Hippocratic Oath

Owen and Ianto carried Jack in from the SUV as gently as they could. Owen wanted him down in the autopsy bay quickly, so he could get him hooked up to the patient monitor and check out his vital signs. Though Owen knew from his constant manual monitoring in the last 15 minutes that they weren't good. He knew already that the respiration was slow, laboured and painful. The pulse was thready and erratic. The transport blood pressure cuff he'd hastily put around Jack's upper arm, after stripping him of his greatcoat, was showing ever decreasing readings. The diastolic measurement was down to 40. The systolic was 80. And Owen was watching it fall.

He kept his weight against the pressure bandage he'd used in the field on the gaping hole in Jack's chest while they drove back to the Hub. But he could heard the gurgling in Jack's breathing. At least five ribs were certainly broken, Jack had a severe concussion and had probably shattered his collar bone as well. And God only knew what else. The prognosis was definitely touch and go.

Owen flew into action. "Ianto, help me. Get me saline, and six litres of AB negative. Gwen, hook him up to the oxygen, he needs all the help he can get. Tosh, put this SpO2 sensor in place and then whack on another BP cuff. Not on the same arm, mind." He was calm, efficient, and very scared.

Jack was semi-conscious, at best. He was drenched in his own blood, and both Owen and Ianto were covered in it too. The girls were clean; Gwen wasn't sure whether Owen was being chauvinistic or chivalrous when he had chased her away from the scene and handled it with Ianto. But Gwen knew that, whatever had prompted him, she was not about to complain. It was breaking her heart to see Jack so hurt, so compromised, lying there on the autopsy table. Her heart went out to Ianto, who was working calmly and efficiently. There was nothing about his manner to suggest that his partner was lying so broken on the table.

Jack roused for a moment, to moan a piercingly pitiful painful visceral sound. Ianto paused briefly in his task and closed his eyes against the sound, against his own pain. He reached out and touched Jack's face gently.

"Hold on, cariad, hold on. We'll stop it hurting any moment now. Just hold on." The thing he hated most in the world was seeing Jack die. He'd seen it on a few occasions now, and each time felt like the first. It shook him to the core, chilled him, scared him. For all Jack's assertions that he couldn't stay dead, there was always the thought at the back of Ianto's mind that Jack might not be right. He wasn't infallible. And just because he'd come back in the past didn't automatically mean that he'd always be able to come back. So, for Ianto, the less chances taken the happier he felt.

And Jack hadn't really taken any chances out in the field tonight. It had happened quickly, without warning. They'd been called to what was clearly a weevil incident close to the Hub, on the quayside by the bay. It was so close that it was quicker to go on foot than to take the SUV. But, as Ianto observed, the SUV would be necessary to get a weevil body back to the Hub with a degree of anonymity. So, Gwen and Owen dashed to the garage to fetch the car whilst Jack and Ianto hotfooted it down to the tourist office entrance, which was the nearest egress to the water.

Within moments of reaching the dark dockside, they were surprised by not one but three weevils coming out of the darkness from under the docks. Jack and Ianto were standing within a hundred feet of each other, but all three weevils concentrated their attack on Jack. By the time Ianto arrived with his weevil spray, Jack was down and bleeding badly.

Once the weevils were subdued, Ianto bellowed into his bluetooth for Owen to get the hell there quickly and fell to his knees to do what he could for his captain. Jack's pale blue eyes were open, but glazed with shock. Ianto knew the shock would rapidly turn to pain. "Hurry Owen." he entreated, desperately, unnecessarily.

"I'm sorry," said Jack, gasping and looking down at the gaping hole in his chest. Ianto was startled out of his shock when he saw the amount of blood, and the speed at which it was coming out.

"Ssshh," he breathed, stripping away the tattered remains of Jack's clothing to reveal the wound. It went deep. Very deep. But training kicked in and Ianto did what he could to stem the crimson tide. By the time Owen and Gwen arrived three minutes later, both Jack and Ianto were covered in it.

"Fuck." breathed Owen, taking in the scene at a glance. He flew into action, trying to stabilize his patient at the scene. It was clearly a fool's errand. He gave up and issued hurried instructions to get Jack into the SUV and back to the Hub as quickly as possible. He gave thanks that it was only minutes away.

After four hours had elapsed, Owen allowed himself the luxury of a sigh of relief. The monitor showed that Jack was maintaining a slow but steady heart rate. His blood pressure was still low, but the transfusion was helping bring it back up slowly. Owen had worked steadily to repair the damage to the chest area but it was clearly going to take quite some time to heal. Jack's shattered shoulder was also going to need massive reconstruction.

