Author's Note: Thanks to Flinch-Hayward for the beta.

The impact of Ianto's fall broke the ice, and his immediate gasp from the cold poured freezing water into his lungs. It hit the inside of his chest like needles attempting to tear their way back out between his ribs. He forced back another gasp. It was pitch black and so cold, so cold, with no idea what direction was up anymore, no idea where he had fallen through. His coat, heavy wool, weighed him down, dragging him deeper into the lake even as he thrashed, or tried to, his limbs already growing numb and distant, like someone else's arms, someone else's legs. His skull bumped something hard, and he reached for it, his arms moving so slow – and his fingers brushed against ice, rippled and sharp. The surface of the lake, covered. He pulled back a loosely curled fist and brought it back against the ice – no effect, so slowed by cold, by the water, and then there was that panic, and all he could think of was what Jack said when they were getting out of the SUV; something about sea monsters, something about tentacles, and it had been funny and stupid and now he was going to die in the dark, he was going to drown in the frozen water because he wasn't fast enough to dodge the angry flail of tentacles, and why God was there a monster in a lake in Cardiff?

And there was the constant desire, the need to inhale, the impulse in the back of his mind to breathe breathe breathe just breathe-in please because his lungs were starved and filled with water and freezing, and his vision was. Dimming. Getting. Darker. His eyes. Closing. His mouth. Opening.

Darkness.

Owen hooked Ianto's arm with his own and heaved with all of his strength. The cold didn't affect him – thank God, for once, for being dead, because this would be really uncomfortable, leaning into a hole in a lake to grab the guy while the others were running around on the bridge about fifty metres away. He pulled Ianto's upper body up onto the ice – no help from him, passed out from oxygen starvation – and hooked his arms under Ianto's shoulders to pull him toward the shore. It wouldn't do any good if they fell through while he was doing CPR.

He spilled Ianto onto the asphalt sidewalk that went around the edge of the lake (better than the grass, better at retaining heat) and felt his pulse. No pulse. He lined up his airway and leaned over his mouth, feeling for air. Not breathing. He cursed and tore Ianto's coat open, his suit jacket – soaked, half-frozen, they would have to go when he was breathing again, too much chance for hypothermia – and settled his interlocked hands, both palm down, on Ianto's sternum. He pushed down, quickly, counting in his head, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, to thirty, then reached up and pinched Ianto's nose, tilted his chin back, lowered his own mouth –

Stared, horrified.

No breath.

He tapped his earpiece. "Jack!"

"Little busy, Owen!"

"Ianto's not bloody breathing and neither am I!"

A pause. "I'm sending Gwen. Can you do anything?"

"Hurry up." He tapped off.

He couldn't do anything. Continuing chest compressions would be useless, sending unoxygenated blood back through his body. He could only stare down at Ianto's still form, at the odd angles of his clothes freezing in the winter air that Owen couldn't feel, at the ice starting to form in his eyelashes, over skin that was tinged blue. And the only word that he could think was 'again'. First Parker. Now Ianto. Dying because he was dead.

There was a pound of footsteps to his right and he looked to see Gwen running towards him, looking absolutely mad with panic before she skidded to her knees next to Ianto's head and lowered her mouth over his, pinching his nostrils shut. Owen took a moment to be thankful that Cardiff's finest were given full CPR training before Gwen sat back from her two breaths and he was doing chest compressions again, the rise of Ianto's chest with the air in his lungs more of a relief than Owen could properly calculate. He muttered out loud, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 - thirty, and Gwen was there again, two breaths and the rise of Ianto's chest. She checked his pulse while Owen gave compressions and he saw her trying not to freak out when she found nothing beneath her fingers. Thirty compressions, two breaths, then again, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 –

Ianto gasped and rolled away from Gwen to vomit water onto the ground. He tore air into his lungs and cried out – and there came the shudders, the hands uselessly ghosting over the ground, the glazed expression. Owen dug into Ianto's coat pocket and turned to Gwen to bark, "Warm up the car and bring it here!" He threw her the keys when she stood and turned back to Ianto when she started to run. "It's all right, mate, it's all right-" He was gently lifting Ianto to a sitting position, peeling off his wet coat and throwing it to the side, followed by his jacket. The waistcoat and shirt came next, buttons difficult to work with when wet but coming away quickly enough. He took off his own jacket – just there for appearances, people would question a man walking around in shirtsleeves when it was about nought degrees Celsius out – and put it over Ianto's shoulders.

