[Torchwood] "Kill It Already!" (PG-13)
Author's Note: Written for 
fic_promptly's Torchwood, Ianto Jones, "We've killed it three times. Can we try something else?" Featuring Owen and Ianto being badasses. Set after the events of "Dead Man Walking" (I admit, I have a thing for non-deaded!Owen)
Ianto emptied his next to the last clip into the torso of the thing, sending alien blood flying, splattering the already grimy basement walls. The thing sagged on the packed dirt, its too many jointed limbs sprawled at awkward angles.
"How many times is that?" Owen said, reloading a shotgun while crouched behind a pillar.
"That's the third time we've killed it and it keeps putting itself back together," Ianto grumbled, ejecting the clip and digging in his jacket for another, not taking his eyes off the body. "Can we try something else besides shooting it?"
Their earpieces rustled. "Jack thinks this may be a Skrithian: they grow back new limbs and organs unless you can isolate their core and destroy it," Tosh's voice said over the link.
Ianto sighed, patiently as he slotted the clip into the handgun. "Jack wouldn't happen to know where the core is located on this beast?"
"It's inside the creature's skull," Tosh said.
"We fired at the skull, it came back to life," Owen said, rolling his eyes.
Ianto pushed back a smirk at the irony: if anyone knew about death and resurrection -- besides Jack -- that right belonged to Owen.
"You might have luck if you can get the thing to open its mouth," Tosh said.
"Which means one of us has to jump down the thing's throat," Ianto said, cringing at the idea.
"Sounds like a job for the guy who can't die," Owen said, handing the shotgun to Ianto. "And I don't mean the gent you share a pillow with." He held one hand out, flexing his fingers. "Handgun?"
Ianto darted a stare at Owen. "You're serious."
"Unless you don't mind getting alien spit on your suit," Owen said. "If it swallows you, Jack would be heartbroken."
"Don't even joke like that," Ianto said, taking the shotgun and handing Owen the handgun. "So what do I do?"
"Give me cover fire to distract and anger it," Owen said. "I'll shoot it through the inside of its skull once I'm inside its mouth."
"Should be a breeze," Ianto said, watching their target. The creature's legs twitched before they drew up, hefting its body before the head arose. Ianto started shooting past the thing to distract it as Owen rushed toward it. The mouthparts flared and the thing hissed as Owen leapt feet first toward its mouth. Ianto blasted one of the thing's legs, sending it stumbling a split second before Owen swung inside the thing's mouth, getting his hands inside. A hole blasted through the top of the head, sending a shower of blood and bits flying across the basement. The thing sagged to the floor as Owen scrambled free of the thing's mouth.
Ianto dropped the shotgun and grabbed Owen under his arms, hauling him free. "Are you all right?"
"Be needing a new pair o' boots," Owen said, kicking off the tattered remains of his footware. "Thing's throat was shorter than I thought."
"You're not getting... digested?" Ianto asked, concerned.
"Not if I get into some clean clothes," Owen said, shucking his trousers.
"Let's not let Jack find out about this, we'd never hear the end of it," Ianto said, steering Owen back toward daylight.
fic_promptly's Torchwood, Ianto Jones, "We've killed it three times. Can we try something else?" Featuring Owen and Ianto being badasses. Set after the events of "Dead Man Walking" (I admit, I have a thing for non-deaded!Owen)
Ianto emptied his next to the last clip into the torso of the thing, sending alien blood flying, splattering the already grimy basement walls. The thing sagged on the packed dirt, its too many jointed limbs sprawled at awkward angles.
"How many times is that?" Owen said, reloading a shotgun while crouched behind a pillar.
"That's the third time we've killed it and it keeps putting itself back together," Ianto grumbled, ejecting the clip and digging in his jacket for another, not taking his eyes off the body. "Can we try something else besides shooting it?"
Their earpieces rustled. "Jack thinks this may be a Skrithian: they grow back new limbs and organs unless you can isolate their core and destroy it," Tosh's voice said over the link.
Ianto sighed, patiently as he slotted the clip into the handgun. "Jack wouldn't happen to know where the core is located on this beast?"
"It's inside the creature's skull," Tosh said.
"We fired at the skull, it came back to life," Owen said, rolling his eyes.
Ianto pushed back a smirk at the irony: if anyone knew about death and resurrection -- besides Jack -- that right belonged to Owen.
"You might have luck if you can get the thing to open its mouth," Tosh said.
"Which means one of us has to jump down the thing's throat," Ianto said, cringing at the idea.
"Sounds like a job for the guy who can't die," Owen said, handing the shotgun to Ianto. "And I don't mean the gent you share a pillow with." He held one hand out, flexing his fingers. "Handgun?"
Ianto darted a stare at Owen. "You're serious."
"Unless you don't mind getting alien spit on your suit," Owen said. "If it swallows you, Jack would be heartbroken."
"Don't even joke like that," Ianto said, taking the shotgun and handing Owen the handgun. "So what do I do?"
"Give me cover fire to distract and anger it," Owen said. "I'll shoot it through the inside of its skull once I'm inside its mouth."
"Should be a breeze," Ianto said, watching their target. The creature's legs twitched before they drew up, hefting its body before the head arose. Ianto started shooting past the thing to distract it as Owen rushed toward it. The mouthparts flared and the thing hissed as Owen leapt feet first toward its mouth. Ianto blasted one of the thing's legs, sending it stumbling a split second before Owen swung inside the thing's mouth, getting his hands inside. A hole blasted through the top of the head, sending a shower of blood and bits flying across the basement. The thing sagged to the floor as Owen scrambled free of the thing's mouth.
Ianto dropped the shotgun and grabbed Owen under his arms, hauling him free. "Are you all right?"
"Be needing a new pair o' boots," Owen said, kicking off the tattered remains of his footware. "Thing's throat was shorter than I thought."
"You're not getting... digested?" Ianto asked, concerned.
"Not if I get into some clean clothes," Owen said, shucking his trousers.
"Let's not let Jack find out about this, we'd never hear the end of it," Ianto said, steering Owen back toward daylight.