Doctor's Orders
FESTIVE TITLE: Doctor's Orders
WRITTEN BY: beesandbrews
RECIPIENT: used_songs
BETA BY: lawsontl
RATING: FESTIVE
WARNING: Inappropriate use of cutting implements
SPOILERS: None, especially.
DISCLAIMER: THEY'RE NOT MINE. NO COPYRIGHT INFRINGEMENT INTENDED.
+++++
“You're nearly on top of it!” Toshiko's voice, tense with excitement, transmitted clearly through their headsets.
Torchwood had been tracking the alien since dawn, through car parks and sewers, open parkland, and back again. Now, as the moon rose, it seemed the beast was tiring. Its ursine-like bulk staggered and stumbled as it ducked under a festively lit archway into an alley, its heavy panting echoing harshly off the walls.
Owen and Ianto tumbled out of the car and ran after the creature, guns drawn but held close at their sides. In the merry-making hiatus between St. Stephen's Day and New Year's, the holiday-decked streets were empty of all but a homeless beggar and the occasional herd of drunken revelers.
“I've got you now, my beauty.” Owen took aim.
The creature was faster. In the darkness, it turned, rose to its full two and a half meters, and roared. It flipped its paws open to the sky, shooting a defensive stream of foul smelling liquid. Owen jumped back. The musk hissed and smoked like acid as it hit the pavement. Owen's gun barked a steady tattoo. Shells pinged against stone and concrete.
The creature charged, its enormous mouth gaping. Fire vomited from its jaws.
“Get down!” Ianto raised his gun, the laser sight cutting a crimson path through the shadows. In front of him, twin screams, one human and one hideously feral, pierced the air. He squeezed the trigger convulsively and threw himself hard against the alley wall with a grunt as the monster advanced and spat more fire. Heat blasted his scalp. He could feel the hairs on the back of his head curling. Ianto pushed off stone and mortar and cautiously, gun in a ready position, ran forward. Under his torchlight, Owen lay prone on the dirty pavement. There was a trail of rusty blood, but the creature had vanished.
Ianto triggered his headset. “We've lost it. Greyfriars Rd. It's wounded and heading east.“ He severed the connection. “Owen?” Ianto knelt at his colleague's side. “Owen?” The smell of burnt leather, gunpowder, and blood hung heavy on the damp air. Ianto shone his torch into the medic's face.
Owen moaned and batted the light away. “Sonofabitch.” He struggled to sit up, then poked at his ruined jacket before peeking cautiously underneath. “Oh, that is not pretty.” He gave Ianto an irritated scowl. “Well, don't just kneel there looking pasty-faced. Help me up.”
Ianto kept his expression neutral as he assessed the damage. Owen's shirt was burnt away under the jacket and the exposed skin was red and angry. “You're injured. Are you sure that's a good idea?”
“Tell me, Doctor Jones, just where did you get your medical training?” Owen struggled to sit up on his own. Belatedly, Ianto stuck out his hand and helped the medic to his feet. Owen sagged against him as the full extent of his injuries made themselves known. “Get me out of here.”
“Hospital,” Ianto said as he wrapped an arm around the smaller man and took the bulk of his weight.
“Are you barking?” Owen looked aghast at the notion. “This time of year? The place will be chock full of domestics and squalling kiddies. Besides, I'm not letting any NHS drone get its hands on me. Just get me back to the Hub.”
Ianto settled Owen in the passenger seat of his car, then retrieved the emergency kit from the boot as he notified Jack they were returning to base. He got into the driver's side, opened the box and removed a syringe. “Pain medication?”
Owen took a long look at the syringe and shook his head. “Later.” He waved weakly toward the waterfront. “Drive.”
Ianto started the engine, glancing over casually at his companion, his face the picture of innocence. “Remind me, Owen, weren't you recruited from the NHS?” he said as he put the car into gear.
Owen shot him a venomous look and slumped back against the seat.
+++++
Ianto took the turning that led to the maintenance bay, pausing at what seemed to be a dead end. He pushed the button on his key fob and the wall swung away revealing a passage known only to Torchwood personnel. Slowing to a crawl, they entered the mouth of a disused Victorian-era subway tunnel. A cherub smiled down serenely from the marble archway.
“Our own personal Bat Cave.” Owen winced and bit back a cry as they went over a bump and descended down the ramp into the private garage.