He moved to crouch in front of Ianto, slipping a pencil torch out of his pocket and shining it in one eye, then the other. "You know your name?"

Ianto croaked, "Ianto Jones."

"How about mine?"

"Owen Harper."

"That's Doctor Owen Harper to you." He slipped the light back into his pocket and ran his fingers over the surface of Ianto's skull. He'd broken the ice with his head. Evidence of that was the blood that came away with Owen's hand. "How are you feeling?"

"Cold," Ianto said, and the shivers redoubled, as though they would shake his whole body to pieces. He moved his hands to rub his arms up and down, but Owen stopped him, putting his hands back on the ground.

"Can't do that, mate, sorry." Rubbing the extremities could send the kid right into cardiac arrest – there was no telling right now how severe his hypothermia was, no need for the risk, and where the hell was Gwen?

The SUV roared over a hill and answered his question. Gwen parked a few metres away with the car still running and came around to throw the hatch open. Owen waved her over and moved to kneel behind Ianto, his arms hooked back under his shoulders. "We're gonna move you. You understand?" Ianto nodded vaguely. Gwen ran up and Owen nodded to Ianto's feet. They lifted him slowly and carried him toward the SUV, one step at a time. When he was spread out in the back of the car, Owen sent Gwen back to Jack and Tosh on the bridge and climbed in with Ianto, closing the hatch behind him.

Ten minutes later, the back doors of the SUV opened and Jack, Gwen and Tosh piled in, all of them breathing hard, all of them leaning over the backseat to see Ianto and Owen. Jack asked quickly, "Do we need to get to the hospital?"

Owen shook his head. "I have it under control. It isn't that serious."

His setup said otherwise. Ianto lay on his stomach, covered from head to toe with two rubber heating blankets, a small machine humming as it warmed the water that coursed through both of them. A similar machine lay nearby, attached to the IV bag that hung from a hook on the ceiling, warming the saline before it found its way into Ianto's blood stream through his wrist. The only part of Ianto that wasn't covered was the patch of scalp that Owen was weaving sutures through, the gash from his skull cracking through the ice.

"Are you sure we-"

"Just get us to the Hub and we can make sure he'll be all right. And how'd you make out with the Kraken?"

- - -

Gwen took Ianto home when Owen was finished with him. His temperature had evened out after some time under proper conditions in the medical bay. When hot coffee was part of the cure for something, it was certain that Ianto would recover just fine.

That left Owen alone in the Hub, putting away the heating blankets and attempting to make his little area not look like a complete disaster in the absence of the person who normally did that job.

But of course, no one was ever alone in the Hub.

"You did good tonight," Jack said, leaning on the chain that edged the med bay's upper level.

Owen grunted, closing a cabinet and sweeping his eyes over the room, making sure that he hadn't missed anything.

"Pulled Ianto right out of the water. Like a bear after salmon."

"I wish I'd just recorded you calling him a fish. It's fun when you get decaf."

Jack grinned. "I'm sure he'd appreciate the metaphor."

"Simile."

"Look at you, Mister Literature."

"How many times do I have to tell you people? It's Doctor Literature."

There was nothing else to do. The place was spotless. Not a scalpel out of place. He blinked and curled his hands in the pockets of his lab coat.

Jack laughed. "Yes, sir." He sighed and paced a few feet to lean against the wall. He watched Owen staring around himself. Like an animal caught in a cage. "You all right, Owen?"

