On a Cold Christmas Eve - 2/3
Ianto took a cab to bail out Owen. He was tired, cold and angry, far too tired, cold, and angry to drive the SUV. He’d reimburse the cab fare from the petty cash account tomorrow; right now, he just had to sort out Owen and then he could go home. Home to a warm bath and a soft bed. And Jack. Damn. Jack was still there. Maybe he’d decided to sleep on a roof somewhere? Ianto would be so lucky…
It was that day that Ianto decided the universe hated him. Cybermen and cannibals were one thing, but freezing rain just as he stepped out from the cab? Freezing rain on his new wool coat? Oh, that was just cruel and personal…
Ianto trudged up the Cardiff Police Department steps slowly. He was already wet, and while the practical side of him wanted nothing more than to rush up and get out of the rain, the melodramatic side wanted nothing more than to sit on the step, rain washing over him, the perfect image of misery. Clark Gable and Jimmy Stewart had nothing on him.
It made him smile that the Police Department hadn’t changed since he’d availed himself of its services during his arrest for shoplifting when he was 16. The same cream linoleum floor, the same pale blue tiled walls…the same plastic chairs in the reception area. His bum started throbbing psychosomatically as he remembered his Tad’s reaction to that. Hadn’t been able to sit comfortable for days, him. Learned his lesson though - don’t get caught. And here he was, in trusty, reliable Cardiff…Nothing ever happened here, save for murderous, invading aliens, of course.
Ianto was not the only one waiting in Reception, but he was the only one in line for the Desk Sergeant. He flashed his Torchwood ID, paid the bail, and waited for Owen to be brought out. Hands in his pockets, water still dripping from his hair, Ianto leaned against the faded tile walls.
He closed his eyes, desperately trying to forget the night and morning. He’d almost succeeded when he heard a loud thump and that well-known Cockney voice swearing loudly at anyone within earshot.
“Fucking let m’go!” Owen snarled, trying to break away from the two officers restraining him. “Let m’go!”
“Thank you, Detective,” Ianto said, grimacing. “I’ll take him.”
The detective quickly uncuffed Owen. The medic was still piss drunk, and the motion had him overbalancing, falling on his face near Ianto’s shoes.
“All yours, mate,” the detective sighed, toeing Owen’s puke-splattered jumper. “Don’t let me see him again, yeah?”
Ianto nodded his goodbye and picked Owen up, half supporting his weight on the walk out.
“Oi, Tea-Boy, whatcha doin here? Not fuckin’ bloody Harkness, then? What ‘appened, he foun’ someone else t’night?” Owen smirked, the smell of whiskey pouring off him in waves.
“Just get in the cab, Owen,” Ianto sighed and he dragged the medic towards the steps. At least the rain had stopped.
“Ha! He did, didn’ he? He foun’ someone else to use! Wha, you not good ‘nough anymore? Part-time shag my ass! No-time shag now!”
Ianto pulled Owen round to face him. “I’ll tell you this once, Owen. Shut. The. Fuck. Up. Now get in the damn cab!”
Owen just laughed. He laughed and laughed and laughed. He laughed so hard that he could barely breathe, so hard that all Ianto could make out where the occasional word - “Fuck”, “Shag” and “Sucker”. Finally, Ianto had enough. Using all the strength he had left, he punched Owen in the gut. The medic doubled over, and Ianto turned around, desperately trying to reign in his anger. Damn it, he’d survived all those months hiding Lisa without letting his anger out, surely he could survive another thirty minutes.
So lost in taking deep, calming breaths, Ianto didn’t hear Owen stand up. He didn’t see the anger on Owen’s face. He didn’t hear Owen step round. He didn’t see Owen ball his fists. All he heard was Owen’s drunken cry of “Fuckin’ Tea-Boy and fuckin’ Diane!”, and all Ianto felt was a fist connecting with his face. His knees crumpled and the world went black.
For Owen, it was as if the world was in slow motion all night. Diane, his Diane, the closest he’d come to having a relationship after Katie, had left. Left him with a bloody scarf. He’d gone out and gotten properly pissed, striking up a fight with the bartender when he’d been refused further drink. And now, the Tea-Boy, the bloody Tea-Boy had punched him. All his anger, his self-hatred, focused on that single fact. He couldn’t get Katie back, he couldn’t keep Diane, but damn if he’d let Ianto-bloody-Jones punch him!
