It had been three hours since the Hub's power systems were restored after being down half an hour. The back-up batteries hadn't kicked in because they'd never been recharged after the last incident. Things like that had a tendency to slip through the cracks when the team was a man down and the man they were down happened to be their mysteriously disappeared Captain.
Three hours, and Owen had been swearing the atmosphere blue from his operating theatre and the greenhouse, fussing over controlled light and temperatures and the possibility of spoilage. Ianto had given up even rolling his eyes over Owen's dramatics. While no doubt some of Owen's specimens were more sensitive than others to a fluctuation in environment, Ianto hadn't even bothered checking the contents of the Hub fridges for anything that needed to be thrown out – it took longer to get a load of shopping back to the Hub and put away than the power was down. As long as the fridge wasn't left standing open, nothing was going off that quickly, he reckoned.
Tosh and Gwen had wisely cleared out as soon as the crisis was averted, leaving Ianto on duty and catching up with some tidying up he'd had to sacrifice during some of their busier days. Eventually, Owen's cursing died down to annoyed grumblings as he stalked about his designated areas and Ianto was mainly able to tune him out and get on with his own work.
Owen emerged from the operating theatre and stood at the top of the stairs, hands on his hips, looking around at the empty Hub with an annoyed huff. "Guess it's just you then, Teaboy. Come on, then."
Ianto looked up warily from sweeping the floor under the couch. "Come on where?"
"Into my office," Owen said with a sarcastic gesture.
"For what? I've got a lot to get on with -"
"Because I need new blood samples from everybody. I can't verify that the storage temps didn't exceed stable storage levels, so I'm chucking the lot. And since the girls have pissed off in the middle of a crisis, you're the lucky winner of the first fresh draw."
"Oh no I'm not!" Ianto protested firmly.
"Unless Jack's returned and is going first, you're the default winner. Come on, let's get it finished. I've had enough of this day and it'll only take three minutes and you'll be right back to your cleaning."
"That's exactly why you're not getting anywhere near me with sharp objects. You're in a strop. I'm not having you stabbing about, trying to find my veins in that state."
Owen glared at Ianto for a long moment and Ianto matched it with his own unflinching stare. Owen crossed his arms and huffed again. "Do you seriously think I'd let my mood affect the quality of my work? And before you say it, I'm talking about my proper work, the work I trained years for at med school, not the endless forms and reports and Weevil-snatching and Hoix-hunting. The work I'm actually qualified for, the duty I undertook with the Hippocratic oath."
That earned Owen an eye-roll of epic proportions.
"Look, I may faff off an awful lot of this bollocks, but I take the medical part seriously," Owen said defensively.
"All the same, I don't like needles at the best of times and you being agitated will do nothing to help that, thank you."
"Let me put it this way," Owen said, crossing his arms. "The longer you wait to get it done, the more it's gonna burgeon in your mind. You'll psyche yourself into it being a whole bloody lot worse than it actually is. Don't think about it. Come down to the surgery, knock back a double-shot of whisky – for medicinal purposes – and it'll be over, yeah?"
Ianto ran a hand over his face, hating to admit that Owen was right. The longer he let it go, the more it would prey on him until it had him really freaked out. Letting out a long sigh, Ianto reached for the button of his right shirt cuff. "Alright, you win. I can't argue your logic. Let's get it over with," he said, making his way down across the Hub.
"There's a good lad. Now, take some of this," Owen said, pulling a bottle of Laphroaig and rocks glass out of a cabinet, "and if you're very good, you can have a lolly after as well."
"Get on with it," Ianto grumbled, taking the poured whisky and belting back half of it.
"Make a fist," Owen instructed, wheeling his stool and instrument tray over to the chair he'd set up. "Arm straight, but not tensed up too much."
As Owen wrapped the elastic band around Ianto's upper arm, Ianto closed his eyes and looked away.
"You lot are good with singing," Owen said conversationally, opening an alcohol swab packet. "Let's have a song, huh?"
