The Trouble with Tuesdays
I own the idea only. Joss owns Buffy, Torchwood is owned by, um...someone not me? No suing please!Summary:
Dawn should know better than to watch a marathon with Andrew on a Monday night...Warning:
I have never written Torchwood/Dr. Who before. I am actually relatively new to the fandom, having marathon-ed the first season over the weekend. I have not seen anything else though I know all the spoilers. I apologize in advance if anyone's OOC. Also? It's Torchwood, I don't think I need to tell you there be SLASH.A/N 1:
This is what happens when you haven't slept in over twenty hours and yet, are not tired enough to actually fall into bed. Damn caffeine.A/N 2:
The file for this is titled Torchwoodcrack
on my computer. That should tell you a lot.The Trouble with Tuesdays
“She looks human.”
“She looks hot.”
“If you think back, some of the most dangerous aliens we've met have been...”
“Please don't finish that thought, sir.”
“Aw, ruin all my fun.”
Dawn blinked from where she was laying on her stomach. That had been one wild ride and she'd rather not do it again. Then the voices and the conversation hit her and she looked up, eyes widening when her gaze fell on the group of people watching her a few feet away. “Oh, you've got to be kidding me!”
“Hi,” the lead man said, smiling. “Since we haven't been talking to you, I'm not sure we can be kidding you.”
The group behind all had either amused or exasperated expressions at the man's words. She swallowed.
“This'll teach me to watch light night marathons with Andrew when I should be doing homework,” she muttered and the man's grin widened. She reached for her arm, noting the group tensing as she did so. “Time to wake up.”
The pinching did nothing. Frowning, she tried again but besides getting an irritating red mark on her arm, she was still there. Still staring at the Torchwood crew. Still, apparently, in a TV show that she'd only watched for the sex, kissing, hot guys, and the Spike-alike Andrew promised her. “Oh, that's not good,” she whimpered.
“Mind giving us a name?” he asked, squatting down next to where she was still lying on the ground. “Cause, somehow, I don't think you're one of our run of the mill strays.”
“Is it Tuesday?” she asked instead. His lips quirked at the question.
“Yes, actually, why?”
She responded by hitting her head repeatedly on the concrete below her.
She was going to kill Andrew.