Ianto had assisted diligently, despite the efforts of all his colleagues to make him sit and take a less involved backseat. Ianto was calm, efficient, and shaking inside. It broke his heart to see Jack so injured, lying there on the operating table. Whilst Jack had a strong metabolism, and healed well, he didn't miraculously mend himself after every trauma. Only in death did he regain life. An accident such as this would take him every bit as long to recover from as it would take any of the other Torchwood members.

Jack turned his head towards Owen, who was still fussing with the drip. "Hey, Jack," he greeted. "I didn't expect you to wake up quite so quickly after the anaesthetic. How are you feeling?" They both knew it was a pointless question. Jack's grey face and pinched expression told Owen all he needed to know.

"I wish they'd killed me," gasped Jack, his mouth dry. "I'd have regenerated by now and be back to normal. How long will it take to recover from this?"

Owen looked away, refusing to meet Jack's eyes.

"It's going to be hard, isn't it?"

Owen nodded. "You should really be in a hospital."

Jack shook his head, and let out a groan of pain that was a barely suppressed scream."You should have let me go." he said quietly. "I don't want this. It reminds me too much of...of..." his thoughts turned to the year on the Valiant, tortured physically and mentally by the Master. Oh, the Master had been good. He'd known as many tricks of the trade as Jack himself. He didn't kill Jack every day. Sometimes he made the dying last for days. Jack really couldn't face that again. Jack tried to take a deep breath but couldn't, it was too painful. "Owen. Please. Do it. Take the gun. Just do it. This hurts too much. And will take too long to recover from. Just do it. That's an order. I can't go through this again. Please."

The supplication in his voice chilled Owen to his core. "No, Jack, I can't. I really can't. I've sworn to protect life."

"This would be protecting mine. I don't die. With just one quick shot, and a few minutes, I'll be back with you all, as good as new."

"But what if you weren't Jack?" asked Owen. "What if this was the time that you ran out of lives? I am a doctor. I heal. I don't kill."

Jack moaned as a sudden wave of pain overcame him. "Please, Owen. I'm begging you. I've lived through 150 years already. I really don't want to have to spend months recovering from a silly mistake I made out on the docks." He convulsed as more pain assailed him. Owen opened up the port on one of the drips and made a note on Jack's chart.

"There, I've given you more morphine. That should help. It will take away the pain, and then you'll sleep. Heaven knows, that's the best thing for you at the moment. You need to start recovering."

"Owen!"

"No, Jack, I am a doctor. I preserve life. I simply can't do what you are asking. I did it once to you and I didn't know then that you could come back. I am still trying to live with that. I cannot do it again. I'm sorry. Perhaps I am being selfish but I really can't do it."

Owen checked the monitors again and, reassured, bent down and kissed Jack's cheek very, very lightly. "Sorry, boss." he said. He wasn't sure if Jack was aware or not. The increased dose of morphine had done its job and Jack was lying peacefully now, the pained creases on his forehead smoothed. But his right hand was still fiercely grasping the sheet that covered him.

"Owen." called Ianto. He could see that the young doctor was absolutely exhausted. "Wyt ti'n hoffi coffi?"

"I could love a cup. Thanks, mate." He smiled with all the strength he had left at Ianto's attempt to lighten the moment. He knew that Ianto knew that he actually knew more Welsh than he admitted to.

"There's sandwiches too." Ianto, returning moments later with a fresh, steaming brew. "Come on up for a moment, take a break." he tempted the doctor out of the autopsy bay.

Owen sat on the couch, gratefully taking the plate of tuna sandwiches and smiling to see that Ianto had even taken the trouble to garnish it with a few capers, to which he was partial. He shook his head in amused bemusement. One day he really would have to try to understand the Welshman better. At the moment, Ianto's lover and partner was lying hurting on the operating table and he could think of capers?

"How is he?" asked Ianto.

Owen picked up his coffee cup. "You don't really need me to tell you, do you? I know that when you weren't actually helping me, you were standing at the top of the autopsy bay watching. You heard Jack beg me to kill him, to put him out of his misery. That wasn't exactly a picnic for me, it can't have been fun for you. So, actually, as your doctor, I should really be asking how are you?' It's been a shit evening for everyone. How are you holding up?"

