Ianto was making breakfast, eggs and sausage by the smell of it, but Owen found he really couldn't be bothered to get out of bed. Not even the smell of fresh coffee, or the knowledge that if he didn't move soon he'd be forced out of bed rudely, were enough to rouse him. He was tired and he felt miserable. He would've liked to blame it on a late night of carousing, but he'd fallen asleep pretty early, and he hadn't had an eventful night before then. No, as much as he hated to admit it, it had been the nightmares that had kept him awake all night.

They'd been going on for the last two months, ever since he'd had his meltdown with Ianto, and for a while he'd been able to keep them under control. At first he'd simply taken a shot of something strong when he awoke suddenly in the night, and that had seemed to take care of it. Then it had progressed to the point that he hadn't been able to fall back to sleep if he wasn't in bed with someone, and even that had seemed manageable. It hadn't mattered that, for reasons he didn't like to think about, he was only ever in bed with Ianto these days, because their trysts occurred often enough not to leave him with too many sleepless nights. During that period, he would awake shivering and then bury himself in Ianto's warmth. Ianto would usually curl around him, holding him tightly in his sleep, and that had almost made the nightmares seem worth it. Then, about a week ago, not even whisky mixed with late night cuddling would do the trick. Owen had spent the last week almost constantly awake, only getting two, maybe three hours a night, and it was beginning to take it's toll. He was sleepwalking thru the day, screwing up menial tasks at work, blanking out when people were speaking to him, and fighting with his co-workers over petty, infantile things. It hadn't actually been too bad with Tosh or Gwen, he'd been able to keep a relatively civil tongue where they were concerned, but he was bickering with Ianto more than he'd like, and he'd pretty much started an all out war with Jack. It hadn't escaped Owen's attention that his insomnia and his fights with Jack were almost certainly caused by the same thing, but until this morning, he hadn't made up his mind to find a solution. Probably because he knew that there was only one reasonable solution, and that involved a conversation he really didn't want to have.

Today though, as lay in Ianto's bed too utterly exhausted to move, with his joints and head aching, and his eyes burning like they'd been salted, he knew the time had come. The time was long since past, actually. Owen heaved a sigh, and slowly climbed out of bed, willing his body not to give out on him. He pulled on last night's clothes, because he of course kept none over here, and made his shambling way into the living room.

Ianto greeted him with a cup of coffee, and a smile, looking for all the world like man without worries. He was wearing a tee shirt and pajama bottoms, his hair was disheveled, and he had almost an impish light in his eyes. He looked young and sweet and gorgeous, and in that moment Owen hated him more than he'd ever hated anything in his life. How was it fair that Ianto was able to sleep at night, that he was able to smile, and laugh and be so damn carefree, when Owen, who was only an accomplice in this crime, was left to feel like shit? Christ, this isn't right, Owen thought almost incoherently, and Ianto must have seen something of his thoughts on his face, because his smile faded and he moved to take his hand.

"Are you feeling alright this morning?" he asked, "because you look rather ill. Are you sick."

"No." Owen replied, his tone short, and he pulled his hand back without thinking. At the last moment he caught himself, and used his hand to scratch at his beard stubble, in a half-hearted attempt to cover the impudent gesture.

Ianto studied him for a moment, eyes narrowed and lips pursed, and then turned back to his breakfast. He'd looked hurt, and confused, and Owen wanted to put his arms around his shoulders, apologize and forget all about the conversation he'd planned. He almost did, because that would be easier, and far less hurtful, and Owen was too tired to do this. But, he was also far too tired not to, so in the end he sat down across from Ianto, folded his hands and said, "We need to talk."

Ianto remained silent, his face impassive, but for just a second he'd shown some emotion that might have been fear. Owen pushed the idea out of his mind, and focused on the speech he'd been planning for weeks.

"I haven't slept in weeks, Yan, and I keep having these nightmares. I keep dreaming that you get hurt, sometimes a weevil gets you, and sometimes it's a gunshot, but you're always dieing, and I try my best, I do everything I can, and I should be able to save you, but I can't. I'm just bloody sitting there holding you, and then he comes out of nowhere, and he takes you from me, and he kisses you and you live. Suddenly, you aren't even hurt anymore, and he has you in his arms, and he's laughing. I know it's fucked, but when I wake up, I can never tell if it was worse that I couldn't save you, or that he did. I know that's fucked, and so are we. It isn't fair, Ianto. I'm tired. I'm tired of playing second fiddle to a man that treats you like an afterthought, and I'm tired of feeling like shit every time you blow me off because I keep forgetting how precious Harkness is to you. He must be a stallion in the sack, because he isn't worth much else. He doesn't love you, Ianto. He will never love you. But, I do. That's the problem, right there. I love you. I'm not just the shag you have on weekends, when your boyfriend doesn't have time for you."

