InsaneJournal

When he had fallen asleep the night before, it was after one of those work nights that pummelled him, inside and out.  Where the case being worked upon was an insane sort of mess that involved chasing things, getting smacked around, beaten up and wrenching his brain around for something resembling a sparkling solution and ending up with just an ending.  Which wasn't terribly bad, since it didn't involve (much) blood, but it did involve far too many hours awake.

Ianto had propped himself up against the wall, waiting for the coffee machine to drip enough caffeine into a cup so he could bloody shotgun it, just so he could make it to a bed.  His eyes had drooped closed for just a moment, really ....

... and he woke, propped up against what felt like shelves and with the scent of old books in the air.  At his feet was a tin kit with the words "Vas Captio" stamped on it.  Warily, Ianto bent to sort through it, brow wrinkled in thought as he glanced about very unfamiliar surroundings.  The strange part of this was that it felt like it should have been familiar.

But that was ridiculous.  He'd never been here before!  But why did it feel like he was forgetting something?  He was Ianto Jones!  He didn't forget!  Except the feeling continued to nag.