Ianto stared in horrified fascination. The Torchwood Three archives were a disaster area. In fact, ‘archives’ was something of a misnomer.
Paper files were stuffed untidily in dozens of metal filing cabinets, packed so tightly they might burst, while alien artefacts and rift debris had been crammed on shelves until they were full, then piled on the floor wherever there was room.
A lesser man would have despaired, but Ianto Jones was made of sterner stuff.
How do you move a mountain? One rock at a time.
He took off his jacket, rolled up his sleeves and set to work.