Ianto rolled his eyes at the old joke as he pulled into a vacant space. “Wait here a minute.” He got out of the car and went to the ranks of waiting equipment. He lifted a flat folded gurney from a slotted rack in the reserve medical stores, assembled it quickly, and rolled it to the passenger side of the car. “Come on then.” Ianto offered his hand.
Owen shot him a dirty look. “I can walk.” He got out of the car, turned an even paler shade of white, and sagged to his knees.
Ianto caught him and hefted Owen onto the gurney. “Very macho. Too bad the girls weren't around to see.”
Owen panted as a wave of fresh pain overtook him. “I owe you a cutting retort,” he said through gritted teeth. His eyes rolled back in their sockets and he passed out.
Ianto smiled darkly as he rolled the gurney toward the service lift.
+++++
“Oi!” Owen woke with a start. He was lying on a treatment table in his own medical theater. Jacket gone. Shirt gone. He looked down at his chest. The burn had been cleaned and a layer of antibiotic ointment gleamed wetly over the top. He pursed his lips in grudging approval and looked further. Ianto was preparing strips of cloth tape, cutting them to fit a sterile gauze dressing.
“You were lucky,” Ianto said as he set the dressing into place. “I don't think you'll need a skin graft.”
“It hurts like a week of Mondays.” Owen flinched as Ianto smoothed the tape over his chest. “Watch it!”
“Sorry.” Ianto stood back and admired his handiwork. “Do you want something for the pain now?”
“A stiff drink for starters.” Owen struggled, but managed to sit up. He noticed Ianto tugging at the back of his shirt collar. A collar no longer pristine and pale blue, but charred along the edges. “What's that? Let me see your neck.”
Ianto frowned. “It's nothing.” He continued tidying up the workspace, disposing of wrappings and a mangled piece of white tape.
“It's nothing when I say it's nothing.” Owen sat up straighter and grunted with the effort.
Ianto exhaled loudly. “Very well.” He bent his neck for Owen's inspection.
The skin was reddened and dotted with three small blisters. The hair above the nape of Ianto's neck had been singed away, leaving a blackened smudge where he'd worried the skin. “You're right, compared to mine, it's nothing.” Owen gestured at the tube of burn cream. “Put some of that on." He clapped his hands together in anticipation. "Now let's see about that drink.”
+++++
"Who did you think you were ordering for?" Ianto balanced a trio of pizza boxes topped with twin carrier bags in one hand, and held a second set of bags in the other. "There's enough food here for an army!"
"Moan. Moan. Moan." Owen glanced up at Ianto and shrugged. "It was nearly closing and they made me a deal I couldn't refuse. Besides, I don't know why you're complaining. It's not like Jack would, if he ever gets back."
"Have they reported in?" Ianto set down his burden as carefully as he could on the coffee table and looked at his watch. His brow furrowed when he saw the time.
Owen began to rummage among the boxes and bags, smiling in delight at the take-away's generosity. "Yeah, they think they've run it to ground at the water treatment plant. Tough bugger that one."
Ianto fingered his headset, his expression torn as he contemplated Owen opening a foil container and crowing in satisfaction over a lasagna. "I should go back." He'd been ordered to stand down in case the doctor needed further treatment, but the temptation to disobey and resume the chase was strong.
Owen sighed. "You really do need to lighten up. Here." He picked up a bottle from between his feet, poured a generous measure of whiskey into a glass, and held it out to Ianto. "I found this at the back of the cupboard under the sink. I think it was Suzie's. She always liked American booze, our Suzie. But then she was crazy as a bedbug."
"That wasn't Suzie's," Ianto replied with asperity. "It's mine."
"Private drinker?" Owen peered at Ianto as if seeing him in a new light. "As your physician, should I be concerned?"
Ianto accepted the proffered glass. "Piss off, Owen." He downed it in one long swallow and opened a pizza box.
+++++
Having managed to get chocolate icing all over his fingers whilst slicing cake, Ianto picked through the carrier bags searching for a serviette. His face split in a soppy grin. “I love these!” He held up a Christmas cracker, letting the glittering gold paper catch the light. Drink had made him nostalgic and he was suddenly overwhelmed by memories of Christmas past. Of times before Cybermen and Daleks, when a young boy's biggest concern was what he would find in his stocking Christmas morning. “Best part.”
“What are you nattering about?” Owen opened one eye and looked at him with incomprehension.
