Something Blue (2/3)
Title: Something Blue (2/3)
Fandom: Torchwood
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: graphic dub-con, spoilers through 2x09
Summary: After Gwen’s wedding, Jack is hurt, Ianto is forgiving, and things go too far.
Notes: Thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter! I’m sorry the update took so long-I wasn’t expecting such a response!
part 1
…
Owen didn’t need to sleep anymore.
It came with the territory of being dead (dead, undead, a zombie, what the fuck ever) and while he wasn’t exactly happy about it, it did mean that he had the unique opportunity of never being tired.
Which was why, at three o’clock in the morning, he was lounged on his sofa, casually watching the finale of the second season of Lost for the fourth time. He didn’t understand it any better than he had the first time, but maybe this would be the charm-
His mobile rang.
He cast it a momentary glare, then settled back against the cushions. Jack hadn’t let them go until nearly two, and he didn’t care if the goddamn Rift just swallowed up the Queen. There was no way in hell Owen was getting off this couch.
Another ring, and then the beep of a missed call and voicemail. Owen grinned smugly, resuming the episode.
The phone trilled a text message and Owen gave a disgruntled, breathless sigh, reaching over and flipping it open.
Message From: TOSH
PICK UP YOUR PHONE!!!
He frowned at the message, then nearly dropped the phone in surprise as it rung again, Tosh’s number flashing across the display. Annoyed, he answered the call.
“What?” he snapped.
“Owen, finally!” Tosh’s voice was tense with underlying panic. “What the hell were you doing?”
“Wallowing in my undead misery,” Owen drawled, pausing the episode again. “What do you want?”
“I need you to come over. Now.”
Owen cocked an eyebrow. “Congratulations on finally working up the nerve to make the three a.m. booty call, but I’m a little less than up to the challenge. Pun intended. Have you tried calling Jack?”
“Jack’s the problem,” Tosh said tersely. “I need your help with Ianto, he’s hurt.”
Oh, for the love of-“Always said he would be, didn’t I? Has he finally snapped over Jack’s mooning after Gwen, then?”
He could practically hear the annoyance in Tosh’s voice. “No. Owen-”
“Look, Tosh, just give him a cuppa spiked with whiskey and he’ll be fine.” Owen drummed his fingers on the remote, itching to turn the episode back on.
“Owen, you’re not listening.” Tosh’s voice had turned fairly frantic, hushed and worried. “Jack’s hurt him physically.” A brief pause, and her voice dropped even softer. “Sexually.”
All of a sudden, Lost didn’t seem nearly as important. “He what?” Owen rolled off the couch as Tosh began to stammer out a reply. “No-never mind, Tosh. I’m on my way.”
Tosh’s apartment was a five-minute drive and Owen threw his emergency bag over his shoulder, grabbing his keys from the foyer and bolting out of the flat.
He hit traffic-traffic, at three in the bloody morning, only in Cardiff, honestly-which was even more annoying than it should have been, because it gave him time to think. And this wasn’t the sort of thing he wanted to think about.
Because seriously, what the hell? Jack was a sexual son of a bitch and everyone knew he and Ianto were shagging like bunnies. But Owen had personally witnessed no fewer than twenty instances when Ianto had warded off one of Jack’s advances. And some of them had taken more than just a glare-Ianto had threatened to put Jack on decaf more than once, and then there had been that time when Ianto had quite literally beaten Jack back with a stick-but Jack had always backed off. Always.
So what had changed?
Tosh answered the door on the first knock, dressed in a tank top and loose pajama bottoms, her hair piled on top of her head in a haphazard knot. Her expression dissolved into relief. “Owen,” she said, and Owen got the feeling she was biting back tears.
“Where is he?” Owen asked, trying to keep his voice as calm as possible. It was doctor time, not smart-ass time, and he knew enough to figure out the difference between the two.
“Shower,” Tosh said, swallowing visibly. “Oh, God-Owen, Jack-”
She looked dangerously close to breaking down. “Alright,” Owen said, soothingly as possible, and set his bag down, taking Tosh’s arm and guiding her into the living room. “Tell me what happened.”
“He called me from the Hub,” she said, wringing her hands. “He said that Jack had-hurt him, and he didn’t trust himself to drive. He asked me to pick him up, so I did.” She took a trembling breath. “He looked-God, Owen, you should have seen him. He was shaking so badly, but he kept saying he was fine, and-he could barely walk, he was in so much pain, I could see it all over his face, and you know how good he is at hiding it-”
“Easy, Tosh.” Owen rubbed her back, dimly aware of the sound of running water turning off. “How badly is he hurt?”