Owen looked up at him and raised an eyebrow. "Yeah. Why wouldn't I be?"

Jack shrugged. "Oh, I dunno. Your teammate almost died because you couldn't give him air."

Owen stared at him, probably totally unaware that his mouth was suddenly hanging about at his chest.

"And the fact that last time this happened, the guy didn't survive. That probably isn't helping."

"Go fuck yourself, Jack."

Jack sighed wistfully, arms crossed over his chest. "Oh, if only I were still young and flexible enough."

Owen stripped off his lab coat, threw it over the autopsy table and climbed the stairs with heavy, angry steps, moving toward the Hub. Jack reached out and caught his arm. He shook it off, rounding on him. "I'm not in the mood for a heart-to-heart, Harkness."

"Neither am I." Jack watched him passively, arms once more folded; less wistful, more severe.

Owen threw his hands out to either side, exasperated. "I'm not in the mood for this psychologist shit, either. If you're going to do something, Jack, then do it, otherwise I'm off."

Jack arched a brow. "What do you think I'm going to do?"

Owen paused. He watched Jack's face, his own lips drawn tight and uncomfortable, his arms still out. He sighed and dropped them to his sides, looking off to the right. "I'm useless to you. I can't get into it with monsters because I'll break a bloody knee. I can't do CPR. You almost lost your pet shag tonight because Gwen can't move her ass at light speed."

Jack let the 'pet shag' comment go with difficulty. He watched Owen without expression and repeated himself. "What do you think I'm going to do?"

Owen looked at him. "I think you're going to fire me."

Jack smirked and looked up at the ceiling. "I did that once. It didn't take. Do you really think it'll work a second time?"

Owen stared at him, gaping. "I'm – Jack, it's irresponsible to keep me on. I could get someone hurt. I could get someone killed."

"Anyone could do that."

"Yeah, but if they cocked it up you would fire them."

"You didn't 'cock it up'." Jack repeated Owen's words with an accent and a smirk. "Ianto's up and breathing. And that shade of blue looked good on him."

Owen curled his fingers into fists, his teeth bared in anger. "Can you take this fucking seriously? I almost killed someone tonight!"

And then he had his back to the wall, Jack's hands on his shoulders, and it would have been sort of homoerotic if Jack's eyes had been anything more than fierce and hard and cold. "I need you to listen to me, Owen," he said, low, and his fingers flexed dangerously against Owen's scapulas. "Because this is the last time that we're going to talk about this. You are Torchwood's medical officer. You are trained to deal with alien and human life. You are expected to do your job to the best of your ability." He shook Owen to keep him from looking away. "It is not your responsibility to question my hiring practices. It is not your responsibility to mope and ask to be fired. You are here to fix your team when they need it." He held Owen's eyes. "Is that understood?"

Owen looked back at him for a moment before muttering, "Understood."

Jack nodded. He loosened his hold slightly. "And what happened tonight wasn't your fault."

"Jack, I-"

"It was mine."

Owen blinked at him, uncomprehending.

Jack sighed. "I forgot. For five minutes, I forgot that you couldn't breathe. I was busy with the lake monster, and I saw Ianto go under and I figured that you had it under control. It wasn't until you called me that I remembered. I should have had Gwen there on the shore already, but you had to call. I should have been on top of it. I'm sorry about that."

Owen blinked again. He shook his head. Jack released him and he automatically rubbed at his shoulders. It didn't hurt, nothing hurt, but he couldn't help it. He took a moment to watch Jack stepping away, watch him look guiltily out at the Hub. "Jack," he said quietly, and Jack looked at him. "If you had a proper medic, you wouldn't have had to remember."

Jack smiled. And it was desperately sad. "I know," he said. "But we have more to do, you and me. We have to even our score."

Owen nodded at his own words coming back to him. He sighed. "Thank you."

Jack shook his head. "Thank you. You still did well. You still saved him." He grinned. "With a little help from Gwen."