“Crackers. Best part of Christmas,” Ianto mumbled as he was dragged harshly back to the present where Christmas meant alien invasion was as likely as a holiday panto.
“Never had'm. Growing up, I mean.” Owen snagged the cracker out of Ianto's hand. He attempted to balance it on the flat of his palm, then tossed it up in the air bobbling the catch. “Mum didn't approve. Bitter old cow.” He lobbed the cracker back at Ianto.
His fingers closed on empty air and the cracker landed in the cake. “Oi! Have a care.” Ianto used the tip of his index finger to wipe the paper free of chocolate icing. He sucked the finger clean, set the plate aside, and waved the cracker in Owen's face. “Go on, you know you want to.”
+++++
“So then the alien gets up on its tentacles and Ms. Hartman rears back on her heels and tumbles arse over tea kettle.” Ianto mimed his very uptight ex-boss, hands on her hips, looking indignant. He attempted to reenact the scene he was describing, and toppled onto the floor. He doubled over with laughter, his ears turning vibrant pink. The glass in his hand sloshed whiskey. When he looked up, Owen was frowning.
“Your hair is a mess,” he announced in the same voice he might tell a patient they had something terminal. He sniffed at the air, his nose wrinkling. “And it still stinks. Did you know that? Puts me right off my food.” He pointed at Ianto with an accusing stub of pizza crust. “You're a fine example.” He shoved the crust in his already full mouth and looked askance. “Mr. Soul of Propriety, indeed.”
Ianto used the table to climb back onto the sofa, knocking over several empty beer bottles in the process. “I'll go to a barber,” he slurred, and began to pat at his pockets searching for his keys.
Owen shook his head, knocking his paper jester's hat askew. "All shut." He took a pull from his beer, set the bottle down (missing the table completely) and slapped his knee. "Doctors used to barber!"
Ianto shook his head. "Barbers were surgeons. Or was it dentists?" He gave Owen an unfocused frown as he tried to remember the pertinent details.
Owen gave Ianto a sharp look. "How do you know that?"
Ianto placed his index finger against his temple. "I. Know. Everything."
Owen harrumphed in disbelief. He looked around for his beer, found it lying empty next to its brothers on the floor, and reached for another. He grinned the manic smile of one who is about to trap a particularly cunning adversary. "Do you know where the opener is?"
Ianto searched the floor at his feet, scooped up the opener on the second attempt, and flipped it in Owen's general direction.
Owen's smile crumpled. "You're still untidy," he said sulkily, thumping his beer bottle on the table to emphasis his point.
Ianto appeared genuinely unhappy at the doctor's pronouncement. "What are you suggesting I do about it?"
Owen managed not to trip over his feet as he stood and staggered to the medical bay. He opened and shut several drawers. “Ah ha!” he cried triumphantly, before returning with a pair of surgical scissors. “A little trim'll fix you right up.”
Ianto gave him a doubtful look. “I dunno.” He glanced at the three-quarters empty bottle of Jack Daniels on the table, and the platoon of empty cans and bottles littering the floor.
Owen held out his hand. “Steady as a judge,” he over-enunciated. “A sober judge.” He snipped at the air a couple of times. “You want to be pretty for Jack, don't you?” he wheedled. “Boys or girls, Jack likes his crumpets pretty.”
"I am no one's crumpet," Ianto protested, his dignity wounded at such an outrageous notion. But he considered Owen's words. A frown pulled at the corners of his mouth. Jack called him handsome. But sometimes, when he looked in the mirror, he had his doubts. He folded back his collar and bent his head. “Careful.”
Owen tripped over his own trainer, righted himself quickly, and replied, “I'm always em... care... care...What you said.”
+++++
The whiskey was a memory when Jack returned, pushing a trolley laden with a body bag.
“Hey, they got it!” Ianto said brightly, nudging Owen and giving Jack a bleary smile. He raised his glass in salute and thumbed a pink paper crown out of his eyes.
Owen snorted and his head lolled as he rallied, then passed back out, head against Ianto's shoulder.
Jack pushed the coffee table far enough away from the sofa so he could sit comfortably without crowding the drinkers. He set a pizza box on the floor and examined the remains of several Christmas crackers before putting them aside and picking up the empty whiskey bottle, tilting it, and giving Ianto a quizzical look. “Medicinal or holiday cheer?”
