“I think I’m melting,” Owen complained, fanning himself listlessly. “How’s anyone supposed to work in this heat?”
Around the Hub the others, looking as wilted and sweaty as Owen, mumbled their agreement, not having enough energy to even raise their voices.
Jack looked at his team, amused. He was hot too, but having grown up on a desert planet he was better able to handle it. “I don’t get it. Last week you were whining about the cold, but now it’s hot and you’re still not happy.”
“We’re British,” Ianto replied, shrugging. “Complaining about the weather is what we do.”