Did I mention this fic keeps running off on me? This was supposed to be the last chapter, but the boys had other ideas.
When you're this drunk, singing with your mates is the most natural thing in the world. Karaoke thrives on it.
"Memories," Owen warbles.
"All alone in the moonlight," Ianto's voice chimes in, and he's not half bad.
Owen placed a hand clumsily over Ianto's mouth. "Wrong words," he chides. "Decent voice though," he concedes, letting his hand drop away.
"Choir," Ianto says dismissively. "And they are the right words. Cats. For God's sake, Harper, have you no culture at all?"
"Yeah, yeah. Show tunes. Figures. But I meant the other one. Y'know." Owen stops to take in a deep breath before launching back into song. "Misty water colored Memories." Another pause, during which Owen lubricates his throat before continuing. "Of the way we weeeeerrree."
"That one," Ianto agrees. Pauses to lubricate his own throat, but he's still savvy enough to make it water this time. "And could it be…"
They sing along for a bit, together, until Ianto stops and fixes Owen with a annoyed stare. "Where do you get off having a go at me for singing show tunes when you've picked the theme from one of the soppiest chick flicks of all time?"
"Katie's favorite," Owen confesses, and he doesn't feel like singing anymore, so Ianto carries on alone. "If we had the chance to do it all again." The singing stops when he reaches the last line, though, and he asks it instead. "Would we? Could we?" Pause. Sip. "Would you, Owen?"
The silence is profound, giving the hum of the refrigerator all the impact of a jet engine.
"Hell, yeah," Owen says eventually. "Wouldn't you?"
"Course I would." Ianto answers indignantly.
Owen leans forward intently. "Even if you knew how it'd turn out?"
"Hmmm." It's a deep question, and it deserves a sip of scotch. "Yeah," Ianto says eventually. "Even then. I couldn't leave her there, at the Wharf, strapped to the table."
Owen nods. He could use a fire to stare into, but the flat came with central heating, so he watches the alcohol swirl around his glass, instead.
"You?" Ianto prompts. "If Jack had gotten to you earlier, told you what was going on?"
It appears they're taking turns at this, and it's his go, but thinking is difficult, and thinking about Katie is harder still. Would he have let her go, knowing what would happen? No chance.
"Wouldn't let them operate," Owen concedes. "Not if I knew she wasn't going to survive it. I'd just make the most of what we had left, I reckon. What about you then, what would you do different?"
Ianto stares into the bottom of his glass. "I'd tell you instead of Tanizaki."
Their glasses clink. Their gazes lock. It's reassuring to know that they'll forget this tomorrow. Even if they don't.
-XXX-
Ianto wanders into the kitchen to refill the water jug. Owen occupies himself with staring intently at the digital clock on the DVD player, feeling a tiny spur of triumph when his eyes focus enough to decipher it. It's not even midnight yet. Must have started early, he reflects, even though he's got no idea what time he left work. Or what time Ianto found him at the bar.
Ianto returns and pushes a tumbler into Owen's hand. Water again, but he probably needs it. Owen sips obediently.
"Jack'll be looking for you," he comments.
Ianto flops back onto the couch and inspects the watch strapped to his wrist. "Probably still asleep," he decides. An eyebrow quirks in Owen's direction. "Unless that was my cue to leave."
Owen shakes his head, regrets the enthusiasm he put into it, and swigs some more water. "Thought he doesn't sleep," he muses, swiveling a questioning eye towards Ianto. "That's what he always says."
Ianto sniffs. "Just another story, that is. Of course he sleeps. Practically have to throw a glass of water in his face to get him awake, sometimes. Unless it's an alert," he adds, with the air of someone trying to be fair. "But yeah, he sleeps. He snores, too. And he drools."
They laugh together, but Owen thinks Ianto's laughter sounds a bit brittle.
"How bad was it?" Owen asks. "Jack, tonight."
Ianto shrugs, far too casually. "Bad. Slow. Too slow." He stops, swigs down a mouthful of scotch large enough to be a crime, and shudders from the burn. Serves him right. Booze of that quality ought to be savored, not swigged. "He asked me to kill him."
Owen sucks in a breath. He'd suspected that, but he hadn't expected Ianto to tell him about it, even if he hasn't said whether he actually did it or not. Something warns Owen not to ask, so he doesn't. Waits, instead.
"I didn't," Ianto says, just when Owen's given up hoping to hear more, which only goes to show you can never rely on that bloke to do anything you expect. "I can't," Ianto continues, eyes lifting back to the window, and the sheen in them has to be the reflection from the glass, doesn't it? "I've tried, but I never can."
Owen can't think of anything to say in response to that. But he thinks he understands now, after all this time, how Ianto could watch the woman he loved degenerate into a monster, over what must have been months, and do nothing to put her out of her misery. He couldn't. He tried, but he couldn't. Fair enough. If the thing in Katie's head turned her violent, Owen probably wouldn't have done anything about it, either.
-XXX-
"I told him," Ianto says later, after they've seriously lowered the level of scotch left in the bottle. "Do you remember?"
"What did you tell him?" Owen asks, frowning in case it's already been said.
Ianto sits up with visible effort, and looks Owen right in the eye.
"I told him I'd watch him suffer and die, didn't I?" Ianto demands.
Err, yeah, he did. Was that before or after he split Jack's lip?