Owen was yelling at this point, but he didn't notice. The conversation he'd planned had turned into a tirade somewhere along the way, his anger had overtaken his sense and he was vaguely aware that he'd said things he was sure to regret later. He opened his mouth, whether to continue or apologize he wasn't sure, and Ianto cut him off.

"That's exactly what you are, Owen. And I'm just the shag you have when there's no one else. That's how this started, and I seem to recall having this out a few weeks ago, when we cam to the exact same conclusion. This is what it is, and there's nothing more to it. I tried to make that clear, and I never meant to lead you on. I'm sorry, Owen, I truly am, but if things have gone this far, I don't think we should let them go any further."

"No, I guess we shouldn't." Owen said, moving to get his things, "Go get your heart broken, again. Please, have at it. I really don't care anymore."

He angrily pulled on his shoes, grabbed his jacket and headed to the door. When he reached it he just stood for a moment, feeling like he should say something, or that Ianto should, but there was nothing but that awkward silence that comes at the end of all things, when it feels like every word has died. After a moment, when it became clear that there was nothing left, not one word, platitude, slogan or phrase, Owen left, shutting the door quietly behind him.

xxXXxx

When Ianto saw the door close so politely, he didn't fool himself into thinking that Owen was coming back. That soft, mannered little click held more finality than the loudest bang would have. He knew in his heart that it was over, and he knew that he should be feeling relieved, but instead he felt sick. His stomach knotted, his throat closed, his breath became shallow, and he knew he was on the verge of a panic attack. The feeling wasn't foreign to him, he'd suffered from them frequently after Canary Wharf, but it had been months since his last one. They'd started getting better after the horror with Lisa, because at least then it was finally over, and they'd gone away completely when he'd started seeing Jack.

Ianto stumbled into his bathroom, and tore the medicine cabinet apart looking for the bottle of Valium Owen insisted he keep on hand. He had a horrifying moment when he couldn't find it, thinking he'd have to suffer thru, and then he realized that he'd knocked it into the sink in his panic. He opened the bottle with shaking hands, and dry swallowed one of the little green pills. After it had taken affect, calming him enough to think, he realized his panic wasn't related to Owen leaving, at least not entirely. A large part of it had come from Owen's declaration before he'd left. Ianto had known for a while that Owen's feelings were deepening, but he'd hoped he'd never have to hear it. If he didn't hear it, it wasn't real, and if it wasn't real there were no consequences. But now, it was out there, fully articulated, and he was going to have to deal with it. What he'd been doing over the last few months had become very real, very quickly, and the guilt had hit him hard, along with a deep sense of foreboding. Ianto knew in his heart that he and Owen were finished, but he knew in his bones that finished didn't mean that this was done.

xxXXxx

Owen was worried when Ianto didn't show up on time that morning, but he chose not to think about it. What Ianto did, where he was or whom he was with, was no longer his concern. Ianto was twenty-five, and in a kind world that would still be almost a child, but their world was anything but kind, and Ianto could take care of himself. By the time lunch rolled around, and Ianto still hadn't put in an appearance, Owen was proud of himself that he wasn't thinking about it at all. If he looked around every time someone made a noise, or called Tosh by the wrong name when she brought him coffee, it was force of habit and nothing more. He felt he was dealing with the situation exceedingly well. He went about his day, performing autopsies and filing reports, and he most certainly wasn't thinking about Ianto. He even managed to mostly avoid Jack, which meant that he didn't get into a petty fight that now served no purpose. Owen's life was getting back on track. That is, until the rift alarm sounded, and he found himself alone in the SUV with Jack.

Owen honestly couldn't understand why he'd been chosen to accompany the boss, but he didn't appreciate it. Every time he looked at Jack's face he imagined Ianto touching him, kissing him, whispering soft non-sense words that held more meaning than all the conversations they had ever had. What was worse was the certainty he held deep in his heart, that Jack had never whispered those things back, that Jack had never once told Ianto that he loved him. Owen was surprised at the depth of anger he felt at that. He couldn't figure out if it was because Jack's indifference was more important to Ianto then his declarations of love could ever be, or if it was simply because Jack was hurting someone Owen loved. Either way, he felt a surge of hatred rise like bile in his throat, and he lost all sense of reason.

When Jack made some innocuous comment about life at Torchwood never being boring, Owen responded with, "Not for you, anyways. You have your play toy to occupy you in the downtime. Must be nice, having a good shag that's always at your beck and call." Jack's mouth tightened, and his eyes narrowed slightly.