Ianto smiled impassively. "I'm fine. I always am. But it hurts me to see Jack hurt so much. Especially when I know that the odds are, even if he dies, he'll come back. What hurts me more is the thought that one day he might not come back, but that would probably be a relief for him. He bears his burden of immortality heavily."

Owen nodded slowly, thoughtfully, and placed his coffee cup back on the table. "That was great, thanks Ianto."

Although the men bickered amongst themselves often, when united in a single cause they acted as a single unit, without a hint of tension or resentment.

"Go get some sleep Owen," suggested Ianto. "You've worked hard this evening. Jack's out of it for the moment. Grab forty winks while you can. Something tells me that we are going to have our work cut out repairing Jack. He'll need you again shortly. I'll stay with him for the moment, keep an eye on him. You go get your head down. I'll call you if anything changes."

Owen nodded. It made sense. Ianto would certainly be diligent in his caretaking. Owen lay down, fully clothed, on the sofa. In his mind, he replayed his recent conversation with Jack. Had he been right to deny Jack the quick route to recovery? He was, after all a doctor whose task was healing. If death was the quickest way back to health, had he been right to refuse? There was nothing in the text books to cover this. But if he had done Jack's bidding, and shot him cleanly so that he could resurrect moments later, wasn't that against all that he stood for as a doctor? And what if Jack hadn't come back? What then?

He tried not to think of the other time he had shot Jack, in the middle of what he recognized now as a mental breakdown; his descent into insanity. That, if anything, had strengthened his resolve to be a better doctor. He lay on the sofa, clasping a cushion to his chest perhaps a little too tightly, self-comforting. His eyes flickered briefly and then exhaustion overwhelmed him. When she was sure he was asleep, Tosh spread a blanket over him, and dimmed the lights a little.

It was later. He knew it was later. He knew he'd been asleep. The coffee cup and empty sandwich plate had disappeared. He awoke, startled by a loud noise. A split second after waking he realised what the loud noise was. He knew the sound was that of Jack's gun. And it had come from down in the autopsy bay. Down where Ianto was watching over the captain.

He rushed to the steps, taking them three at a time. Ianto was slumped over Jack, the Webley dangling loosely from his right hand. Owen reached out for it cautiously before anything more could happen, taking it from Ianto, who didn't react at all. Simultaneously he reached out with his other hand and touched Ianto's neck, feeling for a pulse. He breathed a sigh of relief. It thudded, raced, and bucked beneath his fingers. He counted; it was at least 130 beats per minute. Only then, after immediate danger had been taken care of, did Owen allow himself to take a closer look at the scene in his autopsy room.

He placed his hands under the Welshman's arms and eased Ianto to sit upright. Ianto's face and hair were splattered with blood and other greyish-white matter that Owen instantly recognized. He tried hard not to recoil in horror. He knew what he was going to see before he looked down at Jack. He forced his eyes away from the impassive, unreadable face of the Welshman to Jack. The top part of Jack's head had been blown away. Both Jack and Ianto were covered with the very tissue of Jack's brain. It wasn't a surgically neat hole. Blowing someone's brains out was never neat and tidy.

He realized that Ianto had started shaking. "Come on, mate. Let's get you cleaned up. Come on." He gently assisted Ianto to stand. The Welshman put up no opposition. Owen realised that the young man was completely traumatised by the events of the day, and especially by what he had just done. Owen was also shocked by events but knew he had to deal with his colleague before he could afford the luxury of processing his own feelings. Especially as he didn't know quite what he felt. Part of him wanted to shout and rage at Ianto for what he'd done, for shooting Jack, and part wanted to congratulate him for taking the step that Owen had been unable to take.

"Come on, Ianto." he grew more forceful as the Welshman was reluctant to leave Jack's side. "Ianto!" He cupped Ianto's face in his hands and made the blue eyes to look into his brown eyes. "It's done now. It's done. It will be OK. It's got to be OK. Jack will be back with us soon. He'll be back. Don't worry. Let's get you cleaned up." Ianto allowed Owen to lead him to the showers. Owen knew that he couldn't just send Ianto into the shower alone. He really was not functioning. Left to his own devices, he'd probably drown.

Owen helped the Welshman undress. He quickly stripped his own clothes off and stepped into the hot shower which, he had to admit, was very welcome. He hadn't realised quite how exhausted he was. He held his hand out to Ianto, encouraging him in, under the driving jets of hot, cleansing water. Ianto complied.

"How are you doing?" Owen knew the answer to the question, but wanted to hear Ianto's own assessment of his state of mind.