Tosh shook her head, wiping her eyes. “I don’t know. He wouldn’t say. I think-I think he was bleeding.”
If Owen had had any breath, he would have caught it. “Alright,” he said, swallowing hard. “I’ll see to him. He’ll be fine.”
Tosh let out a breath. “I could kill Jack right now,” she said quietly, clenching her hands into white-knuckled fists. “I don’t care that he’d come right back. I could kill him for this. What could he have been thinking?”
“I don’t know.” Owen squeezed her shoulder and got to his feet. “I’m going to go check on him. Have you got any clothes that might fit him?”
She nodded. “I have-Tommy’s.” A faint laugh slipped past her lips. “Or-the clothes we bought for Tommy. But they should be all right.”
“Get them for him.” Owen shouldered his bag again. “I’ll let you know when you can bring them in, alright?” He didn’t wait for Tosh’s answer before making his way through the flat to Tosh’s bathroom, rapping his knuckles on the closed door. “Ianto? Oi, teaboy, you in there?”
A moment’s hesitation, and then, “Owen?”
“Yep. Open up, mate, I’ve got to check you out.”
He half-expected Ianto to protest, or lock the door, or something. But all he got was a quiet “sure” before the door opened.
Ianto looked…surprisingly okay, for someone who had apparently just been sexually assaulted. His hair and upper body were still wet from the shower, but his eyes were clear and blue, no signs of redness from tears. There were no marks on his wrists or shoulders, nothing that suggested he’d been held down, though as Owen’s eyes traveled lower, he could see faint bruising around Ianto’s hipbones, the unmistakable shapes of fingerprints. Ianto cleared his throat and Owen jerked his eyes up.
“Right,” he said firmly, rolling his sleeves up and pushing past Ianto to set his bag down on the closed toilet seat. “How bad is it, then?”
“Not nearly as bad as you seem to be expecting,” Ianto said dryly. He pushed the door closed again, and Owen caught the wince as he turned back. “I’ll be fine, I think. I just-”
He took another step and swayed, color draining from his already pale skin, and Owen moved forward, grabbing his arm and helping him lean against the counter. “Not so bad, eh?” He patted Ianto’s shoulder. “Come on, then, let me take a look.”
Ianto closed his eyes. “Must you?”
“Depends.” Owen opened his bag, pulling on a pair of latex gloves. “You bleeding?” The tensing around Ianto’s mouth was all the answer he needed. “Then yeah, I need to take a look. Unless you fancy passing out at your precious coffee machine because you’ve torn something else.”
For half a moment, he thought Ianto was willing to risk it, but then he sighed, nodding. “What do you need me to-”
Oh, this was going to be so many levels of awkward. Doctor time, he reminded himself. “Bend over the counter, lose the towel.” He pulled out a tube of (alien, but effective) antibacterial cream and opened it, smearing it onto his gloved fingers as Ianto leaned over, settling his elbows on the counter and bending at the waist. “Right. Let’s do this as quickly and efficiency as possible.” He bent down, one hand on the curve of Ianto’s backside, grimacing as he carefully slipped one finger inside him. Ianto hissed through his teeth and Owen winced. “Sorry. How bad?”
“Not pleasant,” Ianto bit out.
“Sorry.” Owen withdrew his finger; the white glove streaked with red, and swore. “Jesus, Ianto, what the hell did he do to you?”
“Nothing I didn’t let him do.”
“Don’t give me that shit, teaboy, you wouldn’t just let him-”
“You’d be surprised,” Ianto said quietly, and Owen scowled at him.
“Ianto-”
“No, Owen, listen to me.” Ianto picked up his towel again, covering himself and turning back to Owen, pain drawing his features but anger blazing in his eyes. “I’m not a goddamn victim, Owen, I just let things get out of hand. This is my fault as much as Jack’s-”
Owen slammed one hand down on the counter. “No, teaboy, you listen. I’m not saying you’re a victim, but if the word no even came close to out of your mouth, then Jack-”
“Don’t say it.” Ianto closed his eyes and Owen fell silent, watching as Ianto dug his hands into the edge of the counter, knuckles going white. Slowly, Ianto let out a breath. “Just-check me out, and that’s the end of it. Alright?”
“Fine.” Owen snapped on a new pair of gloves, coating them liberally in antiseptic and motioning for Ianto to turn. “I’ll check you out, I’ll treat you, and I’ll decide where we go from here.”
Ianto looked over his shoulder at him. “What’s that supposed to-son of a bitch.”