"Okay," he said, "that's it. I know you've had some sort of problem with me lately, though I'm not sure what, but you will not bring Ianto into this. We are both happy with what we have, which you know nothing about. Whatever your issue with me is, it has absolutely nothing to do him, and our relationship is none of your business. Am I making myself clear, Owen, or do you need an exclamation point?"

Owen smiled, a mirthless bearing of teeth, and he actually felt his rage consuming the last thread of his sanity.

"I know nothing about it?" he said, " and Ianto's so happy with you? You are either very dumb, or very arrogant, Harkness. You can't see what's right in front of your bleeding face. I know all about you two. I know Ianto has a blind spot for you, which lets you walk all over him, I know that you enjoy having him around only because you can always bring him to his knees, I know that he knows that, and I know that he is anything but happy with you. If he was, then why would he have spent the last five months fucking me?"

The minute the words left his mouth, Owen felt his entire body flush with heat. He knew that he had just burned every bridge that was important to him, and he was surprised to find himself reveling in the warmth of it. Jack sat silently for a moment, as if he hadn't heard, and then he wrenched the SUV around, bringing it up on two tires and throwing Owen against the side. He brought it to a stop on the shoulder of the road, threw his door open, and was around the front before Owen could register the movement. He wrenched the passenger door open and pulled Owen out by his shirt. There was a look in his eyes that was just short of murder, and Owen's spirits soared perversely to see it.

"What the hell did you just say?" Jack said, his face inches from Owen's. Owen laughed, and licked his lips.

"Oh, you heard me." he said, "What, are you really surprised? With the way you treat him? Please, Jack, if it hadn't been me, it would have been some bloke he picked up in a pub. You should feel lucky, really. At least I'm safe. Until he asks me not to be."

Jack pushed him back roughly, a look of revulsion filling his face. They stood in silence for a moment, Owen smiling insanely, Jack's fists clenched tightly. Finally, after what seemed like days, Jack said, "That's low Owen, even for you. If Ianto were sleeping with someone else, he'd tell me. And, never in a thousand years would it be you."

"You have such faith in him, that's touching." Owen said, "Sorry it's so misplaced. Ianto has a tattoo on his hip, a sort of tribal sun. He likes it when you lick it. Of course, that's not the only thing he likes to be-"

Owen's words were cut off as Jack's fist smashed into his lips. He fell backwards into the SUV, and when he stood up his ever-present smile was stained red.

"What?" he asked, "I thought you had an open thing going. Didn't really think this would be a problem."

"Well, you thought wrong. You've been fucking my boyfriend, behind my back, for God knows how long. You both betrayed me, betrayed the trust I put in you, and you didn't think it would be a problem? How could you do this? In what way did you think this was alright?"

Owen's smile finally faded as he heard the tone of Jack's voice. It sounded eerily like the pain and anger that had been in his own just that morning, and, for some reason, in killed his euphoria and replaced it with rage.

"I actually didn't." he said, "The whole thing was pretty fucked up from the start. But, see, I don't think you're the one that has the right to be angry."

"Excuse me?"

"We started when you left. You were gone, you left no word, and you just vanished. We didn't know if you'd ever be back. And then you waltz in here, and you start up with Ianto again, and I get pushed to the back burner. You were the one that got to have a real relationship with him, you were the one people got to know about, and I was left picking up the pieces every time you broke his heart. You take him for granted. You're too self-involved to realize what you've got with him, and I have to play second fiddle. To my mind, you're the one that took what should have been mine."

Jack took a step forward, his hands closed into fists, and when he spoke his voice was low and menacing.

"He's not an object, he doesn't belong to anybody. He made his choice and he chose me. You should have respected that."

Owen scoffed, and rolled his eyes.

"Please, he didn't choose anyone." he said, "He still kept up with me long after you came back. He had us both."

" Yeah, but when it comes down to love, it's my name he keeps mentioning. Did he ever scream it out when you were with him? He did, didn't he? How many times? Once? Twice? Every time? Was he embarrassed, or did he expect you to understand? He's never called out your name when he's with me. In fact, he never mentions you at all."

Jack moved closer as he said this, until Owen could feel his breath against his face. For one fleeting moment, he felt the urge to end this here, to apologize and explain that he'd never meant much too Ianto, and that their thing was actually over. But, again, his frustration and rage won out and he said, "I suppose you're proud of that. I suppose you love the fact that he loves you so much. Well, I love him, and I can't stand how you make him grovel. Fuck you, Jack."

"My standards are obviously higher than Ianto's. Not in a million years."

Owen smirked, and then he hit Jack with all the force of five months pent-up ire. Jack stumbled backwards, got his bearings, and then he charged.