Just a short piece about Ianto, pre-cyberwoman probably, though it could be soon after.

I don't own Torchwood.


Tick Tock.

Just like a clock.

With his ever-changing, expressionless face.

The carefully polished exterior. One day it'll be riddled with cracks.

His face scarred and smoothed by Time - a concept too old to be really understood.

Methodical. Always there, always ready. A small unchanging presence, somehow so reassuring. Yet quite disconcerting.

Too many secrets buried beneath the mask. Too much pain.

But still working.

Sometimes the only reminder of his vulnerability is the constant moving of his steady hands. You still forget.

The well-oiled machine propels himself through Time.

Tick Tock.

Just like a clock.

All the pieces work, but he's still broken inside.


Reviews and con crit are appreciated.