The last four words and came out in a pained rush and Owen squeezed his hip apologetically, carefully scissoring two fingers inside Ianto to spread as much antibacterial cream as he could on the tears he knew were there. Hopefully the alien cream would do its job faster than its human counterpart, though at this point Owen was just hoping it’d dull the pain a bit. “It means that I decide whether or not you go into work tomorrow,” he said, withdrawing his fingers as gently as he could-Ianto let out a strangled groan anyway-and stripping his gloves off, tossing them into the bin. “And at this point, I’m thinking you shouldn’t. Anal tearing’s not something to be messed about with.”
“Do you have to say it like that?” Ianto asked, straightening with a wince and turning back.
Owen handed him his towel back, keeping his eyes firmly on Ianto’s collarbone. “Have to? No, probably not. I could call it bleeding from your arsehole, if that’d help.” Ianto scowled at him, and Owen shrugged. “Calling it what it is, mate. Fact is, if you spend tomorrow chasing after Weevils, you’re going to end up unconscious. And I really don’t want to have to deal with that.” He rummaged into his bag and pulled out a clean pair of boxers, handing them over. Ianto took them, confusion darkening his features. “Figured yours might be ruined,” Owen said by explanation, turning away and zipping the bag closed. “Tosh has some clothes for you.”
Ianto swallowed. “Thank you.”
Owen rolled his eyes. “I’m a doctor. Why are you lot always forgetting that?” A faint smile twitched at Ianto’s lips and Owen silently congratulated himself on getting that much out of him. “Right. Let’s say we get you dressed, yeah?” He slipped past Ianto and opened the door, poking his head out. “Tosh?”
“Bedroom,” she called, emerging a moment later, lines of worry still vivid on her face. “How is he?”
“Not too bad.” Owen set his bag down on the floor. “Got those clothes?” She nodded, handing him a bundle, and he flashed her a thin smile. “Fantastic. Go and put a pot of tea on, yeah?” He took the clothes from her and waited until she’d headed off to the kitchen before turning back around, tapping on the bathroom door. “Ianto? I’ve got a change of clothes for you, mate.”
“Thanks.”
Owen handed the clothes over to him and patted him on the shoulder. “Tosh is making tea.”
Ianto nodded. “I’ll meet you in the kitchen.”
“Don’t walk too fast,” Owen instructed him firmly, and Ianto rolled his eyes before closing the door. Seemed a bit pointless, the sudden modesty, Owen thought, but he couldn’t exactly blame him, either.
Tosh was in the kitchen when Owen reached her, standing at the sink to fill the kettle. Her entire body was one straight line of tension and Owen leaned against the island, raising his eyebrows at her. “You know, passive-aggressively pouring water isn’t going to help anyone.”
“It makes me feel better,” she snapped, and then seemed to deflate slightly, turning to look at him, an apology in her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she said, lower lip trembling. “I’m just-”
“Pissed as hell?” he suggested, and she sobbed out a laugh, swiping at her eyes and nodding. “Same here.”
Tosh rolled her eyes, setting the pot on the stove and turning the flame on. “Since when do you even care about Ianto?”
Owen shrugged. “I shot his girlfriend, he shot me, full circle sort of thing. Not much point holding a grudge once you’re dead. Besides, he’s not as much of a tight-ass as he used to be.” Tosh winced, and Owen grimaced. “Bad choice of words.”
“Just a bit.” Tosh smiled thinly, tucking a few wisps of hair behind her ear. “Is-” she dropped her voice. “Is he really alright?”
“You could ask him yourself,” Ianto said dryly.
Tosh whirled, flushing. “Ianto!”
Ianto smiled faintly at her, lounging in the doorway in what Owen recognized as Tommy’s dark slacks and white button-up. He held a bundle of dark clothing in his hands-his own suit, Owen realized. “I, ah,” Ianto swallowed. “Have you got a plastic bag, or something?”
“Of course, yeah.” Tosh bent down, rummaging under her sink for a moment, and came up with a black garbage bag, handing it over to him. “There’s tea on.”
“I see that.” Ianto took the bag and shoved his suit into it, dropping it unceremoniously to the ground. His feet, Owen noted, were bare. “Owen, is there any way I could trouble you for a ride home?”
“Absolutely not,” Tosh said firmly. “You’re staying here. Someone should be looking after you.”
Ianto shook his head. “I don’t need looking after,” he said calmly. “Just a cup of tea and some rest. I’ll be fine in the morning.”
“Cup of tea and rest, both of which you can get right here,” Tosh said, turning to take the whistling kettle off the stove. “Owen says you shouldn’t go into work tomorrow anyway.”
“Owen is a prat,” Ianto retorted hotly, and Owen cleared his throat.
