DI Jack Harkness sat on the edge of the hospital bed, applying pressure to the gunshot wound in his left arm. Injuries like this came with the job; he was a detective inspector for Cardiff Police. Recently he had been tracking down a local drugs lord with a large client list, one of which had given him this most recent injury.

Doctor Owen Harper pulled back the hospital curtain and glanced down at the IPad he was holding.

"Right Harkness," He began, squinting at the screen. "The bullet has missed all major arteries thankfully, so it will be a simple removal and stitch up job."

Jack respected the man in front of him – Owen had stitched Jack up on more than one occasion and the two had been firm friends for a number of years. Both enjoyed a little socialising outside of work along with their mutual friends Gwen and Rhys Williams, and Toshiko Sato, Owen's girlfriend. Gwen worked under Jack for the police; Tosh worked in the hospital lab and Rhys was a porter so they both saw Owen on a regular basis. On the rare occasion they could all get together during time off, it was common practise to share a takeout and beers until the early hours of the following morning.

"How long are you keeping me this time?" Jack glanced at the watch on his opposite wrist.

"Don't even think about returning to the office today Harkness," Owen snapped. "I'll get a nurse to come and sort your arm but you need at least an hour or two of observation before I let you go. And then you go straight home and put your feet up if you can manage that!"

Jack sighed and sat back against the head of the bed. He should have known Owen wouldn't take any crap. That was one of the many reasons they got on so well.

A couple of hours later Owen returned to his friend. Jack could tell the young doctor had been having a tough shift; he had been running his hands through his hair and left it all sticking up. If he didn't know Owen better, Jack would have teased and called him hot to his face. As it is, a comment like that Jack knew would just wind his friend up further.

"You ok?"

Owen gave Jack a small smile. "I think I should be asking you that."

"Oh you know me, tough as old boots."

Owen snorted. "One day you're going to piss off the wrong bloke, Harkness."

"Yeah and I will make sure you're the one to put me back together again," Jack hit back with a chuckle.

Owen gently examined Jack's wound. Another thing the detective appreciated about Doctor Harper; despite his brash personality his bedside manner was impeccable when it mattered. He really cared for each of his patients.

"Well, this is all looking as well as it can." Owen turned back to his notes. "I can get your discharge forms sorted –"

"Great," Moaned Jack. "A whole week of daytime TV to look forward to!"

"Look," Owen sighed. "If you want to do something useful, why not help me out with a patient?"

"Am I allowed to do that?"

In a rare show of emotion, Owen rubbed his hand over his face, and Jack was struck with how tired he seemed.

"Owen?"

"Speaking as a friend, not as a Doctor…"

"Go on."

"Young bloke in cubicle 7, he's slowly becoming a regular face." Owen sighed. "It's clearly a case of domestic abuse, but of course he doesn't say, he gives us the usual stories; a fall down the stairs, tripped over the cat that sort of thing."

"And you're worried you're going to see him in ICU?"

"Jack, I'm worried I'm going to see him in a body bag."

Jack frowned. It wasn't like Owen to become quite so involved in a patient's life.

"What do you want me to do Owen?"

"I don't know, I just, I need someone to get through to him and I thought, maybe with all your experience you might be able to…" Owen broke off and Jack reached out and placed a hand on his friends shoulder.

"Leave it with me."

Jack stood close to the A&E entrance as he ended his call with his superior at the police station. Everything was in hand for his time off as his arm healed, although he knew he would have a hefty pile of paperwork ready and waiting on his desk when he returned!

As he shoved the phone back into his pocket and considered returning inside to seek out Owen's patient, he glanced up to see a young, blue eyed man exit the automatic doors, bruising around his eye clearly visible, and as he moved Jack could detect a slight limp.

"Hey," Jack found himself calling out to the stranger. "Let me guess, I should see the other guy right?"

The effects of the joke were instantaneous, and Jack had no doubt that this could indeed be Owen's domestic abuse patient.

The man's eyes filled with hurt, he tensed his muscles in defence and crossed his arms across his chest.

"S-sorry?" He responded softly in a beautiful welsh accent.

Jack's smile disappeared.

"No, I'm sorry," He said sincerely. "I couldn't resist a little banter, but thinking about it, it probably wasn't in the best taste."

The young man gave a slow nod.

"Jack Harkness." Jack held out his good hand hopefully. After a moment's hesitation, it was received.

"Jones, Ianto Jones." That soft welsh accent again.

"Nice to meet you, Jones Ianto Jones!" Jack shook the soft had held in his grip, and didn't fail to notice how quick Ianto took his hand back.

"So what brings you to sample the delights of our NHS?"

Ianto swallowed.

"I, uh… it's a bit embarrassing really." He looked at his feet. "I was trying to sort the garden but got myself caught up with the garden hose."

Jack nodded silently. He gestured to his arm which by now was tied up in a sling.

"Gunshot wound."

Ianto's eyes widened, and Jack chuckled.

"It's not the worst I've had; a few years back I was stabbed by a crazy bloke because I was trying to protect the boyfriend he'd been beating up for weeks. Still, rather me than him."

This story had the intended effect. Ianto's eyes flew downwards again, and Jack could see the young man mulling over what he had just been told.

"If there's one thing I hate," Jack continued. "Its people who hurt other people just because they can, because it makes them feel strong or powerful."

"I should go." Ianto said to his feet.

"Oh yeah, of course, sorry." Jack smiled. "Here's me nattering away!"

He dug into his pocket and found one of his brothers old window cleaning service cards. The mobile number at the bottom was the one Jack still used today, and he knew it was a lot safer handing this over to Ianto than one with the Police Force stamp.

"Here," He thrust the card into Ianto's hand. "I don't do the window cleaning any more but the number is the same, any time you wanted to hear me carry on nattering!"

Ianto had accepted the card automatically but looked as though he regretted it.

"Or," continued Jack, "Drop me a text if you ever want to grab a beer?"

Ianto gave him a small smile.

"Thanks, I'll think about it." The card went straight into the back pocket. Ianto Jones glanced once more at the impressive, and he must admit handsome, man in front of him before turning away and heading for the row of taxis.

Jack stared after him until he disappeared from view, then glanced around to see Owen coming towards him.

"Jack, no luck," He was saying. "Ianto… I mean, that patient? He discharged himself. He's gone."

"Don't worry Owen." Jack said quietly. "He knows how to reach me."

As the taxi pulled away from the hospital, Ianto Jones let out a huge sigh. He'd spent the last few hours holding in so much, and knew that it would all need to be kept in again once he returned to his so-called "home".

He fished around in his pocket for the card from Jack Harkness and spent a few moments debating his options before finally slipping it into his wallet behind his organ donor card. The only thing she looked through his wallet for was cash anyway, so it should be safe there. He even found himself pondering under what alias he would enter Jack's number as in his phone, before he mentally shook himself. What was he thinking? She would know. She always knows.

Just under twenty minutes later, Ianto paid the taxi driver and steadily made his way up the front path to his front door, his breathing already becoming shallower. What awaited behind the front door this time he could only begin to imagine…