Notes: Well, firstly, sorry this chapter is so small.

Also, warning for this chapter if you are squeamish! I'm not very squeamish myself, so I don't know how bad this will be for those who are (or even if it's bad at all). But just in case, be warned.

Because of this chapter, I considered making this story M-rated, just for the graphic nature and/or language. I think I'll keep it T for now. Any opinions about that? If you think I should change it or keep it the same rating, please let me know. I just want to make sure it's rated correctly.

Anyway, read on, my friends!

Chapter 5

Shit, it hurt. Holy motherfucking God, everything hurt. His head, his leg, his arms, his wrists… Everything. Hurt.

Ianto woke unsteadily, but he didn't open his eyes just yet. He clung desperately to the rapidly-fading unconsciousness, wishing it had lasted much longer. As the last shred of his sleep was washed away by the massive ocean that was his all-encompassing pain, he lifted his head. Then instantly regretted it.

His heartbeat pounded severely behind his eyes and at the back of his head, where he assumed bruises were forming. He could feel a swollen lump slightly above his temple, and it throbbed along to the beat of his heart as well. Ianto tried to focus on those little things rather than the biggest discomfort of them all.

His leg. His fucking leg.

He shifted his hips to get more comfortable, and a sharp stab exploded from his left calf. The jolt made Ianto's eyes snap open and he gasped loudly, holding back a moan. He froze, not even breathing, as he waited for the pain to subside. It refused to yield, and he had to force himself to breathe. Breath after breath, Ianto swore the pain kept getting worse. He looked down, catching a glimpse of his bloodied pant leg, tattered in places and stiff with dried blood. Not at all calmed by the sight, he leaned back and clenched his jaw shut.

"Good morning," a low voice said, startling the Welshman. He looked in the direction of the sound, trying to squint through the darkness. The voice obviously came from Scott Walker, but he could barely see the outline of the huge man.

Where was he, anyway?

He was hanging from a wall; that much was easy to deduce. Around his wrists he could feel the cold metal of handcuffs digging into his skin and leaving abrasions. His lifted his fingers to feel a metal pipe that the cuffs were around, the thing holding him fast to the wall. He was hanging low enough that his knees almost touched the ground, so his legs were splayed awkwardly in front of him, his left lying more inelegantly than the other. Through his shirt he could feel his shoulders and back scraping against a rough wall, made of something that felt like concrete. When he squinted at the ceiling he could see it sloped down at the sides like a tunnel. At one end was a turn, leading God-knows where, and at the other a plain wall, cutting off the shaft.

He shifted in the restraints once more, accidentally twisting and dragging his leg closer. The harsh pain echoed throughout his entire body, and he couldn't hold back the curse that came to his lips. He groaned as it became acutely focused in on his calf, and his fingernails dug into his palms.

He could feel everything in his leg. The gaping hole where someone had probably dug their fingers in to extract the bullet, the dried blood stiffening his sock, the fracture in his bone that radiated a sharp pang.

"Sorry about that," Scott spoke again, stepping forward. Ianto craned his head to peer upwards into his face. The soft light that filtered in from the turn around the corner lit up his face enough for him to see that Scott looked tired. There were heavy bags under his eyes and his lips turned down at the edges. "I didn't want to shoot, but you were running. I had no choice."

"W-why do you want me?" Ianto choked out, gritting his teeth through the pain. He breathed deeply again, forcing himself to focus on what was going on.

Scott chuckled darkly, taking another step forward. At this point, he was so close that Ianto couldn't tilt his head far enough back to see his face, so he settled for trying not to stare at his crotch, which was directly beside his face. The Welshman looked at the shadowed wall across from him as he listened to the man's gravelly voice. "Aren't you cute?" He threaded his fingers through Ianto's hair, making his skin squirm. "I don't want you, actually. I just need you as bait. I could have used anyone, but you were the best choice."

Ianto closed his eyes, pained for a reason other than his leg. "Bait for what?" He tried to think of something this man might want. Something from Torchwood, obviously, but what? The Resurrection Glove? But it only kept someone alive for a few moments; it would hardly be worth all this trouble. He could easily get high-tech weaponry somewhere else, so he most likely wasn't bargaining for some guns. Ianto searched his memory for anything that would be worth it, but he couldn't think clearly enough.

"I want your lovely friend," he started, but Ianto knew the answer before he even finished his sentence. His stomach dropped. "I want Jack Harkness."

"Jack Harkness, you get your bloody hands off of me," Owen growled fiercely, writhing under the man's grip as he was lowered through the manhole into the sewer. When his feet hit pavement he strutted out of the way, cradling his medical equipment in both arms. Behind him he heard sniggering, and when he turned both Gwen and Toshiko had innocent looks on their faces. "Laugh all you want, ladies. Maybe I won't be there next time you get shot." Gwen just rolled her eyes as the Japanese woman hid a smile.