“Owen is also a doctor, thanks very much, so it’s my opinion we’ll be going with.” He waited while Tosh handed Ianto a mug of tea. “So as your personal physician, Mr. Jones, I’m advising that you sit your arse down on Tosh’s couch and let her pamper you, because there’s no way you’re going in tomorrow.” He glanced at the clock on the microwave and amended, “Make that today."
Ianto scowled, looking to Tosh for support, but her face was set in firm resolve. He sighed, leaning back against the counter and wincing only slightly at the motion. “Fine. One day.” His eyes flickered to meet Owen’s. “Just the one.”
There was a faintly pleading note in his voice. Owen thought about it-the alien cream only took about twelve hours to completely heal any shallow injuries, and the lingering pain probably wouldn’t be too bad, but Owen sure as hell wasn’t looking forward to the inevitable breakdown that was just bound to kick in eventually. He’d seen Ianto after Lisa-when Ianto snapped, Ianto snapped, and while he was keeping his cool now…
But then again, ignoring Ianto had been what led to the whole Lisa incident in the first place. Best to keep him around where they could all keep an eye on him, make sure he was alright.
Not, of course, because Owen cared. But he depended on Ianto to keep his no-longer-capable-of-healing body in one piece, and if the damn teaboy was milliseconds away from a PTSD-fueled breakdown, that would just fuck everyone’s day up.
“Fine, just the one,” Owen allowed. “But you stay on light duties until I say otherwise, got it?”
“Jack’ll ask questions,” Ianto said warningly.
“Jack can suck my dick,” Owen shot back, and was surprised at the level of venom in his own voice. From the looks of it, Tosh and Ianto were just as shocked. Owen shrugged. “Only one allowed to fuck with teaboy’s me.” Ianto’s lips twitched into a smile and Tosh managed a soft giggle. “Anyway, I’ll deal with Jack. You just…deal with you.”
For a long moment, Ianto simply looked at him, something Owen couldn’t quite place flickering in those big blue eyes. But then he nodded, taking a sip of tea. “Thank you,” he said, very quietly.
Owen shifted, suddenly uncomfortable, but Tosh reached out and squeezed Ianto’s shoulder. “It’s what we’re here for,” she said sincerely, smiling. “I’ll go turn down the sofa bed. Won’t take a minute, and then you can get some sleep.”
She set her tea on the counter and bustled out. Ianto watched her go. “She’s going to smother me until I cry,” he said dryly.
“Most likely,” Owen said, looking wistfully at the steaming mug. Sometimes he really missed the simple things. Tosh’s tea had never been anything to write home about, but it had always been made with care, and he could taste that sort of thing. “Are you planning to?”
Ianto glanced at him over the rim of his mug. “Cry? I wasn’t planning on it.”
Owen eyed him skeptically. “Really.”
“I’m not a victim,” Ianto said simply.
They fell silent, then. Owen watched Ianto finish his tea, dressed in clothes that didn’t fit, his hair drying awkward and mussed, only the slightest tremor in his hands betraying any hint that everything wasn’t alright. He watched until Tosh came back into the kitchen, announcing that she’d put fresh sheets on the fold-out in the living room and shouldn’t Ianto be getting to bed, and Owen took his cue to leave.
Tosh walked him to the door, worry and something else in her eyes. “I’m scared,” she said quietly. “He’s being too calm. He’s going to snap.”
“Probably,” Owen agreed, because Tosh was nothing if not perceptive. “He’ll get through it, though. He’s the type.” He reached out and set a hand on Tosh’s shoulder. It wasn’t awkward anymore, not really. “Take care of him, alright? But don’t smoosh him. Just be there.”
She nodded, hesitated, and then hugged him. It took him a moment to react-she was much more physical with him these days, as if she’d realized he wouldn’t push her away (and he wouldn’t, even though he knew he should, because she was the only one who was always there)-and then he hugged her back, just a quick squeeze of his arms around her waist. “Right,” she said, pulling away. “I’ll just-”
“Yep,” Owen said automatically. “See you at work. Pick you up at the usual time?” Tosh nodded and Owen patted her on the shoulder once more. “Stay in bed, teaboy!” he called, and didn’t wait for an affirmative response before walking out the door.
He walked back into his own flat ten minutes later, the episode of Lost still frozen on his television screen. He dropped his bag near the door and flopped down on the sofa, closing his eyes and thinking of the calm resolve in Ianto’s eyes, the pain hidden behind that ever-impassive expression.
Not a victim, Ianto had said.
No, Owen thought, he wasn’t a victim. Jack hadn’t broken him, not by any means.
But that sure as hell didn’t mean he wasn’t going to rip Jack a new one-literally or figuratively, he hadn’t decided yet-the next time he saw him. Which would be in-Owen craned his neck back to look at the clock on the telly-five hours.