Ianto gave him a solemn nod, jostling Owen, who began to snore loudly. “Doctor's orders.” Ianto glanced over at Owen and pushed him off his shoulder. “Hey, you're back!” Ianto gave Jack a broad grin as if he'd just realized he was sitting there. He pushed off the sofa and landed with a thump beside his captain, missing the remnants of the chocolate gateau by centimeters. He tried to lean in for a kiss and overbalanced, toppling forward.
Jack reached out, snaking an arm around Ianto's waist to anchor him more firmly. “Easy there, tiger. It looks like you started the party without me.” Tired as he was, it was difficult not to smile as Ianto tried to kiss him again, missing his mouth and brushing his cheek. Jack trapped Ianto's face between his hands and planted a soft kiss against whiskey-flavored lips.
Owen opened his eyes. He struggled to focus. It clearly took more effort than he could muster. He closed them again and fell over sideways.
Jack moved the cake and the remains of a pan of lasagna out of danger of Ianto's haphazard attempts at cuddling, and then scooted forward to carefully arrange Owen more comfortably, propping him as best he could against the back of the sofa. He examined the dressing on Owen's chest, wincing in sympathy, as with delicate movements, he peeled back a corner of the bandage and looked at the wound underneath. Without thinking, Jack reached for Ianto.
“'s nothing.” Ianto pointed at his ruined collar and the bright red patch of skin above. He gave Jack a conspiratorial wink. “Shh, don't tell." Ianto's voice was thick with drink. "He's not always a wanker. Fixed me up proper, he did.”
Jack's eyes widened as he looked at the back of Ianto's head. Normally neatly trimmed, the wavy brown locks had been haphazardly sheared, in a few places, nearly to the roots. “I know.” Jack put his arm around Ianto's waist and helped him to his feet.
He looked down at Owen, gave him a fond smile, and considered the situation for a moment as he shifted Ianto more comfortably against his hip. Jack pressed a sequence of buttons on his wrist strap, lowering the lights, while softly humming a holiday carol. Owen probably hadn't intentionally ruined Ianto's hair. And it would grow back... eventually.
As they passed through his office, Jack snagged the scissors off his desk and put them in his pocket. A few careful snips would fix things right up.
And what Ianto didn't know wouldn't hurt Owen.
WRITTEN BY: beesandbrews
RECIPIENT: used_songs
BETA BY: lawsontl
RATING: FESTIVE
WARNING: Inappropriate use of cutting implements
SPOILERS: None, especially.
DISCLAIMER: THEY'RE NOT MINE. NO COPYRIGHT INFRINGEMENT INTENDED.
+++++
“You're nearly on top of it!” Toshiko's voice, tense with excitement, transmitted clearly through their headsets.
Torchwood had been tracking the alien since dawn, through car parks and sewers, open parkland, and back again. Now, as the moon rose, it seemed the beast was tiring. Its ursine-like bulk staggered and stumbled as it ducked under a festively lit archway into an alley, its heavy panting echoing harshly off the walls.
Owen and Ianto tumbled out of the car and ran after the creature, guns drawn but held close at their sides. In the merry-making hiatus between St. Stephen's Day and New Year's, the holiday-decked streets were empty of all but a homeless beggar and the occasional herd of drunken revelers.
“I've got you now, my beauty.” Owen took aim.
The creature was faster. In the darkness, it turned, rose to its full two and a half meters, and roared. It flipped its paws open to the sky, shooting a defensive stream of foul smelling liquid. Owen jumped back. The musk hissed and smoked like acid as it hit the pavement. Owen's gun barked a steady tattoo. Shells pinged against stone and concrete.
The creature charged, its enormous mouth gaping. Fire vomited from its jaws.
“Get down!” Ianto raised his gun, the laser sight cutting a crimson path through the shadows. In front of him, twin screams, one human and one hideously feral, pierced the air. He squeezed the trigger convulsively and threw himself hard against the alley wall with a grunt as the monster advanced and spat more fire. Heat blasted his scalp. He could feel the hairs on the back of his head curling. Ianto pushed off stone and mortar and cautiously, gun in a ready position, ran forward. Under his torchlight, Owen lay prone on the dirty pavement. There was a trail of rusty blood, but the creature had vanished.
Ianto triggered his headset. “We've lost it. Greyfriars Rd. It's wounded and heading east.“ He severed the connection. “Owen?” Ianto knelt at his colleague's side. “Owen?” The smell of burnt leather, gunpowder, and blood hung heavy on the damp air. Ianto shone his torch into the medic's face.