"OK. Just. Just."

"OK is OK." Owen realised that this wasn't the most profound thing he'd ever said but Ianto nodded, the whisper of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. The smile quickly disappeared.

"Actually, not so well," confessed Ianto suddenly, turning his back to the doctor, crossing his arms against the shower wall and then cushioning his forehead on them. "Not too well at all." The full realisation of what he'd done was beginning to sink in. His voice caught. "I... I... shot... I killed...J...J...Jack." The shaking increased. Owen put his hand on the young man's back, feeling the tremors that rocked him.

Instinctively, Owen pulled Ianto towards him. "Ssssh. It's OK. It will be OK." He could feel the young man's shoulders start to heave, and he heard him suck in a deep gasp of air which he then tried to expel. It wouldn't come out. He started to choke on it. Coughing, crying, sinking down to sit on the floor of the shower, arms around his knees, resisting the urge to curl up on his side in a tightly furled foetal ball.

"Go get yourself dry, Owen. I'll deal with this. And thank you." A strong commanding voice resonated through the shower. "I'll take care of Ianto." Jack stood there, completely healed. There was no sign of his recent injuries or the hole that Ianto has blasted through his head. Jack was stripping off his bloodstained clothing as he spoke. He tossed a towel to Owen, who accepted it gratefully.

Jack stepped into the shower and sank, wearily, to the floor beside Ianto. He bowed his head, closing his eyes, allowing the shower jet to pound into him, distracting him from the headache that came inevitably with resurrection. He was very aware of Ianto sitting beside him. They were touching at the shoulders, elbows, and hips, but there was a vast gulf between them. Ianto was staring straight ahead, his eyes dull beyond measure.

Jack put his arm around Ianto's shoulders and drew the young man to him. "Talk to me. Talk to me cariad. You're far away. I can see that. But it's time to come home now. Time to come back to me."

Gradually, awareness returned to Ianto. He looked around, as if surprised to find himself naked in the shower with Jack. He looked down at his hands. They were clean, but he reached for the soap and began to scrub at them.

With gentle authority, Jack restrained him, holding both of Ianto's hands in one of his. "Enough. That's enough." He put the soap down. He waited for a moment observing the water. It was running clean. No more blood, no more soap. "We're done in here." said Jack, getting out of the shower and indicating for Ianto to follow him. The Welshman did so without hesitation, functioning enough now to reach for a towel as he got out.

Owen was waiting for them, up in the main part of the Hub. He was apparently intently monitoring the Rift, which had been quiet for nearly three days. "I'll do Rift duty tonight. I plan to stay in the Hub anyhow. I'm too tired to drive, I've liberated your whisky decanter, and..." he looked shot a meaningful look at Jack before nodding briefly at Ianto, "and just in case anyone needs me tonight, I'll be here. But now, for both of you, I prescribe bed. Jack, just take Ianto down to your miserable bunker and the pair of you go to sleep."

Jack smiled, and gave Ianto a gentle shove in the direction of the hatch. Ianto compliantly climbed down the step ladder.

Jack reached out and took the damp towel from Ianto's waist, breathed deeply in appreciation of the sight before him and then pulled back the quilt. "I am so lucky to have you, Ianto Jones," he said. "I will never, ever, forget that. Nor what you did this evening. I know I have all eternity but that makes it worse, the thought of spending weeks and months injured, unable to be up and about and participate in what we are trying to do here at Torchwood Three. Unable to give you my time and attention. I might have all eternity but," his voice caught, "we don't. And I don't want to miss a single moment with you, Mr Jones."

Ianto shook his head, overwhelmed. He knew that he dare not utter a single word. He knew that it didn't matter what he said, but the first word out of his mouth would be accompanied by him completely shattering. He had done the one thing that he could not imagine ever doing. He had killed Jack.

"It's OK, Ianto. It is really OK. You did the right thing. You saved me from months of misery. But it was unfair of me to ask Owen in the first place. Unfair for you to hear and think you had to do this. I promise I will never ask anything like this again."

Ianto sat down heavily on the side of the bed. "And I never want to have to do that again. But Jack?"

"Yes?"

"If I have to, I will. But you have to promise me something."

"Anything."

"If ever I am so badly injured that I can't live ....."

"Anything. Anything but that." Jack shook his head. "I would do anything for you. But not that. I can't do that. While there is even the faintest glimmer of life, there is always hope."

"And that, Jack," Ianto sighed deeply, sadly. "And that, is exactly how I felt about Lisa."

End