Brilliant, Owen decided, and pressed play.
to part 3...
Fandom: Torchwood
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: graphic dub-con, spoilers through 2x09
Summary: After Gwen’s wedding, Jack is hurt, Ianto is forgiving, and things go too far.
Notes: Thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter! I’m sorry the update took so long-I wasn’t expecting such a response!
part 1
…
Owen didn’t need to sleep anymore.
It came with the territory of being dead (dead, undead, a zombie, what the fuck ever) and while he wasn’t exactly happy about it, it did mean that he had the unique opportunity of never being tired.
Which was why, at three o’clock in the morning, he was lounged on his sofa, casually watching the finale of the second season of Lost for the fourth time. He didn’t understand it any better than he had the first time, but maybe this would be the charm-
His mobile rang.
He cast it a momentary glare, then settled back against the cushions. Jack hadn’t let them go until nearly two, and he didn’t care if the goddamn Rift just swallowed up the Queen. There was no way in hell Owen was getting off this couch.
Another ring, and then the beep of a missed call and voicemail. Owen grinned smugly, resuming the episode.
The phone trilled a text message and Owen gave a disgruntled, breathless sigh, reaching over and flipping it open.
Message From: TOSH
PICK UP YOUR PHONE!!!
He frowned at the message, then nearly dropped the phone in surprise as it rung again, Tosh’s number flashing across the display. Annoyed, he answered the call.
“What?” he snapped.
“Owen, finally!” Tosh’s voice was tense with underlying panic. “What the hell were you doing?”
“Wallowing in my undead misery,” Owen drawled, pausing the episode again. “What do you want?”
“I need you to come over. Now.”
Owen cocked an eyebrow. “Congratulations on finally working up the nerve to make the three a.m. booty call, but I’m a little less than up to the challenge. Pun intended. Have you tried calling Jack?”
“Jack’s the problem,” Tosh said tersely. “I need your help with Ianto, he’s hurt.”
Oh, for the love of-“Always said he would be, didn’t I? Has he finally snapped over Jack’s mooning after Gwen, then?”
He could practically hear the annoyance in Tosh’s voice. “No. Owen-”
“Look, Tosh, just give him a cuppa spiked with whiskey and he’ll be fine.” Owen drummed his fingers on the remote, itching to turn the episode back on.
“Owen, you’re not listening.” Tosh’s voice had turned fairly frantic, hushed and worried. “Jack’s hurt him physically.” A brief pause, and her voice dropped even softer. “Sexually.”
All of a sudden, Lost didn’t seem nearly as important. “He what?” Owen rolled off the couch as Tosh began to stammer out a reply. “No-never mind, Tosh. I’m on my way.”
Tosh’s apartment was a five-minute drive and Owen threw his emergency bag over his shoulder, grabbing his keys from the foyer and bolting out of the flat.
He hit traffic-traffic, at three in the bloody morning, only in Cardiff, honestly-which was even more annoying than it should have been, because it gave him time to think. And this wasn’t the sort of thing he wanted to think about.
Because seriously, what the hell? Jack was a sexual son of a bitch and everyone knew he and Ianto were shagging like bunnies. But Owen had personally witnessed no fewer than twenty instances when Ianto had warded off one of Jack’s advances. And some of them had taken more than just a glare-Ianto had threatened to put Jack on decaf more than once, and then there had been that time when Ianto had quite literally beaten Jack back with a stick-but Jack had always backed off. Always.
So what had changed?
Tosh answered the door on the first knock, dressed in a tank top and loose pajama bottoms, her hair piled on top of her head in a haphazard knot. Her expression dissolved into relief. “Owen,” she said, and Owen got the feeling she was biting back tears.
“Where is he?” Owen asked, trying to keep his voice as calm as possible. It was doctor time, not smart-ass time, and he knew enough to figure out the difference between the two.
“Shower,” Tosh said, swallowing visibly. “Oh, God-Owen, Jack-”
She looked dangerously close to breaking down. “Alright,” Owen said, soothingly as possible, and set his bag down, taking Tosh’s arm and guiding her into the living room. “Tell me what happened.”
“He called me from the Hub,” she said, wringing her hands. “He said that Jack had-hurt him, and he didn’t trust himself to drive. He asked me to pick him up, so I did.” She took a trembling breath. “He looked-God, Owen, you should have seen him. He was shaking so badly, but he kept saying he was fine, and-he could barely walk, he was in so much pain, I could see it all over his face, and you know how good he is at hiding it-”
“Easy, Tosh.” Owen rubbed her back, dimly aware of the sound of running water turning off. “How badly is he hurt?”
Tosh shook her head, wiping her eyes. “I don’t know. He wouldn’t say. I think-I think he was bleeding.”