Owen moaned and batted the light away. “Sonofabitch.” He struggled to sit up, then poked at his ruined jacket before peeking cautiously underneath. “Oh, that is not pretty.” He gave Ianto an irritated scowl. “Well, don't just kneel there looking pasty-faced. Help me up.”
Ianto kept his expression neutral as he assessed the damage. Owen's shirt was burnt away under the jacket and the exposed skin was red and angry. “You're injured. Are you sure that's a good idea?”
“Tell me, Doctor Jones, just where did you get your medical training?” Owen struggled to sit up on his own. Belatedly, Ianto stuck out his hand and helped the medic to his feet. Owen sagged against him as the full extent of his injuries made themselves known. “Get me out of here.”
“Hospital,” Ianto said as he wrapped an arm around the smaller man and took the bulk of his weight.
“Are you barking?” Owen looked aghast at the notion. “This time of year? The place will be chock full of domestics and squalling kiddies. Besides, I'm not letting any NHS drone get its hands on me. Just get me back to the Hub.”
Ianto settled Owen in the passenger seat of his car, then retrieved the emergency kit from the boot as he notified Jack they were returning to base. He got into the driver's side, opened the box and removed a syringe. “Pain medication?”
Owen took a long look at the syringe and shook his head. “Later.” He waved weakly toward the waterfront. “Drive.”
Ianto started the engine, glancing over casually at his companion, his face the picture of innocence. “Remind me, Owen, weren't you recruited from the NHS?” he said as he put the car into gear.
Owen shot him a venomous look and slumped back against the seat.
+++++
Ianto took the turning that led to the maintenance bay, pausing at what seemed to be a dead end. He pushed the button on his key fob and the wall swung away revealing a passage known only to Torchwood personnel. Slowing to a crawl, they entered the mouth of a disused Victorian-era subway tunnel. A cherub smiled down serenely from the marble archway.
“Our own personal Bat Cave.” Owen winced and bit back a cry as they went over a bump and descended down the ramp into the private garage.
Ianto rolled his eyes at the old joke as he pulled into a vacant space. “Wait here a minute.” He got out of the car and went to the ranks of waiting equipment. He lifted a flat folded gurney from a slotted rack in the reserve medical stores, assembled it quickly, and rolled it to the passenger side of the car. “Come on then.” Ianto offered his hand.
Owen shot him a dirty look. “I can walk.” He got out of the car, turned an even paler shade of white, and sagged to his knees.
Ianto caught him and hefted Owen onto the gurney. “Very macho. Too bad the girls weren't around to see.”
Owen panted as a wave of fresh pain overtook him. “I owe you a cutting retort,” he said through gritted teeth. His eyes rolled back in their sockets and he passed out.
Ianto smiled darkly as he rolled the gurney toward the service lift.
+++++
“Oi!” Owen woke with a start. He was lying on a treatment table in his own medical theater. Jacket gone. Shirt gone. He looked down at his chest. The burn had been cleaned and a layer of antibiotic ointment gleamed wetly over the top. He pursed his lips in grudging approval and looked further. Ianto was preparing strips of cloth tape, cutting them to fit a sterile gauze dressing.
“You were lucky,” Ianto said as he set the dressing into place. “I don't think you'll need a skin graft.”
“It hurts like a week of Mondays.” Owen flinched as Ianto smoothed the tape over his chest. “Watch it!”
“Sorry.” Ianto stood back and admired his handiwork. “Do you want something for the pain now?”
“A stiff drink for starters.” Owen struggled, but managed to sit up. He noticed Ianto tugging at the back of his shirt collar. A collar no longer pristine and pale blue, but charred along the edges. “What's that? Let me see your neck.”
Ianto frowned. “It's nothing.” He continued tidying up the workspace, disposing of wrappings and a mangled piece of white tape.
“It's nothing when I say it's nothing.” Owen sat up straighter and grunted with the effort.
Ianto exhaled loudly. “Very well.” He bent his neck for Owen's inspection.
The skin was reddened and dotted with three small blisters. The hair above the nape of Ianto's neck had been singed away, leaving a blackened smudge where he'd worried the skin. “You're right, compared to mine, it's nothing.” Owen gestured at the tube of burn cream. “Put some of that on." He clapped his hands together in anticipation. "Now let's see about that drink.”
