theatrical_muse
206. What do you live for?
He closes his fingers around the edge of the cold metal exam table. It's all he can do to keep from vocalising the pain, but instead he grits his teeth as Owen carefully-- skillfully, Ianto would never admit-- cuts the shirt from his back. It sticks, slick with his own blood. His jacket, he is sure, remains in pieces on the ground of an alleyway in Splott. So much for the cute suit.
"Twat," Owen admonishes, without breaking his own concentration, as he feels Ianto shifting. "I knew I should've sedated you for this."
"Just do your job," Ianto shoots back, not even bothering to turn around. He suspects that would hurt, and he doesn't really want to give any of them the satisfaction of seeing him in pain. He can't help but notice that his voice is gravelly, rougher than usual.
Owen must have noticed too, but thankfully he says nothing about it. Instead, he pulls the fabric back from the wound, causing Ianto to inhale more sharply than he'd intended. "Right. Me doctor, you patient. I can see how you may not have noticed, but I am doing my job. Twat."
Ianto bites back a comment and settles for remaining still.
"So, come on, then," Owen goes on, as he sets the pieces of Ianto's shirt aside along with the scissors. "Let's have a chat. Start with what the hell you were thinking out there."
"I was trying to protect Tosh and Gwen." Ianto speaks with conviction; he hadn't wanted death, but at the same time he recognises that he values his coworker's lives above his own. That's only normal, after all. He might have even done the same for Owen. "Worked, too."
"You were trying to get yourself killed," Owen corrects around a mouthful of hypodermic needle, before removing it and injecting Ianto without any warning. "You think I didn't notice?"
"Whatever you noticed, wasn't."
He scoffs and says, "I'm not that bad of a leader." He starts stitching, ungently, and laughs an ugly laugh. "Don't even say it. That hurt?"
Ianto makes a noncommittal noise, which Owen must take as a negative, because he keeps going. "You're lucky I'm not in a psychoanalytic mood," he comments conversationally, after a few seconds of work. "Apathy, a suicide bid..."
"It wasn't--" There's a sudden surge of pain, as Owen hits a spot that isn't properly numb. Ianto's voice catches and he gasps a swear. "You're enjoying this," he growls instead of continuing the line of argument.
"No offense, but you're the last person I'd call for a bout of S&M. Well, maybe not the last..." Owen's hands are considerably more gentle now, as he stops stitching and prods Ianto's back with his fingertips. "Feel that? Hm." Without waiting for an answer, he reaches for another needle. "There."
"I didn't know you cared," Ianto manages, most of his attention reserved by his attempts at stoicism. He was going for sarcastic, but in the end it's merely weary. The adrenaline surge is waning.
"You think I don't understand? Right, look, I may not be all touchy-feely, but I'm the bastard who walked into a cage with a Weevil."
Ianto hunches forward and hands his head. His neck is beginning to hurt, but there's nothing he can do but sit still. At least the burning pain has faded into a dull ache, with the aid of the double dose of anesthetic. "I'm not sure I appreciate reminders of your idiocy while you're stitching up my back."
"Fine, forget it," Owen says, sounding almost frustrated. "But if you plan to kill yourself anytime soon, don't do it for Tosh and Gwen. They'll never forgive you. And more importantly, they'll never forgive me."
He closes his fingers around the edge of the cold metal exam table. It's all he can do to keep from vocalising the pain, but instead he grits his teeth as Owen carefully-- skillfully, Ianto would never admit-- cuts the shirt from his back. It sticks, slick with his own blood. His jacket, he is sure, remains in pieces on the ground of an alleyway in Splott. So much for the cute suit.
"Twat," Owen admonishes, without breaking his own concentration, as he feels Ianto shifting. "I knew I should've sedated you for this."
"Just do your job," Ianto shoots back, not even bothering to turn around. He suspects that would hurt, and he doesn't really want to give any of them the satisfaction of seeing him in pain. He can't help but notice that his voice is gravelly, rougher than usual.
Owen must have noticed too, but thankfully he says nothing about it. Instead, he pulls the fabric back from the wound, causing Ianto to inhale more sharply than he'd intended. "Right. Me doctor, you patient. I can see how you may not have noticed, but I am doing my job. Twat."
Ianto bites back a comment and settles for remaining still.
"So, come on, then," Owen goes on, as he sets the pieces of Ianto's shirt aside along with the scissors. "Let's have a chat. Start with what the hell you were thinking out there."
"I was trying to protect Tosh and Gwen." Ianto speaks with conviction; he hadn't wanted death, but at the same time he recognises that he values his coworker's lives above his own. That's only normal, after all. He might have even done the same for Owen. "Worked, too."
"You were trying to get yourself killed," Owen corrects around a mouthful of hypodermic needle, before removing it and injecting Ianto without any warning. "You think I didn't notice?"
"Whatever you noticed, wasn't."
He scoffs and says, "I'm not that bad of a leader." He starts stitching, ungently, and laughs an ugly laugh. "Don't even say it. That hurt?"
Ianto makes a noncommittal noise, which Owen must take as a negative, because he keeps going. "You're lucky I'm not in a psychoanalytic mood," he comments conversationally, after a few seconds of work. "Apathy, a suicide bid..."
"It wasn't--" There's a sudden surge of pain, as Owen hits a spot that isn't properly numb. Ianto's voice catches and he gasps a swear. "You're enjoying this," he growls instead of continuing the line of argument.
"No offense, but you're the last person I'd call for a bout of S&M. Well, maybe not the last..." Owen's hands are considerably more gentle now, as he stops stitching and prods Ianto's back with his fingertips. "Feel that? Hm." Without waiting for an answer, he reaches for another needle. "There."
"I didn't know you cared," Ianto manages, most of his attention reserved by his attempts at stoicism. He was going for sarcastic, but in the end it's merely weary. The adrenaline surge is waning.
"You think I don't understand? Right, look, I may not be all touchy-feely, but I'm the bastard who walked into a cage with a Weevil."
Ianto hunches forward and hands his head. His neck is beginning to hurt, but there's nothing he can do but sit still. At least the burning pain has faded into a dull ache, with the aid of the double dose of anesthetic. "I'm not sure I appreciate reminders of your idiocy while you're stitching up my back."
"Fine, forget it," Owen says, sounding almost frustrated. "But if you plan to kill yourself anytime soon, don't do it for Tosh and Gwen. They'll never forgive you. And more importantly, they'll never forgive me."