If Owen had had any breath, he would have caught it. “Alright,” he said, swallowing hard. “I’ll see to him. He’ll be fine.”
Tosh let out a breath. “I could kill Jack right now,” she said quietly, clenching her hands into white-knuckled fists. “I don’t care that he’d come right back. I could kill him for this. What could he have been thinking?”
“I don’t know.” Owen squeezed her shoulder and got to his feet. “I’m going to go check on him. Have you got any clothes that might fit him?”
She nodded. “I have-Tommy’s.” A faint laugh slipped past her lips. “Or-the clothes we bought for Tommy. But they should be all right.”
“Get them for him.” Owen shouldered his bag again. “I’ll let you know when you can bring them in, alright?” He didn’t wait for Tosh’s answer before making his way through the flat to Tosh’s bathroom, rapping his knuckles on the closed door. “Ianto? Oi, teaboy, you in there?”
A moment’s hesitation, and then, “Owen?”
“Yep. Open up, mate, I’ve got to check you out.”
He half-expected Ianto to protest, or lock the door, or something. But all he got was a quiet “sure” before the door opened.
Ianto looked…surprisingly okay, for someone who had apparently just been sexually assaulted. His hair and upper body were still wet from the shower, but his eyes were clear and blue, no signs of redness from tears. There were no marks on his wrists or shoulders, nothing that suggested he’d been held down, though as Owen’s eyes traveled lower, he could see faint bruising around Ianto’s hipbones, the unmistakable shapes of fingerprints. Ianto cleared his throat and Owen jerked his eyes up.
“Right,” he said firmly, rolling his sleeves up and pushing past Ianto to set his bag down on the closed toilet seat. “How bad is it, then?”
“Not nearly as bad as you seem to be expecting,” Ianto said dryly. He pushed the door closed again, and Owen caught the wince as he turned back. “I’ll be fine, I think. I just-”
He took another step and swayed, color draining from his already pale skin, and Owen moved forward, grabbing his arm and helping him lean against the counter. “Not so bad, eh?” He patted Ianto’s shoulder. “Come on, then, let me take a look.”
Ianto closed his eyes. “Must you?”
“Depends.” Owen opened his bag, pulling on a pair of latex gloves. “You bleeding?” The tensing around Ianto’s mouth was all the answer he needed. “Then yeah, I need to take a look. Unless you fancy passing out at your precious coffee machine because you’ve torn something else.”
For half a moment, he thought Ianto was willing to risk it, but then he sighed, nodding. “What do you need me to-”
Oh, this was going to be so many levels of awkward. Doctor time, he reminded himself. “Bend over the counter, lose the towel.” He pulled out a tube of (alien, but effective) antibacterial cream and opened it, smearing it onto his gloved fingers as Ianto leaned over, settling his elbows on the counter and bending at the waist. “Right. Let’s do this as quickly and efficiency as possible.” He bent down, one hand on the curve of Ianto’s backside, grimacing as he carefully slipped one finger inside him. Ianto hissed through his teeth and Owen winced. “Sorry. How bad?”
“Not pleasant,” Ianto bit out.
“Sorry.” Owen withdrew his finger; the white glove streaked with red, and swore. “Jesus, Ianto, what the hell did he do to you?”
“Nothing I didn’t let him do.”
“Don’t give me that shit, teaboy, you wouldn’t just let him-”
“You’d be surprised,” Ianto said quietly, and Owen scowled at him.
“Ianto-”
“No, Owen, listen to me.” Ianto picked up his towel again, covering himself and turning back to Owen, pain drawing his features but anger blazing in his eyes. “I’m not a goddamn victim, Owen, I just let things get out of hand. This is my fault as much as Jack’s-”
Owen slammed one hand down on the counter. “No, teaboy, you listen. I’m not saying you’re a victim, but if the word no even came close to out of your mouth, then Jack-”
“Don’t say it.” Ianto closed his eyes and Owen fell silent, watching as Ianto dug his hands into the edge of the counter, knuckles going white. Slowly, Ianto let out a breath. “Just-check me out, and that’s the end of it. Alright?”
“Fine.” Owen snapped on a new pair of gloves, coating them liberally in antiseptic and motioning for Ianto to turn. “I’ll check you out, I’ll treat you, and I’ll decide where we go from here.”
Ianto looked over his shoulder at him. “What’s that supposed to-son of a bitch.”
