The hike itself was pleasant, as pleasant as it could be walking through the woods with guns drawn, playing hide and seek with primitive, violent, aliens.
Ianto used to enjoy the woods. Lisa had drug him out into them often enough, hiking, camping, and even biking once, though that hadn't ended very well. There was still a tiny white scar on his knee from that venture.
He had always planned to go camping again, even after Lisa. When he was bored with work he'd flip through the brochures in the tourist office, would plan out camping trips for the phantom customers that kept the shop looking legitimate.
Of course, none of his trips had included being nearly eaten by a pack of Welsh cannibals. That had put him off food entirely for a while. And his sleep actually. That had also been when he had started seeing Dr. Brenson, a local psychiatrist who handed out pills, and took retcon well. He knew Ianto Jones as a dissatisfied husband, a disgruntled employee, and a suicidal man. Suicide, Ianto learned, was the fastest ticket to the really good medication.
That had left a scar too. The cannibals, not the psychiatrist. Ianto snickered at the momentary confusion the statement caused.
That was Percodan for you.
It wasn't the cleaver, which surprised him. He had stumbled, later, getting out of the SUV. It had hardly been his fault. He had had a concussion, and his arms weren't working properly after being cuffed behind his back for so long. He had stumbled, right out of Jack's arms and planted his face into the cement of Torchwood Three's parking garage. His head had be gashed open, and he had been left with a tiny ragged scar right above his hairline. The look of surprise on Jack's face at his momentary gracelessness had nearly been worth it. So he wasn't perfect. Screw it.
He shook himself out of his thoughts, bringing his gun up as he remembered the reason he was out in the middle of the woods in the first place. Jack. Well weevils, but mainly Jack, who had snapped his fingers and expected to be obeyed. Ianto snickered as his inner five year old blew a raspberry at the mention of the captain. Ianto would forgive him eventually, knowing that it was too much for him to ask to stop and consider the teaboy's feelings every time Jack opened his mouth.
Speaking of Jack. Ianto quickened his pace. Jack and Owen were ahead of him by a good 30 meters. Owen complaining, loudly.
"I hate this! There's more bugs out here than flies on a corpse, there's no computers, there's no coffee! How am I supposed to function without coffee?" Jack was watching the trees, either ignoring the doctor or taking pleasure in his annoyance.
Ianto let his gun fall to his side, which was really a shame, he though distractedly a second later when he was staring up at the sky between the tree tops, a snarling weevil on his chest, pinning him to the ground.
Ianto, for one surreal moment lay blinking up at the weevil, before deciding to scream. The weevil lunged for his throat at the sound, and Ianto barely had time to throw his arm up to block the attack. He felt the teeth close around his forearm and screamed again.
Then there were gunshots, and screaming from people other than himself, and the body above him jerked, teeth still firmly clamped around its prey. Jack was suddenly there, face blocking out the sky.
The weight lifted from his chest as Jack hauled the weevil off, and Ianto felt himself jerk in response, arm following the alien's jaws.
"Jack. Stop! Stop! His teeth!" Jack knocked the butt of his gun against the injured weevil's head, making its mouth open in shock. Jack threw the weevil to the side, and Ianto turned his head, refusing to look as three more shots were fired, execution style. He felt a wet splatter against his thin jacket.
He heard a new voice cursing, and realised belatedly it wasn't his. He opened his eyes to see Owen standing beside him, gun wavering between the Welshman and the, probably dead, alien beside him.
He tried for an apologetic smile, trying to reassure the doctor he didn't need to be shot as well. "ow."
Owen became a flurry of motion "Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck!" he swore as he dropped down next to him, hauling Ianto up and yanking off his jacket and over shirt to get to the bloody arm.
"Fuckity? Really?" Ianto gave a short almost hysterical giggle. "Oh dear. That was...unexpected. But I don't think it's too severe. It doesn't hurt that bad."
Owen gave him a brief, skeptical look, lips pressed together in a disapproving frown. "Shock." The doctor had apparently decided. "You're gonna be okay. I'm gonna fix you up. Then we'll get back to the hub, and think of some nice creative way of killing Jack for getting us out here." He was pressing against the arm, and making little concerned noises that sounded like swears.
"I heard that." Jack replied. Ianto craned his neck to see Jack, standing over the body of the weevil, gun pointed towards the woods. His smile seemed a bit too large. His voice a little too loud. "No killing the boss."
"Really I'm fine. I think I just had the wind knocked out of me mostly. It - It just stings. It's not bad." he caught sight of his arm. The bite marks were invisible under a flood of bright red blood. "...Or not." He stared in fascination; watching the sunlight glisten off the dark, wet leaves.
A loud ripping sound broke his concentration, and Ianto cried out in protest as Owen wrapped the wound in strips of Ianto's over-shirt.
"My shirt!"
"Shouldn't have got bit, mate." Owen didn't sound too apologetic, using the shirt to halt the blood flow. "Jack, we need to get him back to camp so I can get some proper bandages. Clean it out. See how bad it really is. I can't see a damn thing, but with the bleeding this bad..."
Owen didn't finish his sentence but Jack nodded sharply, not taking his eyes off the tree line as he reached down to help the doctor pull Ianto to his feet.
Ianto stumbled and focused his attention on his mildly throbbing arm, ignoring the murmur of conversation that could have been directed at him. His knee, his scalp, and now his arm. Yet another scar from the countryside. Maybe if he kept a scrapbook, nature wouldn't insist on giving him such mementos. He wondered why it didn't hurt more.
