#stickingplasters

❝ you know, owen, i can’t really tell if you’re expecting an apology for that, or if this is your way of giving me a compliment. ❞ it is with a quirked brow that he looks up from the mugs he’d been filling, finding the gaze of OWEN HARPER. a silent beat passes before ianto takes a breath, and his attention is turned back to the drinks he’d been preparing. 

he knows to what the medic refers. only minutes ago, the young welshman had excused himself from the conference room after filling the team in on everything he knows about the doctor-- hoping for some kind of clue as to jack’s whereabouts.

but, as all things do, the information had come with A PRICE.

never had ianto opened up to the others about his time at torchwood one. of course, they’d known he’d been an agent of the london based branch, and they’d known he survived the invasion of both dalek and cyberman, alike.

now they know everything. they know only TWENTY-SEVEN had walked away that day. they know that ianto had been the right hand man of yvonne hartman. they know he had been the highest ranking agent when canary wharf fell, and that he had access-- could still get tosh access, to information only one other knew. 

and they know that there is more to ianto jones than anyone could have expected. 

there’s always that jolt of surprised fear in your heart when someone knocks on your door. for captain jack harkness it was heightened by many factors. it could be the doctor that he still hasn’t found again, someone from his past that would kill him, humans who needed help with alien whatever. yet no matter how mundane it all seemed the captain still didn’t feel any less anxious when the rapping wood reverberated around the room.

    “who is it?” hand instinctively resting on the butt of his holster weapon. yes it was too much but could one blame the man to be more careful? of the many, MANY years to have passed him by jack could never be too cautious. he would rather to not die today if he could help it. “if you’re selling something i’d rather –”

icy hues fall upon someone who never expected to see. two whole WEEKS and here the man in question, owen harper, stands on the threshold of his flat.

    “owen”

Muse name & pronouns: Owen Harper, he/him Muse age: 26 Role: The Groom Stereotype: The dashing hero. Brief Biography: Owen Harper is 26 years old. He is marrying Ophelia. Working as a Doctor all Owen Harper ever wanted to do was save people. He went to medical-school, worked hard and is now surgeon. With a difficult relationship with his family, especially his mother, much has happened to Owen that not many know about. What people know about him is that he is a ‘twat’. A colder attitude to the world outside of his job, he comes across as the local asshole. However his bedside manner could never be questioned for it is perfect. Truly Owen Harper wants to help and save. The world was simply cruel to him for too long for him to be kind forever. Yet you only have to look at his face as he watches his wife-to-be in order to see that Owen is not the asshole he portrays. He loves her with all of his heart. He’ll do anything for her.

                         “tosh, I don’t know what you expect me to do but I am NOT sitting here while they go out there and get their  A S S E S kicked!” Owen yells. Tensions run surprisingly high for the fact that Owen’s currently bleeding profusely from his abdomen. It’s been cleaned. It’s been patched. He’s done all he can.

So, now he’s going to head back out onto the field and FINISH the job.

The doctor sniffs hard, trying to remove some of the congealed blood from his nostrils with a rough wipe of his shirt sleeve to his nose. He regrets that  I N S T A N T L Y. The nose is bloody because it’s broken. Owen isn’t sure anything is supposed to hurt more than the gun shot wound to his torso in this moment but he’s suddenly seeing STARS.

                        Then again, he can blame that on the ATTACKER. It wasn’t exactly nice of them to kick a man while he’s down. LITERALLY`. By stomping on his face.

Trying his hardest to shuffle off his own medical table when he only has the use of one arm - the other is still clutching his wound - and his feet don’t touch the floor, Owen lets out a couple of soft and completely INVOLUNTARY grunts of pain until he’s standing.

“I can rest when I’m DEAD, Tosh. They need  e v e r y one of us out there - that includes ME.” Owen says firmly, eyes locking onto Tosh’s own and imploring her to understand so desperately. “We’ve already proven they’ve got guns.” He says, gesturing to his own wound. “What if GWEN gets shot and I’m not there to help her… what if it’s ianto? jack? Don’t keep me here in this med-bay.”

                                                                            “P L E A S E.”

LOUD ANGER weaves through a voice familiar to toshiko -- anger not often directed at her person, but anger that ricochets off her chest as though the slight woman were built of titanium. she stands bulletproof against his tirade -- for she KNOWS from where the heat comes.

F E A R . fear for those he loves drives owen to move -- injured though he is, useless though he will be in the field. protection instinct above all, and it is for THIS REASON that she has been ordered to stay behind with the medic. the team that has become her family knows him closely -- deeply enough to anticipate THIS REACTION.

hand outstretched meets the man’s chest, rapid pulse evident against palm as smaller body blocks larger from his intended exit, dark eyes soft with empathy and concern.

