Notes: The full oneshot for #48 out of 'Snapshots of Smiles'. Requested by Carrie.

Disclaimer: I do not own Torchwood and I am not making any profit from this work.

Benefits to Bad Things

"Hello."

The pair of hands that covered Ianto's eyes were accompanied with a fifty-first century scent, and warm heat radiating off another body in rather close proximity. Smiling, Ianto capped his pen and put it down.

"Hello," he replied.

"Guess who."

"I think it might be Jack."

"Good," Jack said, releasing Ianto's face and swivelling his chair around. Jack's grin was lecherous, and he leaned his hands on the arms of Ianto's chair, trapping him in his place. "What were you doing?"

"The finances."

"Public or personal?"

Ianto chuckled as Jack breathed the last word into his ear, and replied, "Public, but I'm sure I could move on to personal affairs in good time."

"If 'in good time' means right now, then yes, you could," Jack agreed, pulling Ianto up out of the chair and draping his arms around his waist. "In fact, I would highly encourage it. All employees need to take a little personal time."

"Yes, well, with you around, I seem to end up taking rather a lot of personal time," Ianto quipped.

"You don't see me complaining."

"Well, you wouldn't, would you?"

"Nope," Jack agreed, before engaging Ianto in a kiss so fierce that the younger man ended up taking several steps back to regain the ability to breathe for a couple of moments.

"Feeling amorous, are we?" Ianto asked. Jack hummed a response, pressing a kiss up under Ianto's jaw in the pulse point of his neck, a motion which caused Ianto to groan and lean back on the chain-railing behind him.

Which...gave way.

It hadn't happened in decades, and Jack had been telling himself to get the chains replaced. They were old, and worn, and this one had apparently had enough and wasn't prepared to support the weight of two fully-grown man. He saw the realisation in Ianto's eyes as the chain snapped, and although the distance wasn't far, Jack managed to turn them so that he hid the floor first, and Ianto got a degree of cushioning from his body.

It knocked the wind out of Jack completely, but worse, he felt the sharp resistance of human flesh under his shoulder and realised that Ianto had still had his hand around Jack's back. And then Ianto screamed.

Jack had only heard Ianto scream the odd time, in a way that didn't involve sex. He had screamed when Jack had reset his shoulder a few months ago; he had screamed when he'd collapsed just after their trip to the Beacons and jarred badly damaged ribs; he had screamed once into Jack's pillow in a mixture of frustration and anxiety after a long day.

And Jack's gut wrenched at the sound, and he remembered why Ianto screaming was only a sound he wanted to hear in the confines of his sleep space. And that screaming was mingling with gasping, begging and Welsh. So it didn't sound the same anyway.

"Shit!" Jack cried, levering his weight off the hand under his shoulder, which Ianto promptly rescued and cradled to his chest, heaving great gasping breaths that kind of scared Jack. "Okay, calm down, Ianto, it's alright. Shit, let me look, let me see..."

Ianto let him look at the reddened hand, which was already swelling up and turning a pale purple colour, but refused to let him touch it. Jack was startled to see tears in his eyes, and that made up his mind.

"Okay, come on, up you get. We're going to the hospital. Don't bother with your coat, just come on!"

He got Ianto out of the Hub and into the SUV faster than he'd ever moved the younger man before, and almost threw the vehicle into gear. Ianto was hissing through gritted teeth as they sped towards the city hospital, and when Jack could spare him quick glances on the straightest bits of road, he was alarmed to see how pale Ianto was going.

And then the alarm went off.

"Fuck!" Jack swore as they skidded to a halt outside the A&E entrance.

"You go," Ianto said, opening the door.

"I'll see you in first," Jack said firmly, leaping around and running around the car to support Ianto. Which was a good idea, all in all - he was white and clammy and shaking slightly in Jack's arms. Shock, he decided, and opted to get him into the A&E and sat down on the tiled floor (as there were, typically, no seats) as quickly as possible.

"Go," Ianto insisted.

"If they let you out before I get back, text me and wait here for me," Jack ordered. "Got it?"

"Yes."

"Will you do as I say?"

"For the moment," Ianto managed through a fresh wave of pain. "Now go."

Reluctantly, but knowing his duty, Jack went.


When Jack got back up from the cells over four hours later, where he had shut away their two new weevils, he was aghast to find Ianto sitting on the sofa, sprawled out like he'd landed there, with his head resting on the back of the cushions, eyes closed.

"I told you to call me and wait at the hospital!" Jack exclaimed, running up the steps two at a time and stopping just short of flinging himself onto the furniture beside Ianto.

"I called a taxi," Ianto said. "It was cold. And I figured you were busy..."

"Not that busy," Jack protested, and sat down on the side of the good hand. He peered at Ianto's left hand, which was wrapped in thick bandages and taped together like a bad movie mummy. "What did the doctor say?"

"Scans. I've torn the ligaments," Ianto said. "But it's not broken. Just bloody sore and useless until they heal some."

Jack pressed a kiss into his temple, and murmured: "I'm sorry."

"Wasn't your fault," Ianto said. "Just bad luck."

"How is it now?"

"Sore," Ianto said, then twisted to grin up at Jack. "But the rest of me is a little put out that we were interrupted."

Jack laughed, and the sombre mood was dispelled.


Eventually, though, Jack started to reap benefits from the accident.

For the next few months, Ianto would stay after work more and more frequently, performing the hand exercises the physio wanted him to do, and that Jack insisted he did. For the first two months, that simply consisted of compressing a stress ball over and over until even his wrist ached from the repetitive motion. After a couple of months, that was upgraded into typing or practising writing again (although Ianto was right-handed, so he just complained about that non-stop) and eventually into, of all things, knitting.

Ianto had apparently learned to knit from his grandmother, simply from watching when she had to look after him as a kid. He'd learned entirely from watching, and before taking up the needles and wool in the Hub one evening, had never actually done it before.

But as far as Jack could tell, he was good at it, even if he flat-out refused to actually make things.

"It can line Myfanwy's nest for all I care," he said when Jack suggested knitting proper things, and Jack laughed and left it alone.

But the best part came from Jack's insistence on making sure that Ianto did the exercises. Watching anybody squeeze a stress ball over and over is dull, no matter how sexy they are, and Jack quickly devised the films.

Every evening, he would take Ianto and a film up to the conference room and watch it while Ianto did his exercises. When he was using the ball, Ianto watched the films too, but when he upgraded to writing and then knitting, he started to ignore them and Jack could watch whatever he liked.

And after a while, Ianto started ignoring his chair, too, and using Jack. And if sometimes they stayed up too late and Jack ended up with a lapful of dozing Welshman and a good film on, he didn't mind.

Every cloud has a silver lining.