The last four words and came out in a pained rush and Owen squeezed his hip apologetically, carefully scissoring two fingers inside Ianto to spread as much antibacterial cream as he could on the tears he knew were there. Hopefully the alien cream would do its job faster than its human counterpart, though at this point Owen was just hoping it’d dull the pain a bit. “It means that I decide whether or not you go into work tomorrow,” he said, withdrawing his fingers as gently as he could-Ianto let out a strangled groan anyway-and stripping his gloves off, tossing them into the bin. “And at this point, I’m thinking you shouldn’t. Anal tearing’s not something to be messed about with.”
“Do you have to say it like that?” Ianto asked, straightening with a wince and turning back.
Owen handed him his towel back, keeping his eyes firmly on Ianto’s collarbone. “Have to? No, probably not. I could call it bleeding from your arsehole, if that’d help.” Ianto scowled at him, and Owen shrugged. “Calling it what it is, mate. Fact is, if you spend tomorrow chasing after Weevils, you’re going to end up unconscious. And I really don’t want to have to deal with that.” He rummaged into his bag and pulled out a clean pair of boxers, handing them over. Ianto took them, confusion darkening his features. “Figured yours might be ruined,” Owen said by explanation, turning away and zipping the bag closed. “Tosh has some clothes for you.”
Ianto swallowed. “Thank you.”
Owen rolled his eyes. “I’m a doctor. Why are you lot always forgetting that?” A faint smile twitched at Ianto’s lips and Owen silently congratulated himself on getting that much out of him. “Right. Let’s say we get you dressed, yeah?” He slipped past Ianto and opened the door, poking his head out. “Tosh?”
“Bedroom,” she called, emerging a moment later, lines of worry still vivid on her face. “How is he?”
“Not too bad.” Owen set his bag down on the floor. “Got those clothes?” She nodded, handing him a bundle, and he flashed her a thin smile. “Fantastic. Go and put a pot of tea on, yeah?” He took the clothes from her and waited until she’d headed off to the kitchen before turning back around, tapping on the bathroom door. “Ianto? I’ve got a change of clothes for you, mate.”
“Thanks.”
Owen handed the clothes over to him and patted him on the shoulder. “Tosh is making tea.”
Ianto nodded. “I’ll meet you in the kitchen.”
“Don’t walk too fast,” Owen instructed him firmly, and Ianto rolled his eyes before closing the door. Seemed a bit pointless, the sudden modesty, Owen thought, but he couldn’t exactly blame him, either.
Tosh was in the kitchen when Owen reached her, standing at the sink to fill the kettle. Her entire body was one straight line of tension and Owen leaned against the island, raising his eyebrows at her. “You know, passive-aggressively pouring water isn’t going to help anyone.”
“It makes me feel better,” she snapped, and then seemed to deflate slightly, turning to look at him, an apology in her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she said, lower lip trembling. “I’m just-”
“Pissed as hell?” he suggested, and she sobbed out a laugh, swiping at her eyes and nodding. “Same here.”
Tosh rolled her eyes, setting the pot on the stove and turning the flame on. “Since when do you even care about Ianto?”
Owen shrugged. “I shot his girlfriend, he shot me, full circle sort of thing. Not much point holding a grudge once you’re dead. Besides, he’s not as much of a tight-ass as he used to be.” Tosh winced, and Owen grimaced. “Bad choice of words.”
“Just a bit.” Tosh smiled thinly, tucking a few wisps of hair behind her ear. “Is-” she dropped her voice. “Is he really alright?”
“You could ask him yourself,” Ianto said dryly.
Tosh whirled, flushing. “Ianto!”
Ianto smiled faintly at her, lounging in the doorway in what Owen recognized as Tommy’s dark slacks and white button-up. He held a bundle of dark clothing in his hands-his own suit, Owen realized. “I, ah,” Ianto swallowed. “Have you got a plastic bag, or something?”
“Of course, yeah.” Tosh bent down, rummaging under her sink for a moment, and came up with a black garbage bag, handing it over to him. “There’s tea on.”
“I see that.” Ianto took the bag and shoved his suit into it, dropping it unceremoniously to the ground. His feet, Owen noted, were bare. “Owen, is there any way I could trouble you for a ride home?”
“Absolutely not,” Tosh said firmly. “You’re staying here. Someone should be looking after you.”
Ianto shook his head. “I don’t need looking after,” he said calmly. “Just a cup of tea and some rest. I’ll be fine in the morning.”
“Cup of tea and rest, both of which you can get right here,” Tosh said, turning to take the whistling kettle off the stove. “Owen says you shouldn’t go into work tomorrow anyway.”
“Owen is a prat,” Ianto retorted hotly, and Owen cleared his throat.
“Owen is also a doctor, thanks very much, so it’s my opinion we’ll be going with.” He waited while Tosh handed Ianto a mug of tea. “So as your personal physician, Mr. Jones, I’m advising that you sit your arse down on Tosh’s couch and let her pamper you, because there’s no way you’re going in tomorrow.” He glanced at the clock on the microwave and amended, “Make that today."