+++++
"Who did you think you were ordering for?" Ianto balanced a trio of pizza boxes topped with twin carrier bags in one hand, and held a second set of bags in the other. "There's enough food here for an army!"
"Moan. Moan. Moan." Owen glanced up at Ianto and shrugged. "It was nearly closing and they made me a deal I couldn't refuse. Besides, I don't know why you're complaining. It's not like Jack would, if he ever gets back."
"Have they reported in?" Ianto set down his burden as carefully as he could on the coffee table and looked at his watch. His brow furrowed when he saw the time.
Owen began to rummage among the boxes and bags, smiling in delight at the take-away's generosity. "Yeah, they think they've run it to ground at the water treatment plant. Tough bugger that one."
Ianto fingered his headset, his expression torn as he contemplated Owen opening a foil container and crowing in satisfaction over a lasagna. "I should go back." He'd been ordered to stand down in case the doctor needed further treatment, but the temptation to disobey and resume the chase was strong.
Owen sighed. "You really do need to lighten up. Here." He picked up a bottle from between his feet, poured a generous measure of whiskey into a glass, and held it out to Ianto. "I found this at the back of the cupboard under the sink. I think it was Suzie's. She always liked American booze, our Suzie. But then she was crazy as a bedbug."
"That wasn't Suzie's," Ianto replied with asperity. "It's mine."
"Private drinker?" Owen peered at Ianto as if seeing him in a new light. "As your physician, should I be concerned?"
Ianto accepted the proffered glass. "Piss off, Owen." He downed it in one long swallow and opened a pizza box.
+++++
Having managed to get chocolate icing all over his fingers whilst slicing cake, Ianto picked through the carrier bags searching for a serviette. His face split in a soppy grin. “I love these!” He held up a Christmas cracker, letting the glittering gold paper catch the light. Drink had made him nostalgic and he was suddenly overwhelmed by memories of Christmas past. Of times before Cybermen and Daleks, when a young boy's biggest concern was what he would find in his stocking Christmas morning. “Best part.”
“What are you nattering about?” Owen opened one eye and looked at him with incomprehension.
“Crackers. Best part of Christmas,” Ianto mumbled as he was dragged harshly back to the present where Christmas meant alien invasion was as likely as a holiday panto.
“Never had'm. Growing up, I mean.” Owen snagged the cracker out of Ianto's hand. He attempted to balance it on the flat of his palm, then tossed it up in the air bobbling the catch. “Mum didn't approve. Bitter old cow.” He lobbed the cracker back at Ianto.
His fingers closed on empty air and the cracker landed in the cake. “Oi! Have a care.” Ianto used the tip of his index finger to wipe the paper free of chocolate icing. He sucked the finger clean, set the plate aside, and waved the cracker in Owen's face. “Go on, you know you want to.”
+++++
“So then the alien gets up on its tentacles and Ms. Hartman rears back on her heels and tumbles arse over tea kettle.” Ianto mimed his very uptight ex-boss, hands on her hips, looking indignant. He attempted to reenact the scene he was describing, and toppled onto the floor. He doubled over with laughter, his ears turning vibrant pink. The glass in his hand sloshed whiskey. When he looked up, Owen was frowning.
“Your hair is a mess,” he announced in the same voice he might tell a patient they had something terminal. He sniffed at the air, his nose wrinkling. “And it still stinks. Did you know that? Puts me right off my food.” He pointed at Ianto with an accusing stub of pizza crust. “You're a fine example.” He shoved the crust in his already full mouth and looked askance. “Mr. Soul of Propriety, indeed.”
Ianto used the table to climb back onto the sofa, knocking over several empty beer bottles in the process. “I'll go to a barber,” he slurred, and began to pat at his pockets searching for his keys.
Owen shook his head, knocking his paper jester's hat askew. "All shut." He took a pull from his beer, set the bottle down (missing the table completely) and slapped his knee. "Doctors used to barber!"
Ianto shook his head. "Barbers were surgeons. Or was it dentists?" He gave Owen an unfocused frown as he tried to remember the pertinent details.
Owen gave Ianto a sharp look. "How do you know that?"
Ianto placed his index finger against his temple. "I. Know. Everything."
Owen harrumphed in disbelief. He looked around for his beer, found it lying empty next to its brothers on the floor, and reached for another. He grinned the manic smile of one who is about to trap a particularly cunning adversary. "Do you know where the opener is?"