"You what?" Ianto said, not daring a glance back.
"Yeah. How about an old standard? Music soothes the savage beast and all that."
"Breast," Ianto corrected automatically. He took a breath and cleared his throat. There was one song that had always relaxed him, even in the most trying situations:
"Nid wy'n gofyn bywyd moethus,
Aur y byd, na'i berlai mân,
Gofyn wyf am galon hapus,
Calon onest, calon lân."
"Right, thank you. Don't call us, we'll call you," Owen said, wheeling away again.
Ianto cringed. "Fine, you don't want singing. Would you just get this done?"
"I'm. Done," Owen said slowly and clearly. "Keep your arm bent for a few minutes to maintain pressure. It'll help keep it from bruising. Other than that, finish your drink and get back to whatever I interrupted. Or go on home, whatever."
"I've got the night shift," Ianto said distractedly, trying to peek under the cotton ball Owen had taped to his inner elbow.
"Leave that in place until tomorrow, or you can replace it with a plaster."
"Are you sure you did the draw?" Ianto asked skeptically.
Owen held up two capped vials of thick, dark red liquid. "Yeah, reasonably sure."
"Yeah, but I didn't feel you…. Last time I had blood taken it hurt like hell, especially when she changed out the vials."
"That's because Suzie did your 'Welcome to Torchwood 3' specimens while I was… well, whatever I was doing. She was shit at that stuff but had enough of a crash course to back me up when needed. Jack should have been doing it. He's not as good as me, but apparently had medical training in some army or other."
"Several armies," Ianto muttered. "Look, thanks Owen," Ianto said, handing the empty glass back to him. "I can honestly say I'm impressed with your skill."
"I told you I take it seriously, Teaboy. Being a doctor isn't a fun job, believe me, not even for the civilian ones. People don't come to you unless there's a problem, there's usually something painful involved, and sometimes there's no fucking way to help that. Now, something like needle phobias, that's mainly in your head. If I can get you out of your head for a minute, you won't feel it, simple as that. We put up with enough shit around here, all of us. Don't need to make a stupid thing like that worse for everybody," Owen shrugged, not taking his attention away from his fresh blood specimens.
"Never figured you for bedside manner," Ianto said, heading back up the stairs.
Owen snorted. "That's Jack you're thinking of."
"Yeah, no kidding," Ianto chuckled.
"Don't tell me!" Owen pled quickly. "For fuck's sake! We've all got our phobias, let me keep mine!"
"Trypanophobia is a legitimate phobia, stemming from the evolutionary wisdom of avoiding flesh wounds," Ianto pointed out. "Homophobia just makes you a -"
"Oi. I'm not homophobic! I'm just… I don't need to know what Jack gets up to behind closed doors, that's all."
"You'd be surprised how rarely he's bothered about doors being closed," Ianto said dryly.
"Oh god. No, I wouldn't be, not remotely. And I'm never walking into his office without knocking again. Once he's in it again, that is."
"Yeah," Ianto said more quietly. "Good policy."
"'ere, no point you staying around all night. I've got enough to keep me busy, and you managed to get the power restored and still hadda sit through the Owen Harper 'Britain's Got Talent' audition process. Reckon you qualify for a night off."
"Yeah, but I should've had the batteries recharged in the first place -"
"And maybe you didn't at the time because you're exhausted. You do three times the work of the rest of us. Take the night off, Teaboy. Don't want the coffee around here suffering for it."
Ianto sighed, realizing that Owen was right again and he did feel worn out. "All right. But only if you promise to ring me first if you need back up for anything, yeah?"
"Sure."
"And don't touch the coffee maker."
Owen shook his head. "Nope. Can think of better ways of dying."
Ianto finished up the sweeping he'd be in the middle of, then fetched his jacket and coat, calling good night as he waited for the lift doors to open. He was almost sure he could hear Owen humming the tune of Calon Lân behind the din of the door alarms. He told himself to check the CC recordings in the morning and edit out any audible humming. One good turn deserved another, after all.