The Torchwood team had barely sat down for lunch when the Rift alarms started blaring.
“Typical. Sometimes I wonder how we ever find time to eat,” Ianto sighed. “I suppose this can be warmed up in the microwave when we get back.”
He started to close the box he’d just opened, but Jack’s hand darted out, snagging a slice of pizza, which he folded and somehow managed to cram in his mouth, chewing it with difficulty.
“Glutton,” Ianto accused.
Owen shook his head. “And people think I’ve got a big mouth.”
Jack just smirked and went to get his coat.