Ianto scowled, looking to Tosh for support, but her face was set in firm resolve. He sighed, leaning back against the counter and wincing only slightly at the motion. “Fine. One day.” His eyes flickered to meet Owen’s. “Just the one.”
There was a faintly pleading note in his voice. Owen thought about it-the alien cream only took about twelve hours to completely heal any shallow injuries, and the lingering pain probably wouldn’t be too bad, but Owen sure as hell wasn’t looking forward to the inevitable breakdown that was just bound to kick in eventually. He’d seen Ianto after Lisa-when Ianto snapped, Ianto snapped, and while he was keeping his cool now…
But then again, ignoring Ianto had been what led to the whole Lisa incident in the first place. Best to keep him around where they could all keep an eye on him, make sure he was alright.
Not, of course, because Owen cared. But he depended on Ianto to keep his no-longer-capable-of-healing body in one piece, and if the damn teaboy was milliseconds away from a PTSD-fueled breakdown, that would just fuck everyone’s day up.
“Fine, just the one,” Owen allowed. “But you stay on light duties until I say otherwise, got it?”
“Jack’ll ask questions,” Ianto said warningly.
“Jack can suck my dick,” Owen shot back, and was surprised at the level of venom in his own voice. From the looks of it, Tosh and Ianto were just as shocked. Owen shrugged. “Only one allowed to fuck with teaboy’s me.” Ianto’s lips twitched into a smile and Tosh managed a soft giggle. “Anyway, I’ll deal with Jack. You just…deal with you.”
For a long moment, Ianto simply looked at him, something Owen couldn’t quite place flickering in those big blue eyes. But then he nodded, taking a sip of tea. “Thank you,” he said, very quietly.
Owen shifted, suddenly uncomfortable, but Tosh reached out and squeezed Ianto’s shoulder. “It’s what we’re here for,” she said sincerely, smiling. “I’ll go turn down the sofa bed. Won’t take a minute, and then you can get some sleep.”
She set her tea on the counter and bustled out. Ianto watched her go. “She’s going to smother me until I cry,” he said dryly.
“Most likely,” Owen said, looking wistfully at the steaming mug. Sometimes he really missed the simple things. Tosh’s tea had never been anything to write home about, but it had always been made with care, and he could taste that sort of thing. “Are you planning to?”
Ianto glanced at him over the rim of his mug. “Cry? I wasn’t planning on it.”
Owen eyed him skeptically. “Really.”
“I’m not a victim,” Ianto said simply.
They fell silent, then. Owen watched Ianto finish his tea, dressed in clothes that didn’t fit, his hair drying awkward and mussed, only the slightest tremor in his hands betraying any hint that everything wasn’t alright. He watched until Tosh came back into the kitchen, announcing that she’d put fresh sheets on the fold-out in the living room and shouldn’t Ianto be getting to bed, and Owen took his cue to leave.
Tosh walked him to the door, worry and something else in her eyes. “I’m scared,” she said quietly. “He’s being too calm. He’s going to snap.”
“Probably,” Owen agreed, because Tosh was nothing if not perceptive. “He’ll get through it, though. He’s the type.” He reached out and set a hand on Tosh’s shoulder. It wasn’t awkward anymore, not really. “Take care of him, alright? But don’t smoosh him. Just be there.”
She nodded, hesitated, and then hugged him. It took him a moment to react-she was much more physical with him these days, as if she’d realized he wouldn’t push her away (and he wouldn’t, even though he knew he should, because she was the only one who was always there)-and then he hugged her back, just a quick squeeze of his arms around her waist. “Right,” she said, pulling away. “I’ll just-”
“Yep,” Owen said automatically. “See you at work. Pick you up at the usual time?” Tosh nodded and Owen patted her on the shoulder once more. “Stay in bed, teaboy!” he called, and didn’t wait for an affirmative response before walking out the door.
He walked back into his own flat ten minutes later, the episode of Lost still frozen on his television screen. He dropped his bag near the door and flopped down on the sofa, closing his eyes and thinking of the calm resolve in Ianto’s eyes, the pain hidden behind that ever-impassive expression.
Not a victim, Ianto had said.
No, Owen thought, he wasn’t a victim. Jack hadn’t broken him, not by any means.
But that sure as hell didn’t mean he wasn’t going to rip Jack a new one-literally or figuratively, he hadn’t decided yet-the next time he saw him. Which would be in-Owen craned his neck back to look at the clock on the telly-five hours.
Brilliant, Owen decided, and pressed play.
to part 3...