                ❝ you go OUT THERE, and you will be dead, owen ! ❞

injuries are taken in with a sweeping look over him, and slender fingers curl around arm, grip firm with determination. he WILL NOT LEAVE. it is not an option. regardless his own worries, the other four will not allow him to be lost for their sake.

                ❝ what if it’s gwen, or jack, or ianto ? what if it’s you ? it was you -- you’re SHOT, owen, you’re not going back out in that field. ❞

firm shake of her head follows commanding words, though tone softens now, pleading, desperate that he understand and acquiesce. she is used to remaining behind, sheltered behind screens and participating from the background. owen, she knows, is not.

She hadn’t expected it to be easy.

SILENCE. eerie, vast silence blankets the hub -- normally so alive with the humming of machines and the playful bubbling of water from the landmark above. now, none of it can be heard -- almost as if the area were frozen in time.

dark eyes flit about the space, taking in the desolate aura of a place she usually finds makes her feel most at home, before a low warning is issued to the resident medic, hushed as though not to disturb what has caused this abnormality.

    ❝ nothing here is as it seems. ❞

                                                 I KNOW.

she wants to say it – to admit she knows, to tell him that she SEES him. but admitting this will tell him many other things. it will tell him that she watches him – that she knows him, perhaps, better than anyone else on the team. that she understands his mannerisms, that she sees the pain he hides until he believes NO ONE ELSE is watching.

but tosh watches. tosh sees. toshiko sato will always see owen harper, even when he thinks he is ALONE.

      ❝ i don’t expect you to simply get better, owen. ❞

she glances up at him, and for ONCE, holds his gaze steadily, rather than looking away. maybe the others would rather he simply be. or maybe the others simply don’t understand. but toshiko will never underestimate the power of pain, and the damage it can do. the havoc it can wreak in someone’s life. doesn’t she know it all too well ?

      ❝ owen – i know you’re hurting. i didn’t think it would ever STOP. it’s like a gunshot. it may stop bleeding, but i know it’s still healing. ❞

does she sound as RIDICULOUS as she feels, trying to express it ? words fail now – she hasn’t much more to say. so whether he likes it or not, she’s stepping closer, arms encircling him as she pulls him close. dead. he always feels dead and cold. it doesn’t stop her from pressing her small body to his and holding him. when was the last time anyone’s given owen a PROPER hug, anyway ?

      ❝ you’re not alone. ❞       

                             “ Well, I happen to be DEAD, Ianto. ” Owen says so nonchalantly that it may as well just be another fact of life.

                                                                            Oh, the irony.

“ Not much sleep for a deadman to get, don’t really have nerve impulses, don’t technically have brain signals… can’t really sleep. Pissed off my neighbours having the TV on at three in the morning so here I am. Wandering the office in the dead of night. ”

A shrug.

“ And you’re here because… why? ” Owen questions, folding his arms across his torso and raising an eyebrow. “ Why aren’t you SNOOZING by our captain’s side at four a.m? ”

THE CLENCH OF HIS TEETH at the mention of the medic’s condition is involuntary and all he can do is hope it goes unnoticed. though it had been ianto jones who’d said the words ‘ are you really going to let this beat you? ‘ the reminder that his colleague was NO LONGER ALIVE is more often than not followed by the twisting of guilt in his stomach.

however, that is a psychologist’s field day for ANOTHER TIME. 

instead head tilts in consideration, thoughts wandering back to the immortal man he’d left behind in their SHARED BED when sleep had performed evasive maneuvers in the wake of cybermen invaded nightmares, leaving him rather restless. jack, in a surprising turn of the tables, had been peaceful and though it near pained him to slip from the room after stating intent of return, he knew ALL TOO WELL his erratic heartbeat and inability to find a state of relaxation was sure to disturb his captain in the end.

and so here he is: coffee in one hand, WEATHERED FILE lying open in the other, feet taking him in aimless circles around the large table used to house their daily briefings. 

                  ❝ couldn’t sleep. figured instead of lying in bed either STARING AT JACK while he does-- ❞ which, on most nights would be the choice made, had he not already removed himself from between the sheets. ❝ or staring at the ceiling, i could, ah, see if i could dig anything up on what we brought in from the CRASH SITE the other day. ❞ 

he offers a folder found to be unusually useful in his research. apparently, torchwood had dealings with this lot BEFORE.