He saw red. Literally, red. The entire world was in red. And then he was punching Ianto in the face, smashing his fist into Ianto’s nose and knocking Ianto backwards. And that’s when all hell really broke loose. For they were standing on the top two concrete steps, with another half-dozen until the concrete sidewalk. Owen watched in silence as Ianto’s knees buckled and he fell backwards, crashing his head on the corner of the cement step and rolling to the bottom, landing on his back with blood from the back of his head swirling with rainwater and flowing into the drain.
For Owen, everything had been silent as Ianto fell. But then, seeing the Tea-Boy lying motionless on the ground, his doctor do-no-harm personality took over, pushing past the drunken stupor. He ran down the wet steps, sliding to his feet by Ianto’s side. He felt for a pulse, finding it weak and thready. He called out for someone to call 999; if there was anything good to come from this, at least it had happened at a police station.
Owen moved his hands to Ianto’s face.
“Ianto? Come on Ianto, open your eyes. Wake up, damn it!” he called, softly feeling Ianto’s scalp. He winced as his fingers reached the large gash where Ianto’s head and neck met. As a doctor, Owen knew what could happen if the neck vertebrae were separated or broken. He could only hope the gash was the worst of Ianto’s injuries, or he’d have paralyzed the Tea-Boy.
Using a voice and hands far gentler than he usually employed, Owen cradled Ianto’d head with one hand, keeping pressure on the wound. He stroked the younger’s man’s face, and spoke softly, “Come on now, Ianto. Wakey, wakey! Come on, time to wake up.” He kept his vigil until the ambulance arrived and the paramedics secured Ianto’s neck. He left Ianto only briefly then, following behind to ride in the ambulance with him. First Diane, now this.
The day couldn’t get any worse.
Then Ianto’s mobile rang. It was Jack.
Owen’s day had just gotten worse.
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Jack practically flew through the emergency room doors. To many, he may have cut an impressive figure. Tall, beautiful and imposing, Jack generally awed and amazed everyone into compliance. But now, today, he felt small. He’d left the greatcoat at Ianto’s, covered in exhaust fumes as it was, and was borrowing some of Ianto’s jeans and a jumper. His hair was unkempt, a relic of a quick flight from the tub to the waiting cab after speaking with Owen. He’d barely heard Owen’s quick words. Nothing had stayed in Jack’s mind other than “Ianto fell…hit his head….blood…unconscious…A&E.”
Jack’s ice-blue eyes scanned the crowded A&E waiting room. Any other day, he’d have flirted with the nurses, with the patients, with anyone who looked willing. Now, though, he headed straight for Owen, slumped over in an uncomfortable plastic chair.
Grabbing Owen by the collar, Jack heaved him up and threw him against the wall. One arm pushed against Owen’s throat, the other slammed against the wall near his head. “What happened? What fucking happened?!”
Owen swallowed, his eyes wild. Jack released his grip enough for Owen to speak.
“He fell down the station steps, hit his head. He…he wouldn’t wake up.”
Jack sniffed. “Are you drunk?” he asked incredulously.
“I was. Probably still am, now.” Owen swallowed again, nervously.
“You were drunk,” Jack said slowly, the cogs in his brain turning. “He had to bail you out again, didn’t he? And no matter what, Ianto doesn’t just fall. What did you do?”
“I, uh, I may have-“ Owen began. He couldn’t express how happy he was that Ianto’s doctor appeared just then, saving him from having to explain and claim mea culpa.
The doctor cleared his throat. “Uh, Doctor Harper?”
Owen pushed against Jack, squirming from his grip. “Yeah, Doc?”
The Doctor stepped closer, eyeing Jack warily. “Doctor McCraig, Mr. Jones’ consultant. I, uh, just saw him, finished up an x-ray and CT scan. He has a small fracture in his skull, but he was lucky, only slight swelling on the upper vertebrae. That should go down in a few hours. He lost a lot of blood though, always do with head wounds. We’d like to keep him today and overnight for observation; he’ll be in Room 109, a private room.”
