Title: Don't Try My Patience
Fandom:
Torchwood
Rating:
M
Pairings: Ianto/Owen. References to Ianto/Jack.

Disclaimer: I don't own Torchwood. It belongs to RTD and the BBC (and, I suppose, Starz). No infringement intended.

AN: Okay I've started writing this at 4:13 AM on a complete whim so it might be horrible. If it is let me know. I did not plan this I'm just going to start writing and see where it takes me. Because there's not nearly enough Ianto/Owen in the world. No BETA.

IF YOU ARE ONLY LOOKING FOR SMUT GO TO CHAPTER 8 but there's not much of it.


He didn't belong here. He just showed up one day out of the blue. Jack hadn't explained why he was there, how he got the job, or what the hell was up with the suit. He just wandered in. Owen didn't like him, he never did. Tosh and he had been working there for years and Ianto just showed. Hell, even Suzie had been around for a while. They all had to learn the ropes and even though they never spoke about it, they all knew that each other had gone through something terrible. It was all in the eyes.

Ianto never looked at him in the eye. So Owen never saw it. All of his secrets came pouring out in a dangerous fray and after that there was nothing else to hide. He now understood why Ianto was qualified, working for Torchwood One and all that, but he sill had no right to be there. Obviously he wasn't very good at whatever job he had at the old Torchwood to have ended up a butler. Hell, even Gwen, who had absolutely nothing in the ways of tragedy compared to the rest of them, was hired for a reason.

He didn't like the way he sulked about. He didn't like the way he had to add in little quips about anything. It's like the only time he ever had anything to say was when he was being contrary or thinking he was clever. He didn't like his suits, how he looked so clean-cut when inside he was still a dirty traitor. Why Jack had kept him on the team after what had happened he would never know. It wasn't like he had a vital and irreplaceable position.

That's probably how he came to the conclusion they were shagging. Nobody else seemed to have picked up on it. But as a doctor and more importantly a lover of sex, he knew how to pick up on tension. He wondered if maybe that's how Ianto got the job too. Deep down, everyone's a whore.

It was on days like today when Ianto was especially bothersome. Like a dog that has a way of getting inevitably underfoot. He was always in the way.

"Do you mind?" Owen finally said, glaring up at Ianto from the medical area. He was lurking about, watching Owen from the railing above, just staring. Occasionally he would walk away a bit, just as not to arouse suspicion, but kept coming back.

"Mind?" Ianto leaned forward onto the railing, his arms crossing on the bar.

"You've been stalking about up there for the past half hour. Haven't you got anything better to do?" Owen scoffed, waving his scalpel about.

"Not really. I was just wondering if you'd realized you've been cutting into the wrong leg." Ianto shrugged his shoulders a bit. An effect that, given Ianto's current stance, made it look more like his neck was shrinking into his collar than his shoulders going up. Like a troll.

Owen looked down at the corpse. No wonder he hadn't found the parasite yet. He'd been digging through flesh and bone for a half hour on the wrong limb. Worse than that, he had allowed Ianto to make a fool of him. Worser still, he'd been right.

"You couldn't bother to mention that on one of your nine other strolls into here?" Owen decided that the pissed-off route was the easiest way to go.

"I think it's funny you were counting." Ianto smirked. Owen hated that smirk. The cleverer-than-thou expression plastered on his face constantly.

"Bugger off." Owen waved him away and began to work at the other leg. Ianto walked off, back into the Hub as Owen continued his task, simmering with annoyance.


A few minutes later, Owen had successfully extracted the parasite and contained it. Just one more of these little pricks left in the whole city. After that, there'd be no more rifling through people he couldn't save. Not people. Bodies. It was easier when you called them bodies. Well, at least, until the next case. The work was never through at Torchwood.

Everyone was getting ready to go home for the night. Owen was still cleaning up the medical bay, disinfecting the instruments, and taking care of the now mutilated body. He looked up to see Jack descending the staircase.

"All set here, Owen?" Jack traipsed around examining the shelves.

"Yup. Here she is." Owen pulled from his coat pocket the vial containing the recently extracted alien. It was tiny and silver, almost transparent, and looked a bit like a cross between a fish and an insect.

"Good work. Leave it by the computer; I'll take care of it." Jack began to exit the circular hollow.

"Did you find the last one yet?" Owen asked passively. Jack turned, one foot a step up, and sighed briefly.

"We're still looking. They're hard to track. We think it's somewhere in the pipes so it keeps moving around." He continued his walk up. "See you tomorrow."

Owen finished up the last of his cleaning, washed his hands, and exited the Hub. He was always disconcerted at times like this. He tried not to show it but it bothered him that the threat could be anywhere, could be anything, and no one would even know.


It was always a long walk back to the flat. Ianto preferred to walk if possible. It made him feel better to know that he could be more aware of his surroundings. It was a touch of the real world outside Torchwood. The chavs on the streets, the cars going by, the smell of rain, it all seemed somehow exciting. With such an obscure and dangerous life sometimes the normal seemed new.

But with a job like his, he was also hyperaware of the monsters in the dark. And that made the walk longer too.

He reached his flat, changed into his pyjamas and set for bed. Pouring a glass of water, he took his anxiety medicine. He reckoned it didn't work much anyway, what with all the drugs in the air at Torchwood. Many times, he didn't take it, wishing to think that any feeling he had should be conquered by his own mind. But there were days when that just wasn't enough, when the memories would come so fresh and brutal, and he succumbed to the easy way out.

He drank more, failing to notice the miniscule, iridescent insect swimming in the glass, and fell asleep shortly after.


More to come, of course.