not long. Two or three days at most, I should think. The parents’ craft suffered some damage when it was sucked through the Rift, so they sent their offspring to safety.”
“Shouldn’t we help them with any repairs then?” Tosh had helped repair several damaged spacecraft, and thoroughly enjoyed studying the different technologies.
“If they were on earth, then yes, we’d be helping, but they landed on the moon, so we’re no exactly equipped to go to their aid. One of the parents teleported the eggs down here last night, after I sent them the Hub’s coordinates. The eggs can’t teleport those kinds of distances by themselves, but the parents wanted them out of harm’s way while repairs are carried out. I suspect the eggs were making a nuisance of themselves, putting themselves at risk.”
“They needed a babysitter,” Ianto said. “And since everyone aboard the ship was too busy to keep an eye on them, an alternative had to be found. Our systems were alerted when the ship arrived in orbit, so Jack made contact, and agreed to take care of the babies. It’s not as if they need much, just a safe place and a certain amount of stimulation, which they’ll get from sensing our movements and activities. They can’t see, but they can hear, and they apparently have other senses that we don’t.”
“As long as we don’t interfere with them, they should be happy enough,” Jack added. “At this stage of their development, they’ll get enough warmth from their surroundings. The only thing any of you have to do is leave them alone. I’d like to believe you’re at least capable of that.”
“We won’t touch them,” Tosh promised.
“Owen? Gwen?” So far Gwen hadn’t said a word, still staring wide-eyed at the basket of eggs.
“Yeah, whatever.” Owen stomped back to his workstation.
“Gwen?” Jack said again.
She turned to look at Jack. “If they hatch out before their parents come for them, I’m not looking after them.”
“No one was asking you to.”
“Good. I don’t much like reptiles, or bats.”
“Alright, everyone!” Jack clapped his hands. “Back to work! Ianto, how about some coffee?”
“I was going to make some anyway.”
“Good. Bring mine up to my office when it’s ready, would you?”
With that, everyone moved away, leaving the basket of eggs on the table, but no one, not even Jack, could quite shake the feeling that they were being watched, and judged, for everything they did. It was a bit disconcerting to be under the constant scrutiny of a clutch of eggs, but then, when you worked for Torchwood, sometimes you just had to put up with such discomforts. Egg-sitting was hardly the worst thing they’d ever had to do.
The End
(no subject)
Date: 2026-04-09 08:33 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2026-04-09 08:42 pm (UTC)Thank you!