Ianto searched the floor at his feet, scooped up the opener on the second attempt, and flipped it in Owen's general direction.
Owen's smile crumpled. "You're still untidy," he said sulkily, thumping his beer bottle on the table to emphasis his point.
Ianto appeared genuinely unhappy at the doctor's pronouncement. "What are you suggesting I do about it?"
Owen managed not to trip over his feet as he stood and staggered to the medical bay. He opened and shut several drawers. “Ah ha!” he cried triumphantly, before returning with a pair of surgical scissors. “A little trim'll fix you right up.”
Ianto gave him a doubtful look. “I dunno.” He glanced at the three-quarters empty bottle of Jack Daniels on the table, and the platoon of empty cans and bottles littering the floor.
Owen held out his hand. “Steady as a judge,” he over-enunciated. “A sober judge.” He snipped at the air a couple of times. “You want to be pretty for Jack, don't you?” he wheedled. “Boys or girls, Jack likes his crumpets pretty.”
"I am no one's crumpet," Ianto protested, his dignity wounded at such an outrageous notion. But he considered Owen's words. A frown pulled at the corners of his mouth. Jack called him handsome. But sometimes, when he looked in the mirror, he had his doubts. He folded back his collar and bent his head. “Careful.”
Owen tripped over his own trainer, righted himself quickly, and replied, “I'm always em... care... care...What you said.”
+++++
The whiskey was a memory when Jack returned, pushing a trolley laden with a body bag.
“Hey, they got it!” Ianto said brightly, nudging Owen and giving Jack a bleary smile. He raised his glass in salute and thumbed a pink paper crown out of his eyes.
Owen snorted and his head lolled as he rallied, then passed back out, head against Ianto's shoulder.
Jack pushed the coffee table far enough away from the sofa so he could sit comfortably without crowding the drinkers. He set a pizza box on the floor and examined the remains of several Christmas crackers before putting them aside and picking up the empty whiskey bottle, tilting it, and giving Ianto a quizzical look. “Medicinal or holiday cheer?”
Ianto gave him a solemn nod, jostling Owen, who began to snore loudly. “Doctor's orders.” Ianto glanced over at Owen and pushed him off his shoulder. “Hey, you're back!” Ianto gave Jack a broad grin as if he'd just realized he was sitting there. He pushed off the sofa and landed with a thump beside his captain, missing the remnants of the chocolate gateau by centimeters. He tried to lean in for a kiss and overbalanced, toppling forward.
Jack reached out, snaking an arm around Ianto's waist to anchor him more firmly. “Easy there, tiger. It looks like you started the party without me.” Tired as he was, it was difficult not to smile as Ianto tried to kiss him again, missing his mouth and brushing his cheek. Jack trapped Ianto's face between his hands and planted a soft kiss against whiskey-flavored lips.
Owen opened his eyes. He struggled to focus. It clearly took more effort than he could muster. He closed them again and fell over sideways.
Jack moved the cake and the remains of a pan of lasagna out of danger of Ianto's haphazard attempts at cuddling, and then scooted forward to carefully arrange Owen more comfortably, propping him as best he could against the back of the sofa. He examined the dressing on Owen's chest, wincing in sympathy, as with delicate movements, he peeled back a corner of the bandage and looked at the wound underneath. Without thinking, Jack reached for Ianto.
“'s nothing.” Ianto pointed at his ruined collar and the bright red patch of skin above. He gave Jack a conspiratorial wink. “Shh, don't tell." Ianto's voice was thick with drink. "He's not always a wanker. Fixed me up proper, he did.”
Jack's eyes widened as he looked at the back of Ianto's head. Normally neatly trimmed, the wavy brown locks had been haphazardly sheared, in a few places, nearly to the roots. “I know.” Jack put his arm around Ianto's waist and helped him to his feet.
He looked down at Owen, gave him a fond smile, and considered the situation for a moment as he shifted Ianto more comfortably against his hip. Jack pressed a sequence of buttons on his wrist strap, lowering the lights, while softly humming a holiday carol. Owen probably hadn't intentionally ruined Ianto's hair. And it would grow back... eventually.
As they passed through his office, Jack snagged the scissors off his desk and put them in his pocket. A few careful snips would fix things right up.
And what Ianto didn't know wouldn't hurt Owen.