Disclaimer: I don't own Torchwood and I am not making any profit from this work.

At The Bar

Jack enjoyed taking his team out after a long hard day at work (or several days) for a drink (or many) at the local. Ianto and Owen, the nearest that the team had to 'local blokes' (despite Owen being a Londoner and Ianto being from some village on the Welsh coast peering at Ireland that nobody had heard of, could pronounce, or wanted to visit) had found a local within moments of moving into the area. Naturally.

It had become the team local, after Jack had discovered, with much surprise, that Owen and Ianto had struck up a friendship over the pool table and across from the dartboard. Owen was a dab hand at darts when he was tipsy, but not yet drunk, and Ianto was a bastard on the pool table. He could defeat anybody even when he was so drunk he couldn't remember his own name and lapsed into Welsh singing which made Gwen go bright red and announce her need to go home now.

Still, after a long hard day, Jack had taken to getting them all round the pub for at least one drink. It had been an attempt to keep them human, to keep them in tune with the real, ordinary human world. Even Suzie had unwound a little when they went to the pub. And although it wasn't nearly as successful as Jack would like it to be, it was still better than not getting together at all.

Tonight, the pub was busy enough that they were all sat around their little table in the corner by the window, and Ianto was attempting to steal a crisp from Owen. Who guarded snack food and beer like a tigress guards her young. No sharing. The two of them reverted to unruly teenagers or university students again when they were brought into a pub, and Jack rather liked it. If only because they also reverted to complete and utter slander.

"Get the fuck off, Welshie," Owen growled, snatching the bag away again. "Mine!"

"You sound like a petulant brat," Gwen said absently, too busy texting on her phone to really pay attention to what Owen was protesting about.

"Sheep shaggers will defend sheep shaggers," Owen grumbled, earning himself a gasp and angry scowl from the dark-haired woman.

"How," Ianto demanded, before Gwen could say anything, "could Gwen shag a sheep? She hasn't got the right equipment and it's not like the sheep are exactly consensual partners in all that, you know?"

Jack snorted his water up his nose, while Owen roared with incredulous laughter. Even Tosh laughed quietly, hiding her smile in her glass and kicking Ianto's foot gently under the table.

"Racist bigot," Gwen muttered.

"How can Ianto be racist against his own people?" Jack wondered.

At the same time, Tosh wanted to know how Ianto could be racist about a group that wasn't a race.

"Of course they're a race," Owen said scornfully. "No other Caucasians shag sheep."

"Kiwis do."

"Ianto!" Gwen exclaimed.

"Kiwis?" Jack asked.

"New Zealanders," Gwen sighed. "Jack, make them cut it out. They're drunk."

"I think it's kind of cute," Jack grinned lecherously, and Ianto rolled his eyes.

"Kiwis," he said, "shag even more sheep than the Welsh. And they shag lambs too. Paedophiles."

"Kiwis probably are Welsh," Owen argued, waving his glass around to make a point and spilling half of it on the table. "They're all criminals and convicts anyway."

"That's the Australians," Ianto said, then paused. "I don't know...maybe it's the Kiwis too. But it's so long they must be a sub-species now anyway."

"So the English became the Australians, and the Welsh became the Kiwis..." Jack said, then grinned. "What about the Irish?"

"Americans," Owen said.

"Or starved to death because they're too stupid to grow potatoes," Ianto said.

"Too drunk," Owen said, and proved it by promptly falling off his chair.

"Like you," Ianto said, stone-faced.

"Unlike you, I suppose?" Jack snickered, practically undressing Ianto then and there with his eyes.

"I can still walk, thank you," Ianto said primly, and proved it by going to the bar and ordering another round. He even carried them back in trips without spilling them.

"You'd make a good waiter," Owen said, hauling himself upright and downing a good quarter of his new pint in one go.

"I'm not French," Ianto deadpanned, and copied him.

"But you would look hot in the penguin outfit," Owen said, and earned himself scandalised looks from all four of them. Seemingly unaffected by them, he continued: "Do you tan? Cos if you did, you could be an Italian waiter and then everybody would want to sleep with you."

"Everyone wants that anyway," Tosh said, giving Jack a very outright and obvious look.

"True," Jack admitted, unabashed.

"Not hairy enough," Ianto said simply. "And you can't wave your arms around to communicate when you're always carrying coffee. Or beer. Or whatever."

"You learned your coffee-serving skills in a pub?" Gwen blinked.

"Same principle," Ianto said. "Easier, even. I'm not rat-arsed when I'm carrying coffee."

"Except the time that guy's wife just had a baby and he came in here and bought everyone ten brandies each, remember?" Owen snorted, and Ianto grinned lopsidedly.

"God yeah," he said, and they toasted the stranger happily. "I was so drunk."

"I know," Owen said helpfully. "So was I."

"What did you two get up to?" Jack asked suspiciously.

"Owen'll shag anything," Ianto announced proudly, which really didn't help matters.

"Okay, sweetheart, time to get you home," Gwen said loudly and clearly, jumping up and helping a reluctant Ianto from his seat. She was blushing scarlet and Tosh shook her head with slight amusement. Even drunk, Ianto knew how to utilise all the stuff he knew with amazing accuracy.

In the chilly Cardiff air, the team went their different ways, with Gwen volunteering to see Owen home and Tosh giving Ianto a tight hug before telling Jack that the green box in the kitchen cupboard at the Hub contained Ianto's hangover cure, and vanishing off towards her car.

"Just you and me," Jack said, sliding an arm around Ianto to keep him walking in a straight line. At least he wasn't staggering. Ianto was smaller than Jack, but he was quite the sportsman, and, as a result, he was damn heavy.

"Nympho," Ianto said.

"Uh-huh," Jack agreed, walking them towards the Plass. "So, why don't you tell me exactly what you and Owen got up to on ten brandies between you? Or do I have to coax it out of you?"

"Can't you just sexually torture it out of me?" Ianto whined, beginning to slur ever so slightly.

Jack beamed.

"Deal."