Owen doesn't know what the right response is, so he merely sits up too.
"So?" he prompts, when nothing more is forthcoming.
"Sooooo," Ianto responds. "Y'know that saying, or curse, or whatever it is? Careful what you wish for, 'cause you might get it?"
Owen nods, and his brain's got the wobbles again. Maybe they've had enough to drink. Or maybe they need more. There's a fair bit left and it'd be a shame to waste it. It never tastes as good after the bottle's been opened. Or is that wine? Owen shrugs and refills his glass, and Ianto's too, and doesn't spill a drop.
"That's what happened," Ianto confides, words tumbling over each other in their need to escape, to be purged. "I said it, and it happened, and it keeps happening. I watch him suffer. I watch him die. Over and over and I have to be there, and I have to watch."
Owen tries to process it, and blinks, and quails inside as it suddenly becomes clear. He's thought before, that maybe Ianto stays with Jack out of obligation, or guilt, or something. Still making up for Lisa. But it's not that. It's the pain.
Jack doesn't show it to anyone else. He's sat impassively while Owen reset his bones - because even his freaky healing process can't put them back into place - and it must hurt, but it never shows on his face. Not even a silent trickle of moisture from beneath closed lids that Owen can grandly pretend to ignore.
But Jack shows his pain to Ianto, and it's cracking the mask, big time. He can't bear the trust, can't stand the pain that he can't fix, and it's dragging the poor little prick in.
Long ago, Owen traded his sense of compassion for his medical degree. Doctors have to learn detachment, or the job will kill you if it doesn't drive you mad first. So that part of the human psyche that lets you drown in someone else's pain, that's gone.
Or so he thought. "You don't have to," Owen points out. Desperately, like it'll make a difference, like it'll help. "You don't have to, Ianto."
Ianto merely stares at him, pain overflowing and engulfing Owen, too, reawakening those pathways that hurt for someone else. And God, it does hurt, and he's only getting it secondhand.
"But I do," Ianto says, and what else can you call that but a whimper?
Owen breathes, in then out, and takes a drink. A long, burning, steadying swallow. The scotch isn't playing nice with the vodka, but he'll deal with that tomorrow. And maybe his head isn't clear, but he knows exactly what to say.
"You don't have to Ianto. You choose to. And thank God for that because…bloody hell mate, someone's got to."
"But why me?"
It's the world's oldest plea, isn't it? The blue eyes are wide, and frightened, and Owen's reminded again that Ianto's only a young bloke. Why him, indeed. He's too young for all the shit life's thrown at him. In the heat of the moment, with a fresh load of alcohol in his bloodstream, Owen could hate Jack for pulling Ianto back to the edge like this. 'Cause he's there, teetering, and it won't take much to push him over. And somehow Owen's just a tiny bit envious, because he remembers how good it is, in that abyss. Until it breaks you, of course. So Owen's scared, too. Scared for this weedy little twat he doesn't even like.
But might actually love, on some weird level. Best not to think about that. Best to work out how to drag him back to safety.
"So don't do it, then," Owen says, harshly. "Back off. Leave him. Give it enough time and Gwen will step in. Jack won't mind. He's only been holding off with her 'cause of you anyway."
Ianto flinches as if he's been slapped. Owen flinches, too, inside. Guess that was the wrong this to say, probably wrong on a dozen different levels. But he was only trying to help. Or was he? Maybe, Owen concedes, just maybe he was only trying to help himself. Because if Ianto's working himself up to take the plunge, while Owen's still running backwards as hard as he can, then somehow that makes Owen a bigger coward than he was yesterday. Or maybe it's just that misery loves company. Whatever, it's not helping the bloke who's trusting him with his demons tonight.
The problem is, helping Ianto would unleash Owen's own demons, the ones he thought he left in that Weevil cage, and is he really ready for that? The shuddering in his gut tells him he's not, unless it's the vodka getting its revenge. But Ianto's talking again, so all he has to do is listen, and he can do that, right?
"It scares me, Owen," Ianto confesses. He's not quite looking at Owen, but he's not looking at anything else either. And it is a confession, an admission of guilt, something he's ashamed of, poor sod. He's survived Cyber men and Daleks and a homicidal girlfriend, been captured and damned near eaten, and he's scared of this? Sad twisted little shit.
"He scares me."
Owen gulps, and there's not even anything in his mouth to swallow. God, this is hard. The bloke is a little shit, but he might just be the bravest man Owen's ever met.
"Why does he scare you?" Owen asks, while something inside him cracks just a tiny bit, exposing a soft side Owen didn't know he still had. "Because…..because you love him?"
Ianto shakes his head, almost frantic. "I don't," he insists. "Bloody hell, Owen. I don't."
"OK, so you don't," Owen says hastily. That was the booze talking. He should have just stuck with the listening thing but it's too late, now. He reaches out a hand, awkwardly, because he doesn't do soothing, and tentatively pats Ianto on the shoulder.
"I don't," Ianto repeats, shrinking away from the hand and back into the couch cushions.
Owen can't help wondering if he's trying to convince himself, 'cause he's not convincing anyone else.
"But you could, right?" Owen asks softly.
"I could," Ianto agrees, and he sounds like a child describing the monster under his bed.
Thank you for reading. They've hit the bottom, and I can't leave 'em there, so there'll be another chapter.