Owen rolled his eyes, moving out into the Hub. "You know she's been wanting to get her lips on his since she got here."

Jack called after him, "They're pretty irresistible lips!"

Owen lifted a hand without looking back at him. "Thanks for that, Jack!"

"Don't mention it!" Jack watched the cog wheel door let Owen out and then roll back into place. He smiled and walked down the stairs, walked to the autopsy table and picked up Owen's lab coat before hanging it on its hook. All things in their places.

- - -

Ianto looked up from his bed when Jack moved through the doorway. The look was deliciously sardonic. It was obvious that Gwen had been the one to deposit him at home; his bed was piled with blankets, his ancient space heater dragged out of the closet and brought fire-hazard-close. The bedside table was covered: bottles of water, electric kettle, tea things, paracetamol, a box of tissues.

Jack smirked. "Did she read you a bedtime story?"

"I'd hardly know. She did all of this while I was sleeping. Like I was visited by benevolent fairies." He glanced at the bedside table. "Not that it matters that any of this is here, because I can't move under the weight of all of these blankets. I'm fairly certain she borrowed some from my neighbours." Jack laughed and pulled a few of the covers off of the bed. Ianto sighed with relief and sat up, pulling his shirt away from his chest. "I never thought I'd be too hot ever again. She's a miracle worker."

"Always too hot for me," Jack said, thumbing off his braces at the side of the bed, beginning to unbutton his shirt.

Ianto rolled his eyes and cracked open a bottle of water. "How'd it go with Cthulhu, then?"

Jack grinned. "Owen called it a Kraken."

"I dimly remember that, somewhere amid the blinding pain."

Jack flopped down on the bed over the covers and put his hands behind his head. "Tosh got it incinerated for us while Owen fixed you up."

"I'll be sure to thank her for that tomorrow." He yawned and leaned back against the pillows – also piled ridiculously. "Owen, too, obviously." Jack hummed in agreement and Ianto looked over at him; his eyes were closed, his face not wearing any recognizable expression. He frowned. "All right, Jack?"

Jack opened his eyes and looked over. "Hm? Yeah." He shrugged and looked up at the ceiling. "Owen had a moment of doubt after you were all gone. I set him straight."

Ianto sighed. "I do hope that 'setting him straight' didn't involve shooting him anywhere. He doesn't come back from that anymore."

Jack grinned. "You're the one who initiated that form of setting Owen straight, if you'll recall."

Ianto moved back down under the blankets with a blissful expression. "Moment of glory, that."

Jack laughed. It tapered off into a sigh. "He wanted me to fire him. Thought it was too dangerous to keep him on."

Ianto raised an eyebrow, his voice coming almost indignant. "What? After the sheer amount of stupid danger that went into bringing him back and keeping him? If he left, it would be a slap in the face to the people who died because of him." Jack looked over at him, brow furrowed, and Ianto's eyes went wide. He said slowly, "You'll kindly remember, I had a core body temperature of thirty degrees Celsius about three hours ago. I claim a free pass on saying stupid things tonight."

Jack just waved a hand. "It's okay. You're right. That was my argument."

Ianto was obviously pleased. "Good argument, then." He shifted lower into the blankets. "Great minds."

Jack paused a moment, looking at the ceiling. Then: "You don't blame him for you almost dying tonight?"

"Hm?" Ianto opened his eyes. Then his eyebrows knitted together. "No. It's just something – Torchwood. It's just Torchwood."

Jack smiled. "We have a dead medic. That's very Torchwood."

Ianto nodded, then yawned. Jack stood up and pulled back the blankets before slipping under. Ianto eyed him. "Why, exactly, are you crawling into bed with me, Captain Harkness?"

"Follow up," Jack said, grinning and moving closer. "Have to make sure you're properly warmed."

"Better than Owen doing it, I suppose." He smirked. "Sir."

"Yeah, that thermometer didn't look particularly pleasa-"

The rest of his remark was smothered by a pillow in his face.