“No,” Jack said quickly. “We’ll take him with us.”
“Jack, I’m not sure that’s -“ Owen began, rubbing his neck.
“We. Are. Taking. Him. With. Us,” Jack ground out. “You can watch him at the Hub. That’s what we pay you for, right Doctor Harper? You did this, I don’t know how, but I know you were involved. You’ll damn well see it through. Now get him prepped.”
Owen turned back to Doctor McCraig and sighed. “We’re taking him with us, Torchwood Authorization Harper UAE1793G5. Prep an ambo and add sedatives to the IV. I’ll fill out the paperwork while Captain Harkness sits with Mr. Jones.”
“I don’t like this, Doctor Harper,” Dr. McCraig warned. He and Owen watched as Jack fled down the hall towards Ianto’s room.
“Yeah, me neither,” Owen muttered. “Captain’s orders. Get the paperwork, Doc, and prep Ianto. Gonna be a long day. Merry Bloody Christmas”
**********************************************************************
When Ianto woke, he squirmed uncomfortably. Which, of course, wasn’t helped by the pounding headache. Or the thing blowing in his ear. No. Wait. That wasn’t a thing, that was a voice. A familiar voice. Jack? Damn. It was Jack. Couldn’t Jack leave him alone?
“Wha’ want, J’ck?” he muttered, absolutely refusing to open his eyes.
“Ianto? Come on, please just open your eyes for me, ok?” Jack whispered into Ianto’s ears.
“No,” Ianto said, shaking his head.
“He’s right, Tea-Boy. Need ya to open your eyes so I can check your reflexes,” Owen said.
“No. Go away. Leave me alone, both of you.”
“Not the best patient, eh?” Owen muttered to Jack. Or, at least, Ianto hoped he was talking to Jack. Bit of rude if he was speaking to Ianto.
“Come on now, Ianto. Open your eyes. That’s an order,” Jack commanded.
Ianto opened his eyes briefly, and glared at Jack. “Ffyc’ch,” Ianto muttered.
Jack smiled. “Oh, I know that one! Play nice, Ianto, or you don’t get any dessert”
Ianto closed his eyes again. “Don’ want dessert. Want t'go t'bed. Go away.”
“I know you’re tired, and believe me, in a minute Owen’s gonna break out the good drugs, but for right now he’s gonna ask you some questions, yeah?” Jack said, smiling and running his hands through Ianto’s hair.
“Fine. What do you want, Owen?” Ianto sighed, his eyes still closed.
“What’s the date, Ianto?” Owen asked, keeping an eye on Ianto’s monitors and injecting painkillers into Ianto’s arm.
“Don’t know. How long was I out?”
“Right, ok then. What do you remember about yesterday, about falling?” Owen asked.
Ianto opened his eyes again and glared at Owen. “I didn’t fall. Damn you, Doctor Harper. Now go away and let me sleep.”
Jack glared at Owen. “He’s fine, right? You said the swelling’s gone down. He can go home, yeah?”
Owen sighed as he re-read the monitors. “Yeah, as long as you’re gonna watch him all day. He needs observation for at least another 24 hours; then I wanna scan his skull, make sure it’s healing.”
Jack nodded and stroked Ianto’s hair. “Ianto, wake up for a sec, ok?”
Ianto glared at Jack. “What could you possibly want now?”
“I’m gonna take you home, ok? You can sleep off the headache there.”
Ianto sighed, finally accepting that it would be some time before he was allowed to sleep again. He sat up and swung his legs off the autopsy table. He hopped down, his legs collapsing under the vertigo. Jack and Owen both grabbed him, saving him from collapsing onto the tile.
“Wow,” Ianto breathed shakily. “Almost fell there.”
Jack chuckled and pulled Ianto to his feet. “Let me help, ok?”
Ianto pulled his shoulders back and stood straight. “Thank you, sir,” he seethed. “But I’m fine. I’ll make it to the SUV on my own.” He forced his body to respond and slowly put one foot in front of the other, ignoring Jack’s calls as he hauled himself up the stairs. Absolutely no way he lets Jack in today. Not after yester- no, wait, two days ago now. Jack wants to kill himself? Fine. But he’s not soothing his soul by playing nursemaid. Fucking hell his head hurt!