Ficlet: Lost And Forgotten
Jun. 1st, 2026 05:23 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
badly_knittedTitle: Lost And Forgotten
Author:
badly_knittedCharacters: Ianto
Rating: PG
Word Count: 717
Spoilers: Nada.
Summary: Sorting out Torchwood Three’s archives is Ianto’s special project, but some of the things he discovers down there are a bit disconcerting.
Written For: The prompt ‘any, any, micro fish’, at
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threesentenceficathon.Disclaimer: I don’t own Torchwood, or the characters.
Ianto had taken on the task of trying to organise Torchwood Three’s archives, at least in part, to give himself a good excuse for vanishing into the lower levels for hours at a time, back when he was still caring for Lisa and trying to find a way to reverse her partial conversion. Then, after her death, the maze of subterranean rooms and passageways had become a kind if sanctuary, somewhere he could escape to where he could avoid the variously accusing and pitying stares of his colleagues, and the brooding intensity of Jack’s scrutiny.
Over time though, he’d begun to genuinely enjoy the job, digging through all the weird and wonderful items the Rift had seen fit to gift them with. Not everything was interesting, of course, there were a fair number of utterly mundane objects, both from earth and from other worlds; once you’d seen one kettle, or kitchen sink, you’d seen them all, even if some were rather peculiarly shaped. At least they were relatively easily identified; the same couldn’t be said for most of the inventory. Part of the fun, however, was trying to figure out what things were, so they could be properly catalogued and shelved where they could be easily found, in the unlikely event they were ever needed.
He wasn’t the first person to attempt the task of organising everything, and because of that, cataloguing in the archives had always been a bit on the bizarre side. It seemed that everyone who was ever assigned the responsibility had their own personal system, none of which meshed with any of the previous ones, resulting in a convoluted mishmash he was still trying to unravel after several years of conscientious effort.
Added to that, half of the people allowed to take a stab at sorting the place seemed not to have had a particularly good grasp of the alphabet, spelling, or even the English language. It added an interesting extra layer of complexity to an already absorbing endeavour, and led to Ianto quite often losing track of time while trying to solve a particularly intriguing mystery.
Admittedly it could sometimes be an exercise in frustration, and there were times he wished he could gather all his predecessors together and wring their necks for being so utterly incompetent. Nevertheless. Ianto was a patient and methodical man, well versed in all the most commonly used cataloguing systems from the past century or so. Above all, he was determined to wrest order from the complete and utter chaos of over a century’s worth of flotsam that had found its way through the Rift. After all this time, he even thought he was making decent progress, identifying as much as he could each time he had a few hours to spare for his ongoing special project, and setting the rest aside for further study.
Then, while killing some time waiting for Jack to finish his paperwork so that the two of them could go to dinner, Ianto found a battered cardboard box tucked away in a dark corner, and labelled ‘Micro Fish’ in a careless scrawl. He chuckled, shaking his head at yet another example of poor spelling as he lifted the lid, only to have all amusement fade away when, instead of the expected microfiche, he found four dozen small glass vials, each containing several miniscule fish. Unsurprisingly, all of them were very dead, and Ianto’s heart broke a little. What a terrible fate for the poor little things, shoved in a corner and forgotten about.
He wondered what he should do with them; he could hardly catalogue and shelve a box of dead fish, but he couldn’t tip them down the drain either, just in case they might cause unexpected contamination of the sewer system. If they were alien, as seemed likely, there was no telling what problems they might cause with earth-based ecosystems, even after going through a sewage treatment plant.
Sighing, he closed the box and put it back where he’d found it. Perhaps tomorrow he’d bring the micro fish to Jack’s attention and then between them they could decide on the best course of action, but for tonight he’d try to put them out of his mind and enjoy dinner with Jack.
He wasn’t going to be ordering the fish though.
The End
Over time though, he’d begun to genuinely enjoy the job, digging through all the weird and wonderful items the Rift had seen fit to gift them with. Not everything was interesting, of course, there were a fair number of utterly mundane objects, both from earth and from other worlds; once you’d seen one kettle, or kitchen sink, you’d seen them all, even if some were rather peculiarly shaped. At least they were relatively easily identified; the same couldn’t be said for most of the inventory. Part of the fun, however, was trying to figure out what things were, so they could be properly catalogued and shelved where they could be easily found, in the unlikely event they were ever needed.
He wasn’t the first person to attempt the task of organising everything, and because of that, cataloguing in the archives had always been a bit on the bizarre side. It seemed that everyone who was ever assigned the responsibility had their own personal system, none of which meshed with any of the previous ones, resulting in a convoluted mishmash he was still trying to unravel after several years of conscientious effort.
Added to that, half of the people allowed to take a stab at sorting the place seemed not to have had a particularly good grasp of the alphabet, spelling, or even the English language. It added an interesting extra layer of complexity to an already absorbing endeavour, and led to Ianto quite often losing track of time while trying to solve a particularly intriguing mystery.
Admittedly it could sometimes be an exercise in frustration, and there were times he wished he could gather all his predecessors together and wring their necks for being so utterly incompetent. Nevertheless. Ianto was a patient and methodical man, well versed in all the most commonly used cataloguing systems from the past century or so. Above all, he was determined to wrest order from the complete and utter chaos of over a century’s worth of flotsam that had found its way through the Rift. After all this time, he even thought he was making decent progress, identifying as much as he could each time he had a few hours to spare for his ongoing special project, and setting the rest aside for further study.
Then, while killing some time waiting for Jack to finish his paperwork so that the two of them could go to dinner, Ianto found a battered cardboard box tucked away in a dark corner, and labelled ‘Micro Fish’ in a careless scrawl. He chuckled, shaking his head at yet another example of poor spelling as he lifted the lid, only to have all amusement fade away when, instead of the expected microfiche, he found four dozen small glass vials, each containing several miniscule fish. Unsurprisingly, all of them were very dead, and Ianto’s heart broke a little. What a terrible fate for the poor little things, shoved in a corner and forgotten about.
He wondered what he should do with them; he could hardly catalogue and shelve a box of dead fish, but he couldn’t tip them down the drain either, just in case they might cause unexpected contamination of the sewer system. If they were alien, as seemed likely, there was no telling what problems they might cause with earth-based ecosystems, even after going through a sewage treatment plant.
Sighing, he closed the box and put it back where he’d found it. Perhaps tomorrow he’d bring the micro fish to Jack’s attention and then between them they could decide on the best course of action, but for tonight he’d try to put them out of his mind and enjoy dinner with Jack.
He wasn’t going to be ordering the fish though.
The End