"Focus, you three," Jack snapped as he dropped down beside them. "We're here to find Ianto." He raised a gun and a flashlight and pointed them down the sloped tunnel, hardly batting an eye before taking off at a steady pace. The others followed closely behind, Owen trailing at the back with his equipment held precariously in one arm and holding his gun with his free hand.

They went on like this for what seemed to Owen like forever, peering down tunnels, arguing about which way to go, checking instruments for any signs, and walking. They never stopped walking. He started to fall behind, and jogged to catch up, his foot plunging into a puddle of what he told himself was mud, even though he was a doctor and he could definitely tell what that was.

"This is absolute bullshit," he muttered, scraping his shoe against the concrete floor.

"Actually, I'd say that's Weevil." Owen looked up to see Toshiko smiling politely at him, though he could see a gleam of pride at her own joke in her eyes.

"You know what, Tosh?" He smiled cynically, making her expression drop in disappointment. "I think—"

"Hurry up!" Both team members' heads shot up at the sound of Jack's voice. Their boss was glaring back at them, Gwen beside him nearly twenty meters ahead. They shared a glance at each other then sped up to catch them, staying silent as they walked.

"So where is your precious Jack? Hmm?" Scott had kneeled down in front of Ianto, his breath hot on his sweat-stained cheeks. The Welshman had briefly considered kicking him with his good leg, but he knew that (a) it would be a terrible shot from this angle, (b) Scott had a gun tucked in his belt that he could easily, and would willingly, use, and (c) he needed to find out why he wanted Jack. Whether it be an old grudge or a strange infatuation, Ianto felt he should investigate. Scott Walker didn't seem like the typical bloke.

"I don't know," he answered simply, and it honestly wasn't a lie. He assumed the team knew he was missing– God, he wasn't that unremarkable, was he? – but he wasn't positive if they knew where he was. He wasn't positive where he was; it was too dark to make anything out other than sloped walls and pipes. He could be anywhere.

"Well, I know where he is," Scott continued, reaching forward with a large hand to caress Ianto's cheek. He tried to ignore the revulsion at the knuckle that grazed against his jaw, keeping a blank face and tight lips. "He's in here now, with the team. They're looking for you, Ianto," he said, as if in warning. He looked at him with cold, dark eyes, his expression grave as the back of his fingers came to rest on his cheek. "They just need some help to find you."

The man stood and backed away a few paces, staring at the captive like he was a piece of meat. Ianto felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise in anticipation and fear as he was scrutinized silently for some time. Sharp eyes raked over his body, past his sore arms, over his tattered clothing, and down to his distorted legs. He was so shaken by being watched this intensely he almost forgot his composure. He cleared his throat and adjusted his wrists, wincing as the metal handcuffs dug farther into his skin.

"What do you want with Jack?" he started, trying his best to act like he wasn't bothered by any of this. His pulsing leg, the gashed skin at his wrists, the throbbing heartbeat pounding away throughout his entire body. All of it hurt, but he hoped he looked calm on the outside. "He's just an ordinary guy; why would you go to this trouble for one guy?"

"No," Scott replied, his voice stern. "Don't play stupid. We both know why Jack Harkness is no ordinary man." He stepped forward, suddenly severe. "I have seen him slaughtered, shot, and ripped apart on more than one occasion. And after it all, he stands up and walks off." He kneeled down in front of Ianto, glaring at him with hard eyes. "Don't you dare look at me and tell me he is a regular man. Your dear Captain is anything but, and he doesn't deserve to be treated as anything other than remarkable. Do not play idiot and pretend he is ordinary. Do you understand me?"

Ianto's throat had seemed to dry and swell as Scott continued to speak, so he could only nod meekly in response.

"Good," he rumbled, seeming to blink away his anger in a flash. His hand came up to rest on the captive's cheek, his fingertips cold and hard against the skin. His nails scratched lightly, and he tilted his head, as if strongly fascinated. "You know," he mused, "I don't understand what he sees in you. You're a secretary. A coffee boy. There's absolutely nothing remarkable about you." He squinted, then pushed himself up so he was standing above Ianto. "To each his own, I guess. I don't really care, though, as long as you get him here."

"What do you expect me to do?" Ianto queried, straining his neck to catch a glimpse of Scott. The man's teeth glinted in the faint light as he grinned menacingly. His knee bent and his foot came up a little ways, hovering over Ianto's injured leg.

"Sing." Scott's foot came down, and a snap echoed through the quiet tunnel, followed by a deafening scream.