Title:Ianto Jones, I presume?
Rating: T+
Warnings:OOCIanto, pre-slahs, general oddness, language
Summary:Ianto thinks he's alone in the hub, and decides to relax a little. It all goes to hell when a sick Owen comes in and ruins it. But does he really? Pre-slash Owen/Ianto.
Pairing(s):Owen/Ianto pre-slash.
A/N: Unbeta'd, randomly written to get the creativity back. It just...spawned out of boredom. I do apologize, I don't think there's going to be a follow-up to this unless I get some big # reviews.. ._. or even just One...One would make me happy...
Disclaimer:I have no rights to Torchwood, the music or any other sort of familiar looking thing. Sue and get college debt and stuffed toys ._.; Oh, and if "Panterians" or "Pantera" Is actually in the DW/TW universe, can I get a reference to where?

The hub, for once was empty of all of its employees. Well, almost empty, one remained behind, the rest out in the field, doing their jobs.

Ianto expected none of them back for quiet some time, the drive to and from taking well over two hours, not to mention how long it'd take to clear up a little mishap with a shimer and a Panterian from the Vegas Galaxy.

Making note to delete the CCTV for this time and loop the dead air for a bit, he cranked up the music, and stripped down to his undershirt, glad to be able to shed his guise, even for a few hours. Every one's working areas were as clean as they'd ever get without them allowing him to have at, and there was nothing really left for him to do, other than file in the Archives, and that he was saving for when everyone returned, wanting to spend as little times as he could play-acting. He hated it, but there was no way they would accept him as he was before he moved to London.

He smoked, he drank, he liked the Ladies, and the men, a little too much at times than was healthy, he was a bit of a vagrant. Chuckling to himself he thought about how much that sounded like Owen some days. Speaking of which, Owen had called in sick, perhaps he'd go check on him later, you know, just in case he actually was sick and not just so hung over he couldn't breath without wanting to die. I remember that.. he thought shaking his head at the memories of getting blind drunk and then kept right on drinking.

Nodding to the music he wondered if he could still sing, like he used to do when he was younger. Well no better way to try it out, than to actually do it, was there?

"Lay all you want on me/ lay all you want on me/ Lay all you want on me/ I'll be your whipping boy" he sang along, heading up to Jack's office to look for that stash of alcohol. A little Irish coffee might do him some good, he hated playing strictly sober.

Hm, and how fitting was this song? He felt like their whipping boy all the time, and what did he do? Just smiled and went with it.

Finding the desired alcohol, Ianto jogged downstairs and set to making a cuppa, and succeeded, more than ready to keep singing and just mess around like he used to. Telling the computer to repeat the song and crank it up, he set his drink down on the coffee table and danced, singing at the tops of his lungs.

"I'll be your whipping boy/ lay all you want on me/ lay all you want on me/ lay all you want on me/ I'll be your whipping boy/ I'll be your whipping boy/ I'll be your whipping boy" he sang, not hearing the alarm as the cog door swung open, nor a voice yelling at him, nor even the click of the gun. He did realize something was wrong when the music was turned down to just audible. Swinging around he stared at Owen, who looked like death warmed over, holding his gun unsteadily.

"O-Owen, I thought you were ill?" He asked, cursing inwardly at getting caught. This is what happened when he didn't keep tabs, damn it!

"Yeah, well I am...but Jack called an' asked me to check up on you," he stated, sniffling and trying not to cough. Ianto thought he was going to fall down and moved to help only to find the gun shoved into his chest.

"You need to sit before you fall, you git," he stated patronizingly, realizing that Owen would not recognize that voice as his, nor would he understand the dress slacks and the heavy metal screen T and the distinct lack of posh. Oops. "Owen, Please?" he asked slipping back, but it seemed the medic was having none of that.

"Who the hell are you and what the hell did you do to Ianto?" he coughed out, gun never leaving its mark.

I'll give him that, Ianto thought and sighed. "I am Ianto. This is me outside of work. Bloody hell, do you really think that that anal retentive, ass kissing, prick was me? Christ, you are dense," he sighed, not bothering to keep up any pretense any more. "And no, Jack doesn't know. No one affiliated with Torchwood ever knew, except for you. Great, bleeding hell."

Owen for his part wondered if this was just some sort of delusion, or maybe they really had an alien controlling Tea-boy. Just his luck. "Stay put, or I will shoot you."

"Have fun explaining that one to Jack. He'd never believe you, you're sick. And me? Well one look at the gaping wound and it's not hard to figure out who's side he'd be on."

"Stand still."

"Owen, look, I can explain just put the gun down okay?"

Owen shook his head and turned the safety off, prompting Ianto to raise his hands out and away from his body, and sighed heavily while the doctor rang their boss.

"Jack?" he called, eyeing Ianto warily.

"Owen? I thought you called in sick?"Jack was fading in and out, definitely out of cell tower range, thank god. He might get every other word, but then again that might be bad too.

"I did, but I had something to check on. Look, Ianto's not Ianto. You need to get back here NOW!" he called, waiting for a reply, watching as Ianto flopped into his chair-his chair!- and kept his hands in his air. Clearing his throat the man that looked and didn't sound like Ianto called,

"Sir? It's Ianto. I believe Owen might be a little delusional. What would you like me to do, Sir?" he called sounding exactly like himself. Hell throw a suit on him and you had Tea-boy. Nice trick.

