Sometimes it seemed this was all his life consisted of; running around in the dark, chasing whatever new thing the Rift had chosen to dump on them. Ianto couldn’t understand why it so often chose to spit out living creatures in the middle of the night, when sensible people were tucked up warm in their beds, sleeping.
That was where he and Jack had been before the damned Rift alarm had dragged them out into the cold and rain.
As he scooped up a sodden, once fluffy creature, he reconsidered. Missions of mercy were always worth getting a bit wet.