[Torchwood] (PG)
Jul. 30th, 2013 09:55 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mtxref_ficAuthor's Note: Written for < lj user="comment_fic">'s Any, Any, "You're wearing a red shirt! You know what that means!" Ianto Jones+Owen Harper. Based this on a premonition that I'd had about Ianto, through much of the series...
"How many of those red shirts do you *own*, Ianto?" Owen asked, the fourth morning in a row that the Torchwood general factotum appeared clad in a red oxford shirt. Not the same shirt, but the same style.
"I bought several, in case any were... damaged," Ianto replied, wondering where that question had come from. "Our line of work and the things we confront, it's best to buy at least two of every garment you buy."
"Logical as always, Ianto, but consider the color and amount of danger we face," Owen said, folding his arms on his chest. "You're wearing a red shirt: You know what that means!"
Ianto gave him a *look*. "I'm not following..."
"Never watched the 1960s Star Trek when it was running in the nineties? Remember the nameless crew members in the red shirts?"
"What are you implying?" Ianto demanded, his patience running short.
"I'm sayin', wearin' a red shirt when yer fightin' aliens is the same as painting a big target on yer forehead or wearing a 'Don't Kick Me' sign on yer back."
"I can defend myself just fine, Owen: you're the one needing more time on the shooting range," Ianto fired back, heading for the kitchenette, preparatory to making the day's first pot of coffee.
"How many of those red shirts do you *own*, Ianto?" Owen asked, the fourth morning in a row that the Torchwood general factotum appeared clad in a red oxford shirt. Not the same shirt, but the same style.
"I bought several, in case any were... damaged," Ianto replied, wondering where that question had come from. "Our line of work and the things we confront, it's best to buy at least two of every garment you buy."
"Logical as always, Ianto, but consider the color and amount of danger we face," Owen said, folding his arms on his chest. "You're wearing a red shirt: You know what that means!"
Ianto gave him a *look*. "I'm not following..."
"Never watched the 1960s Star Trek when it was running in the nineties? Remember the nameless crew members in the red shirts?"
"What are you implying?" Ianto demanded, his patience running short.
"I'm sayin', wearin' a red shirt when yer fightin' aliens is the same as painting a big target on yer forehead or wearing a 'Don't Kick Me' sign on yer back."
"I can defend myself just fine, Owen: you're the one needing more time on the shooting range," Ianto fired back, heading for the kitchenette, preparatory to making the day's first pot of coffee.