"Ianto? What the hell is going on? We're coming back, just stay put okay? And Owen, Don't shoot him unless you have to, and then make sure it's not fatal and away from his arms and hands okay? He needs those to make coffee,"Jack replied and Ianto rolled his eyes, listening to the roger that and the line clicking off.

"Of course that's the only fucking thing he cares about, bleeding fucking Git." he muttered, looking at Owen. "We have about two hours before they get here, though knowing Jack he'll be driving like a bat out of Hell so that gets knocked down to at most and hour and a half, at the least forty-five minutes..all depended on how much Gwen bitches," he sighed and watch as Owen had a mini-mind melt. Apparently that was more swear words he ever heard come from Ianto in less than a minute than he's ever heard since he started there.

"Okay start talking, but keep your hands were I can see 'em," he ordered, grabbing Tosh's chair, keeping it a safe distance away. The gun was still trained on his chest.

"This is me, me me, not work me. I act that way because I had to, I needed to get out of that Hell-hole sis calls home." he shook his head, unconsciously rubbing his left arm, a spot even an ill and befuddled doctor knew had a scar from an old nasty break. Was that the one from the fall or the twist?he thought to himself as Ianto continued on.

"My tad wasn't a tailor, the only thing he could measure by looking at it is how much liquor's in a shot glass as it's being poured. Mam wasn't a home maker, she worked three shifts down at the corner mart trying to pay off Tad's tab and the bills. Sis settled for some shmuck and they live happily with two kids just down the road from where we used to live. Tad's been dead going on sixteen blessed years or so, and Mam remarried, bless her.

"I'm not from a nice home. I was punk, into everything, gangs, drugs, under-aged sex you name it, I tried it. No one cared, no one saw, only person I really was hurting was myself. Third year of school I finally realized that if I tried I could get away. So I did. I cleaned up, polished up, lost my thicker accent. Got a job working at Torchwood and promptly deleted my personnel file, replacing it with the one you probably read. I should write fiction, because that's all it is," shrugging he spun over to his coffee and took a sip, rolling his eyes as Owen tried to focus.

"Okay, so, why not drop the act? We're the only Torchwood left, and it's not like Jack would care.."

Ianto nodded and smiled sadly, "Yeah, but he would. I was so stuck in it that every time I heard Torchwood, I slipped back. It's only recently I've started chipping away at that shell. Haven't you noticed the lack of propriety and more flirting? And no, I'm not shagging him. He wishes." he shook his head and pulled a face, rolling back. "Look, do us both a favor and put the gun down, okay?" he asked, not liking the way the medic's hands were shaking. He really would prefer to not have another wound added to his list, nor Jack's attempts at henning, which lead to attempts at sex.

Owen was just sick enough to agree, not wanting to hold the heavy gun any more. Sighing in relief, Ianto stayed where he was, and smiled a little. "We're not so different really. We just want the same thing, and we're not going to get it here."

"Oh and what's that?" blood shot eyes snapped to meet his as a tired voice tried to be sarcastic and acidic.

"Someone who gets us, accepts us." he shrugged, looking at his watch and sighing. "Can I go stuff myself back into the shell and get on with business please? Jack'll be here soon and we dont' want to damage him."

Trying to process and not fall over, Owen nodded, too sick and too tired to actually try to figure this out. But when he was well, oh yes, he'd figure it out, and have another chat with this 'real Ianto'.

Watching Owen pass out in Tosh's chair, Ianto quickly moved to put everything away and put his second skin back on, clearing and editing the CCTV, switching the music off just three minutes before the cog door swung open, everyone entering guns blazing.

Looking over from where he had settled a sweating and fretting Owen, Ianto sighed and shook his head. "Was that really necessary, Sir?"

"Ianto, what the hell is going on?"

"He's running a fever. I think he was seeing things. Check the CCTV, I'm going to find an ice pack." nodding to Gwen and Tosh, he turned on his heels and set to making up a pack for Owen, and hopefully sneak a little retcon into whatever drink he'd prepare for him later. No need for anyone to remember this, he'd just live, stuck where he was, itching to break out.

Jack stalked over, nodding to Tosh to flip it on, knowing she'd have it up already. It showed nothing unusual, Ianto bustling about, cleaning and answering the phones, okay. And there came Owen, and Ianto trying to calm him down. Owen calling Jack, Owen sitting down and passing out, Ianto moving to take care of him...Nothing to indicate something was amiss other than Owen being ill.

The three looked over and saw the public relations officer taking care of the medic, shushing him as he fretted, calling out for someone.

Okay, this was a little weird, but then again, for as much as they snarked and bitched, Ianto would never just leave Owen there. Nodding to the two ladies, Jack headed for his office, and told them to take the rest of the day off. He had some thinking to do.

Watching as everyone dispersed, Ianto leaned down and kissed Owen's forehead. "You'll see it some day. Two sides of the same coin..." shaking his head sadly he laughed softly at himself, "You'll never see me. I love you, Owen, you. Not Jack, not anyone."

Laying the blanket over him and tucking him in, Ianto stood up and left to go make Jack his coffee, not noticing as blue eyes opened to watch him, a small, ill voice muttering, "you too ya git."

Thoughts? expressions of out rage? Please no flames, I'll just have ianto plot bunny put them out .

Merci~